#this could be said masks should be in effect for more things

[hauntingrabbits]

More Batman/My Little Pony au art because these are ridiculously fun to draw. Part 1 here!

More info under the cut!

1. Sweet Talk/The Harlequin (Harleen Quinzel)

Originally contracted to work as a psychiatrist for the Tartarus villain redemption program, Sweet Talk had a unique relationship with the Joker. This relationship was proven to be even stranger than her coworkers had originally assumed when she broke him out and joined him in his life of crime.

Devoting herself entirely to her new life and relationship with the joker, she covers her original cutie mark at all times. Snce her horn was snapped she can no longer cast precise spells, leaving her magic mostly emotion-based and intensely volatile, (typically manifesting in the form of sparks, zaps, and explosions).

Other Notes:

-Using Tartarus as a substitute for Arkham Asylum for this au because why not.

-The villain redemption program did NOT go well. Sorry Twilight.

-Mostly based on BTAS Harley because I adore the original costume.

-Her horn was cracked by the Joker

2. Pudding Pie/The Joker (The Joker)

Batpony’s most notorious foe. Said to have been just a regular pony until he fell into a vat at an Ace Potions factory during a conflict with Batpony.

He doesn’t have a Cutie Mark, but it’s unclear whether this was always the case or instead a result of his accident. The effects of permanent Cutie Mark loss—the only known cases of which occurred via long-banned magic and/or traumatic injury—are largely unstudied, and it’s ramifications are unknown. Some ponies theorize this may be the reason for the Joker’s mental state and general disposition.  

Sundown has a different opinion on the matter.

Other notes:

-Based mostly on BTAS joker and the ‘89 Nicholson joker.

-His name is just based on Harley’s “pudding” nickname for in in a lot of versions, but I think it would also be hilarious if he was a distant relative of Pinkie Pie.

-I could leave it ambiguous but. Yeah the potion vat didn’t actually do anything beyond slightly altering his physical appearance. He’s just like that and he never got a cutie mark in the first place.

3. Gadiel/Scarecrow (Jonathan Crane)

Raised among ponies, Gadiel was relentlessly bullied for being gangly and birdish, earning him the nickname “Scarecrow” in his youth. Though he later successfully became a professor and psychologist in Gotham, Gadiel was eventually fired when he was found to be testing his fear-inducing potions on his students and purposefully putting them through terrifying and dangerous situations. Deciding to take his experiments to the masses, Gadiel donned the mantle of Scarecrow and weaponized fear to become a career criminal.

As the Scarecrow, he’s known for his skill in manipulation, psychological torture, and crafting dangerous potions and gas. The effects of fear on magical creatures are unique and intense, much to Gadiel’s delight and interest.

Other Notes:

-I wanted to make his front half a crane but I couldn’t get the long neck to work right with the mask, so he’s more crow-like instead.

-according to the wiki 1/3 of Griffin names start with a G so naturally I was extremely tempted to name him Gonathon and you should all be very grateful I did not. The name Gadiel has origins in the bible as the name of an archangel which I thought was fitting given the insane religious trauma some versions of the scarecrow went through. I thought about trying to do something similar for this version but given that the mlp universe uses Princess Celestia as a replacement for God in expressions like “Celestia knows where” and “Oh my Celestia” I wasn’t really sure how to go about it. There’s probably some kind of sun-worshipping thing in equestria idk.

-I spent a long time on the mlp wiki but from what I could find the only “fear” magic in the show is just used by one guy and its just called “dark magic”. I thought for sure there would’ve been some random plant or magical creature they dealt with at some point that maybe did something similar I could use for his blurb but unfortunately there was not.

4. Mandible/Falseface (Basil Karlo/Matt Hagen)

Hungry and deeply resentful of the changeling queen for forcing her underlings to share what little stolen love they had with her, Mandible went rogue early on and split off from the hive to pursue his own ventures. Finding success under the name Claypose as a pony actor in Gotham, he was sustained primarily by the one-sided love of his fans for years, despite the false identity having no real prior personal relationships to leech from. 

After a magical special effects accident on set revealed his true nature, he went into hiding and immediately started crafting a new persona, but soon found in his distress and rage over losing his identity as Claypose that he could no longer sustain any disguise long enough to keep up a long-term facade. Blaming the accident, he targeted the unicorn responsible by posing as his wife to leech his love, but ended up killing the pony in a panic when his disguise failed much faster than he’d anticipated it would. Unable to keep up a new identity or return to the hive, Mandible turned to a life of crime instead, doing dirty work for the bigger criminal names in Gotham and leeching love from his employer’s targets to survive.

Other notes:

-Clayface being a changeling was an obvious pick given his power set but I really wasn’t sure how to tackle the main issue of him being unable to keep a solid form for long. I went with his distress and frustration being the main thing keeping his disguise flimsy (so he gets put in kind of an ourobouros cycle where his disguise being bad makes him upset but him being upset makes it harder to fix his disguise), but the magic accident probably also contributed somehow.

-Why are all the changelings straight up just named after body parts in this show whats that about. The “Clay” in Claypose is obviously a reference to his title/schtick in the comics while the “pose” comes from both his job as an actor and the fact that he’s posing as a pony. Mandible is the name for the jaw part of an insect.

3. Winglon/Killer Drake (Waylon Jones)

Originally intended to be used in an entrance exam, his egg was stolen from a Canterlot delivery cart on its way to Celestia’s school of magic and sold on the black market to a Pony Island circus. Raised to be part of the freak show, Winglon was pitted against circus performers and overconfident challengers in ring fights for money and entertainment. Enduring abuse and injury throughout his life from ponies that he was always fundamentally stronger than, it was only a matter of time until he snapped. Garnering the name Killer Drake for his actions, Winglon escaped into the Gotham sewer system.

Not knowing how to return to the dragonlands or whether he’d even fit into dragon society at all, he continues to lurk in the dark away from any life, deeply resenting ponies and all other manner of magical creatures that make friends with them.

Other notes:

-I like silly names ok. Winglon Jones. -I like the theory that the dragon egg used for Twilight’s entrance exam was actually fake/meant to be a no-win scenario, but I also don’t think it would be that hard for enterprising ponies to get their hands on dragon eggs. The practice probably stopped in the later seasons when they made friends with the dragonlands or whatever though.

-Given that dragons threaten to eat or kill ponies at multiple points in the show, the cannibalism is actually kind of understandable. And also not even cannibalism anymore. Still murder though.

[sparklypunk]

Maybe a hot take but.... Masks should stay in effect indefinitely for at least healthcare

[mariasont]

hi hi hi!!! i know you’re working on the bau sleepover buttttt i was wondering if you could write a aaron hotchner x reader fic where like what happened to garcia, reader gets shot and she’s in hospital and they don’t know if she gonna be okay and stuff. her and hotch have this mutual pining for each other and when she gets shot he kinda spirals. after being released, hotch takes her to her apartment and stays with her until they catch him and stuff. i know this is really long, thank you!!!

Some Profiler You Are - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi thank you so so sooo much for requesting <3 i kind of took this a more fluffy route and focused more on the recovery so let me know if you like it :)

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: reader was shot, comfort, angst like a teensy bit, fluff, changing of bandages, kinda shitty ending per usual

wc: 2k

"Do you want to sit down?"

No, you really didn't. After spending the last six hours in a state of near-motionlessness, sprawled across various surfaces, the last thing you wanted was to do was sit down. Your legs had taken on the consistency of overcooked noodles, so you made the grave mistake of misreading the quiet of the house as Hotch's absence, a mistake punctuated by the garage door's sudden rumble.

You should have known better than to assume he would leave you alone for even a second. Now, you were face to face, his scrutinizing eyes boring into yours, arms crossed across his wide chest. He was in a casual zip-up--a rarity that you never imagined him wearing before practically moving in with him. But you really did enjoy this relaxed side of him, he wore it exceptionally well.

Taking work off was a concept you knew was foreign him, yet here he was, not at his desk, hovering over you like a concerned parent. The entire office, yourself included, gaped at him as if he had sprouted a different head when he told them. His next move was even crazier--he insisted you stay with him while you recovered.

You protested. A lot. Shocker. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Again, Shocker.

You winced as you stepped forward, your hands automatically gravitating to the bandage that spanned around your thigh.

"You can't baby me forever, Hotch," you murmured, though your conviction wavered under the dull throb in your leg.

You braced yourself against the counter, trying to mask the discomfort you were sure was etched all over your face.

Filling the shoes of the communications liaison for the FBI post-JJ's shift to profiling, you signed up for a life of managing the media narrative, being the conduit between local and federal levels, and choosing the cases. You provided assistance in ways that aren't glaringly obvious.

What you didn't sign up for is getting shot.

The movies, the stories, even the firsthand accounts from coworkers--none of it could brace you for the raw, blistering pain of a gunshot wound. It fucking hurt. And the recovery? It was a different kind of torture, and you'd even argue that it was worse.

"It's not babying, it's common sense," Hotch countered.

He was frustrated. You had that effect. He stepped closer, his hand dragging down his face. "You took a bullet. It's still in your leg. It's perfectly rational for me to want to prevent any unnecessary strain on you."

"Feels dramatic," you shrugged, but he was right, like always.

Your grip on the counter tightened, knuckles growing white as you struggled to keep the pain under wraps. His brows lifted in response.

"I'm fine, really, Hotch. I hate this. You're probably dying to get back to work--don't let me be the reason you don't. Despite popular belief, I'm quite capable of fending for myself."

"I'm aware," he said, his attention briefly shifting to your bandaged leg. You were wearing shorts, a choice that felt less than appropriate, but practicality trumped formality under these circumstances. "Work will survive without me. I'm not sure I can say the same about you."

Your laughter was short-lived, swiftly turning into a stifled grimace as your footing slipped. Hotch's reflexes were quick, his hands steadying you--one against your ribs, the other just shy above the hem of your shorts.

"Point in case."

"Poking fun at a wounded woman? Shame on you, Hotch," you chided, your lower lip jutting out in a pout. His eyes darted to it momentarily.

He didn't move, his hands staying put, stirring a gentle, jelly-like feeling inside of you.

This was an odd sort of comfort, the kind you're not supposed to feel with your boss. You shouldn't be talking to him like this, shouldn't be in his kitchen, and certainly, his hands shouldn't be where they were. But the ache in your heart didn't seem to care about shoulds and shouldn'ts.

Hotch's presence was hard to ignore. He was reducing the space with every word.

"You're hardly acting like a wounded woman," he pointed out. "You should be in bed."

You tilted your head, sliding onto the barstool to carve some much-needed space between you. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, and you needed distance to gather your wits before you did something that HR would definitely not look kindly upon.

The action was a mistake, a fact that became painfully clear as the feeling of something stabbing into your leg took hold. You tried to muster a smile, but you were sure it came across as a snarl. The last thing you wanted was to inflate Hotch's ego by showing that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

"Shit."

You followed his line of sight, landing on the fresh red seeping through the bandage and staining your shorts. Oh. That's not great. Don't think you can fool him with this one.

Hotch didn't hesitate, his response outpacing your own surge of panic, which was incredibly fast, because you were panicking and frankly not that great with blood. His hands were on your skin, easing the hem of your shorts upward to lay bare the wound you had stupidly  underestimated.

You're never going on a date again.

I mean, the only reason you even went was to get your boss of your mind. Since the first day, you'd been hopelessly drawn to him--how could you not be?

But there are a couple factors to consider.

Firstly, he was your boss, and the whole notion of a coercive relationship dynamic seemed problematic.

Secondly, there's the age difference; it had never been an issue for you--perhaps a reflection of your daddy issues--but you knew it would raise some eyebrows.

And thirdly, he didn't even like you back. That was, of course, the biggest issue. If not for this, the other concerns could definitely be overlooked. 

Before this whole incident, he barely acknowledged you beyond was professionally required of him. You knew you hadn't been part of the team long enough to bond--though you weren't sure Hotch did bond in the usual sense, but the point was made.

You were fairly sure you hadn't made much of an impression on him.

"Hold still." That was a tall order, considering it hurt more than a mother fucker.

You found yourself glaring at him--not that he was to blame, but you needed to anchor your frustration on something, or someone. Unknowingly, your grip had latched on the fabric of his zip-up, but he seemed unfazed. He grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer, pressing it against the wound, only furthering the colorful vocabulary going on in your head.

"Fuck, Hotch."

You didn't make a habit of cursing in front of your superior, but the sharp sting forced tears to the brink, your body going rigid as you snapped your eyes shut. 

His other hand found its way to your uninjured thigh, giving it a firm squeeze--a clear attempt to divert your attention. It worked for a second. "I'm sorry, just keep this pressed here, okay?"

He motioned toward the cloth, and you complied, too drained to consider otherwise. Your brows knitted, and you bit into your lip until you tasted something metallicy, your mind desperately racing trying to think of anything other than the blood flowing freely from your thigh.

"Where are you going?" You knew how panicked you sounded as he turned away, stepping towards a cabinet. 

He rummaged briefly before holding up a first aid kit. Catching the brief alarm in your face, he quickly returned to your side, his hand finding the crook of your neck as you instinctively clutched at his shirt once again.

"If you dare say I told you so, I swear, Hotch, fists will fly," you ground out through clenched teeth.

He laughed, and now that did distract you, your eyes zeroing in on his perfect teeth. It was a rare display, and it only served to aggravate you further. Of course he had perfect teeth.

"I didn't say anything."

"I could feel you thinking it," you said, your voice rough as you willed the moisture in your eyes not to fall. "Maybe I should be a profiler."

"Definitely."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." You were lying. Everything suited him. He stepped back, and you reluctantly peered at the wound, only to find a neatly sutured leg. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"In this job, you learn to be handy with more than just a gun.”

You’d love to know what else he’s handy with.

He pulled your leg up to rest on his as he took a seat on the opposite stool.

Your body was buzzing, from the closeness, from his hands on you, and also from the pain, but you were trying to ignore that. He grabs a new bandage from the counter, hands trailing up your thigh so slowly you thought you might pass out. He was so gentle. There was no other word for it.

"How's it feel?"

You paused. Eyes fully locked on his precise movements as he wrapped you up. You were closer than you realized, practically sharing the same breath.

"Fine."

"Yeah?"

You nodded, and he finished up his task, his hand lightly patting your thigh to show he was done. You didn't move your leg from his lap, and he didn't move his hand.

"I couldn't sleep for three days."

"What?" Your brows were furrowed, your focus sharpening on his face as the words left his lips.

"When I found out you had been shot." He cleared his throat, his thumb making gentle rotations on your calf. "I couldn't close my eyes without seeing red for days. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch who did that to you. I almost did."

You weren't sure how to process this information, or why he was telling you. "You and me both."

"I'm serious." And you could tell he was, his eyes narrowing slightly as his hand firmly encircled around your leg. You felt a lump in your throat form as heat rose from your neck to your ears. "Do you know what that was like? I felt like my heart stopped."

"Why?"

"Why?" It was more a scoff than a word. He blew out a breath, his fingers pinching into the space between his eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?"

Your heart was beating a lot faster. You wanted to say something, anything but your throat was dry and every time you opened your mouth you found it snapping shut.

Hotch's expression softened ever so slightly, his voice low and bouncing off the walls as he spoke. "Because I'm in love with you."

Your breath stalled, as if every ounce of oxygen had been vacuumed from your lungs. The air felt heavy, almost tangible.

You stared at him, heart skipping a beat.

"That's not funny," you said. It wasn't. You weren't in the mood for jokes, and your brain couldn't comprehend he might be telling the truth. "You...you don't even notice me."

He shook his head. "I notice everything about you." His thumb stilled on your calf. "I'm your boss," he said, as if that explained everything. "There are rules, protocols. I couldn't...I still shouldn't..."

The confession stripped the room of its warmth, leaving a raw aching silence in its wake. You searched his face.

"When you got shot," he continued, "I realized that if I lost you, I'd regret not telling you how I feel for the rest of my life."

"Hotch, I..."

He leaned closer, causing your words to catch in your throat. His hand moved from your leg to your face. You were speechless, the world narrowing down to the man in front of you, to his eyes, the warmth of his hands.

"Say something."

"Are you kidding me?" Your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape from your chest. "I've been in love with you since I started. How could you not see that?"

He looked taken aback, as if your words were the last thing he expected. "Well—,"

But you didn't let him finish. "Some profiler you are."

You were practically climbing into his lap, hands framing his face, pulling your lips to his.

He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you. "Easy," he murmured, "don't make me fix that bandage again."

You laugh, the sound muffled by his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and coffee. "Shut up, Hotch."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[bliss-in-the-void]

My actual canonical interpretation of SatoSugu?

I believe they were the bestest of friends, inseparable soul mates who were mutually in love with each other, but never confessed the depth of their feelings, never discussed their relationship, and never actually made anything out of it.

I believe that Suguru had a massive crush on Satoru throughout their high school years. Satoru was more dense on the other hand and did love Suguru but didn’t know how to place his feelings exactly. Suguru was always by his side and that was enough, he felt secure, so why look into it deeper?

After the trauma from the Star Plasma Vessel mission, Suguru was heartbroken that Satoru left him alone a lot. He missed Satoru and spiraled, self-isolated, started becoming obsessed with his own self-talk about ‘monkeys’ and ‘creating a new world with sorcerers only’. He and Satoru both became self-absorbed. Suguru lost that crush and admiration he had for Satoru even though he still loved him. He wanted his own goals more. So he left.

The second he left, I bet that’s when Satoru realized what Suguru meant to him. That’s probably one of the reasons that Satoru is stuck in the past, because he finally placed his feelings for Suguru, realized he was in love with him, and kept replaying those moments they had together, realizing he never noticed Suguru sending signals, mad at himself for never noticing. He regretted it so badly that he just couldn’t stop living in the past with Suguru. If he’d just paid attention, if he noticed Suguru’s signals, his spiraling, maybe he could have stopped it.

That moment where Suguru returns to the high school to declare war only to leave again, when Satoru watches and watches, (according to the JJK 0 Light Novel) his “eyes kept following the shape of Geto’s soul”. He couldn’t look away. He was filled with so much regret. His entire creed is to raise strong sorcerers together so that no one has to be alone the way Suguru and he ended up.

And when the time came for him to kill Suguru, because last words are so important to him, he finally told Suguru what he should have told him when they were high schoolers. “I love you.”

Suguru, who’d long buried those feelings, probably realized that the things he’d told himself about how Satoru viewed him were wrong. This whole time, Satoru really did love and trust him still. That’s why he smiled. He was loved in return.

“You should at least curse me a little at the end.”

He wishes Satoru would have hated him because now he’s filled with regret. If only they’d had talked sooner, none of this would have happened. Suguru had always placed emphasis on ‘found family’. We see this when he calls Kuroi “Riko’s family” and when he adopts Mimiko and Nanako, as well as the rest of the sorcerers/curse users he rounds up for the Night Parade of 1,000 Demons. With that said, I know for a fact that when they were in high school, he saw Satoru as his family. He saw him as home, as safety, as love.

Really, the only time that he and Satoru aren’t putting on some sort of act is when they’re alone together. It’s strange to see the two of them so serious, especially Satoru, who deflects with humor like his life depends on it. But it’s fitting. They’re just comfortable around each other, there’s no need for masks. They never even seriously raised their hands against each other, nor fatally hurt each other’s family/students.

Now, fast-forward to a year later in Shibuya, when Kenjaku uses the love Satoru and Suguru have for each other against Satoru. How does he know seeing Suguru would have such a drastic effect on Satoru that it would immobilize him completely? Did he watch from afar? Did he keep tabs on them? Or did he see Suguru’s memories somehow? Could he feel how Suguru felt when around Satoru? I’d like to think it was both—Kenjaku kept tabs on them before Suguru died, and gained access to his memories after taking him over.

He even knew the tone Suguru used to use for Satoru’s name. The soft way he called his name. He knew the only thing in the entire world that could stop the strongest sorcerer in modern times was using the love of his life against him.

The smile Satoru had when he thought it was Suguru makes me believe that the only thing he wanted was to see him again.

Then, when he realized it wasn’t him, Kenjaku said “how sad, you don’t recognize me?”

As if to say Suguru would be devasted that Satoru didn’t recognize him. Kenjaku knows how Suguru feels about Satoru.

Then Satoru calls him on his bs and he says “creepy, how did you know?”

Creepy?

The only other time Kenjaku is creeped out is waaaaaaay later in the manga (spoilers ahead) when Satoru sets the fight day to Dec 24th Kenjaku acknowledges that it’s romantic, and that “having a date with him on the 24th gives him the creeps”.

Oh, I know he’s grossed out with how much they love each other. Like. How the hell else do you interpret that???? Come. On.

Add in when Suguru somehow comes back from the dead for a moment and tries to choke his own body to save Satoru. Kenjaku is baffled—that’s never happened before. That is a demonstration of love everlasting, absolutely.

Then you have Shoko’s “I’d never fall in love with either of you, but you were still never alone” to SatoSugu, basically confirming that she knew the two of them shared a romantic bond that she couldn’t replicate the depth of.

So. Yes. They were very very much in love with each other and to this day Satoru loves Suguru with every fiber of his being and lives his life dedicated to atoning for his (self-perceived) failures to Suguru. He thinks about him everyday. He says he was his only friend. He has Shoko, Ijichi, Mei Mei, and Utahime and yet he only sees Suguru. He only sees Suguru.

[bellaxgiornata]

Under the Weather

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Despite the fact that he's coming down with a cold, Matt refuses to heed your advice on staying inside instead of running around Hell's Kitchen in the freezing autumn rain. In the morning, you're left with an even sicker, more stubborn Devil.

Warnings/tags: 18+; Nothing but fluff and a stubborn, flirty Devil

a/n: Yet another little fluffy fic for Mandy's Sweater Weather Challenge by the lovely @she-likesorchids! Can you tell I had to make sure all my boys got a fic? This one was for the prompt "Let's just stay in bed." Feedback is always appreciated!

Finally finished with the after dinner cleanup, you washed your hands in the kitchen sink, the pounding of the rain outside the apartment a persistent backdrop to the evening. As you turned off the faucet and reached over to grab the towel from the nearby hook, you heard the bedroom door slide open. Glancing up from your place at the sink as you dried your hands, you spotted Matt exiting the bedroom dressed in his black suit, his black mask on his head but not yet pulled down over his face. You frowned at the sight of him, eyes focusing back on the windows covered in rainfall as the light from the billboard across the street flooded through them, coating the living room in a dark blue.

Focusing back on Matt, you hung up the towel before you began to make your way through the kitchen towards him. You noticed how he'd stopped mid-step on his way to the stairs leading to the roof access as you walked, his head shifting over his shoulder towards you. 

"Matt," you said, tone lightly chastising. 

It didn’t escape your notice how he'd instantly stiffened at the sound of your voice. You could also tell by the way his shoulders were slightly slumped forward and the faint red tinge visible on his nose that he still felt a bit under the weather. But of course, Matthew being Matthew, he apparently was still planning to go out. You should have known as much.

"Maybe you should stay in tonight," you suggested carefully, eyeing the thin material of his shirt as the rain only continued to dump onto the roof of the apartment. "You know, like we talked about earlier? At dinner?"

He turned fully towards you, straightening his back as his sightless gaze landed on your chest. His eyes narrowed a bit and you knew he was about to pretend the big bad Devil wasn't sick, but the faint sniffle from his stuffed up nose ruined whatever effect he thought he was about to have on you. 

“I’m fine, sweetheart," he told you.

His voice was a little distorted because of the congestion and you scoffed immediately. Crossing your arms over your chest, you quirked a brow at him.

"You're sick, Matt," you pointed out. "You need rest. You said yourself earlier that nothing was going on tonight in Hell’s Kitchen. So stay in and take care of yourself. You'll be no help to anyone in the city if something actually happens and you're even sicker."

Matt shook his head at you, that stubborn expression still on his face. Of course he wasn't going to listen. He was going to ignore what he needed to do for himself for the sake of the people of Hell’s Kitchen, and as much as you loved and admired that about him, he really needed to learn one of these days that he was still only human. He needed to take care of himself. 

But getting that through his head was damn near impossible. 

"I don't get sick," he countered, voice still noticeably off. "I’m completely fine, sweetheart. I'm just going out for a bit to keep an eye on things. You don't need to wait up for me."

“Matt, it’s barely above freezing outside right now!” you exclaimed, throwing a hand towards the living room window. “And it’s raining . Ten degrees less and that would be snow right now! What you're wearing isn't even remotely warm. You’re going to make yourself incredibly sick if you go running around rooftops tonight dressed in that !”

Matt’s lips drew into a devilish smirk, a smug expression overtaking his features. The look might have had the desired effect on you if he hadn’t sniffled loudly yet again, his red nose scrunching up as he did. 

“You like this suit,” he countered.

“No,” you said, holding up a hand as you corrected him. “I like how you look in this suit, Matt. I absolutely hate how little protection it offers for knives, baseball bats, and cold weather. There’s a massive difference.”

“I’ll be just fine,” he assured you.

Matt reached a hand up, pulling his mask down until it covered his face, leaving only his lips and chin visible. The gesture was meant to end the conversation, you were aware of that. Sighing in exasperation, you rolled your eyes at him. You knew damn well he was going to be miserable come morning.

“We all know you’re just going to do what you want anyway,” you grumbled, crossing the rest of the way over towards him. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t need you bleeding out and sick later.”

“I’m not sick,” he countered immediately.

“Mhmm,” you hummed out, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek, just below the black fabric of his mask. “Sure you’re not, babe. I’ll remember that when you’re clinging to me tomorrow and complaining about how awful you feel.”

You could tell by the way his lips pursed and the fabric had shifted along his face that he was shooting you an irritated look. The corner of your own mouth quirked up into a smirk. You’d seen Matt sick a couple of times before and he was always absolutely desperate for physical comfort–though you figured with his heightened senses, being sick felt a whole lot worse to him. And you figured it probably muted his usual ability to navigate the world as he was used to, especially with a stuffed up nose affecting his sense of smell.

“I do not get clingy ,” he disagreed with obvious distaste.

“Whatever you say, Matty,” you replied, lightly patting him on the arm.

You turned, making your way over towards the leather couch. If Matt was going to run around outside in the equivalent of tissue paper while he was sick, you were going to relax and watch some television while being smart and not going outside in the freezing autumn rain. 

“I do not get clingy!” he stated again.

Abruptly he turned, storming his way over towards the staircase. You settled into the cushions of the couch with a shake of your head. 

“Alright, you don’t get clingy when you’re sick,” you told him.

As you picked up the television remote from the coffee table, you saw Matt had paused yet again at the sound of your voice. Head turning just over his shoulder, cocked a bit to the side, you didn’t miss the deep frown spreading over his lips.

“You didn’t mean that,” he pointed out, tapping a gloved hand to his ear. “I could hear your heart.”

Rolling your eyes playfully at him, you flashed him a grin before you focused on the television across the room. “Of course I didn’t,” you told him, turning on the TV. “Because you do get clingy when you’re sick.”

Matt rumbled out a noise of frustration, stalking his way up the stairs and towards the roof access without another word. He obviously knew he wasn’t winning this argument with you. You began scanning through the channels, looking for a fall baking show to watch as he pulled the door open, the sound of the rain outside briefly louder until the door closed with a sharp clang after him. Shaking your head again, you finally settled on what you were looking for. 

“You’re going to be so miserable in the morning,” you muttered under your breath, aware he could still hear you.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Something ice cold landed on your bare stomach and your eyes immediately snapped open, the chill pulling you straight from your sleep. A miserable, muffled groan met your ears over the sound of light rain pattering outside as your barely conscious mind tried to quickly piece everything together.

You were in bed with Matt curled up against the back of you. Apparently it was his icy cold hand on your stomach that had woken you. He shifted behind you, his frigid hand on your bare stomach drawing you further towards him just before he buried his face against the back of your neck. You shivered at how cold he felt against you–Matt was usually a furnace who kept you warm.

“Matt, you’re freezing,” you whispered, trying to glance over your shoulder at him.

“I know,” he groaned, pulling himself in tighter to the back of you. “You’re so warm, though.”

You frowned immediately at the thick, congested sound of his voice. He sounded far worse than he had last night. And that was the only thing keeping you from your usual reaction to Matt’s nearly naked body wrapped so tight around yours.

“You’re sick,” you pointed out.

He groaned again, shaking his head against the back of your neck. “Don’t say it,” he begged, his voice almost a whine. "Don't even say it, sweetheart."

Sighing at his plea for you to not rub the consequences of his actions in his face, your hand dropped down to cover the one he had on your stomach. You did your best attempting to warm it up, rubbing your hand back and forth across his large one. Matt hummed out a pleased noise in response, the sound quite nasally.

“Fine, but you’re sick, Matt,” you pointed out. “I need to take your temperature. See what medicine we still have in the apartment for you to take because I might need to run to the store." You paused when he pitifully moaned in protest at that. "And you’re not going into the office to help Foggy with that thing this morning. I’ll call him myself. Him and Karen can handle things on their own. You need rest.”

“Only if you stay with me,” he murmured, his arm tightening around your waist. “You’re so warm and comfortable. Don't want you to go. Let's just stay in bed .”

Clearing your throat, you pitched your voice lower as you grinned and said, “I’m not clingy, sweetheart.”

Matt groaned again, burying his face further into your neck. “ Not funny,” he muttered.

“Maybe to you,” you countered, still grinning, “but I think it’s quite pertinent.” Patting the back of his hand that was holding you firmly to the front of himself, you said, "I need to get up, Matty. Need to call Fog for you and find the thermometer. And check the medicine cabinet to see what we have. Maybe make us both some hot tea while I'm up."

You felt the way he shook his head once again against you, muttering out a noise of disagreement. He began shifting behind you in the bed, soon tossing one of his legs over the top of both of yours. It was so easy to forget how muscular and powerful Matt was sometimes because you were so used to seeing him walking around the apartment in barely anything most of the time, his muscles often on display. But his single leg was solid and heavy , easily trapping you beneath the weight of it as he refused to release his hold on you and let you up.

" Matt !" you laughed out, reaching your hand down to playfully swat his thigh. "I'm trying to help you!"

"No. Don't want it," he muttered, words muffled against your skin. " Mine ," his congested voice nearly purred as he curled possessively around you.

Your eyes widened in surprise, another little laugh falling out of you. That was new. 

"Matt, I at least need to call Fog and get your temperature–you're positively freezing," you told him. "Let me help you. Please?"

He grumbled discontentedly in response, not making any attempt to move. You shifted as best as you could in his restricting embrace, trying to get a look at him.

" Please ?" you tried again, drawing the word out. 

It was a moment before he released a resigned sigh beside your ear, his warm breath brushing over your shoulder a sharp contrast to his cold skin pressed against you. 

"Will you come back to bed after?" he asked. "Stay with me?"

"If that's what you want, I can stay with you for a bit longer this morning," you relented. "But only after I get all of that done."

Matt hummed out a noise of disagreement, shaking his head. "Uh uh," he mumbled. "I'll give you ten minutes."

You laughed once again, unable to help yourself. "Excuse me? You'll give me ten minutes?" you asked him. "What happens if I take longer than that?"

Gradually he drew his thick thigh from off the top of you, his cold hand retreating from your stomach soon after. Your brows briefly furrowed before he gave your ass a light, unexpected smack. Instantly your eyes widened in shock at the gesture. 

"The Devil will bring you back to bed," he warned. 

That familiar dark, gravelly tone of his was hard to miss, even with how congested he sounded. A jolt of something shot through you at his threat, the hair on the back of your neck raising. Matt rumbled out a noise behind you in response to your body's reaction. 

"Better hurry," he teased. "Time is running out, sweetheart."

Tossing the covers off of yourself, you climbed out of bed and grabbed your phone from the nightstand. Though as you headed to the bathroom to check the medicine cabinet and grab the thermometer, you admittedly found yourself curious about what a sick Devil might do to you if you took too long. 

[paimonial-rage]

symbiosis - ayato

[random writing event] | requested by @andromeda-nova-writing

“My lord,” you began, “With all due respect, this is exactly why the new interns never last long.”

Ayato hummed in thought as he made his way down the halls of Tenshukaku. Upon his face was his usual smiling expression, a mask he learned early on in his career as Yashiro Commissioner. And there you were a few steps behind him as was proper for retainers.

“Is that so?” He replied with mock curiosity. “I can’t say I saw anything wrong with how the meeting went. Such is normal for the course of the commission, after all.”

He didn’t have to turn around to know you were shaking your head in exasperation.

“With all due respect, supporting you through seven financial meetings, four meetings with the branch families, thirteen inspections, and eight financial reports due by the end of the week would make even a competent worker cry.”

He nodded with a hand against his chin in thought.

“Yes, not even I expected they would break out into tears.”

“Excuse my forwardness, but any normal person would have learned to expect it by now. Perhaps it would be prudent to schedule a visit with the doctor to check your memory, my lord.”

He chuckled.

“The way you find such things to say is fascinating. Perhaps I should assign more work to devote more of your creative mind to.”

There was silence for a few seconds.

“My apologies, my lord. Unfortunately, my schedule is completely full. Perhaps another time.”

As he continued to his next engagement, Ayato couldn’t help but find it amusing the back and forth you both often had. You were a spy, after all, and not one of his. That being said, you were not anyone else’s either, much less one of his enemies’. You infiltrated the Yashiro Commission and worked your way up to his side based purely on personal motives.

Though it was well known he placed loyalty and trust above all else, you were a bit of a special case. A bit of research into you revealed you were from a fallen family subordinate to the Hiiragi clan. Through corruption and intimidation, your father was framed for bribery and theft and was thus executed by the Shogun herself. It would make sense that you, as the only child of the family, wanted revenge.

Thus, it was a smart move on your part to align yourself with the Yashiro Commission. As Ayato had connections and leads from all over Inazuma, as long as you remained by his side, you gained access to all the information you could ever need. As to why he didn’t expel you the moment he learned of your difference in loyalty? Your enemies were the same as his, but ones he couldn’t touch. It served him just as well that you would get rid of them.

Besides, he had to admit your company was much appreciated. You performed your duties effectively and efficiently without room for complaint. And though you had a tongue on you, it gave a reprieve from all the false smiles and niceties he had to endure on a daily basis. Dare he say it, he enjoyed being around you. It made him wonder…

“And once that time comes that you’re finally free, what will you do then?”

Would you leave, finally able to live your life for yourself?

He didn’t have to wait long for your response.

“I’ll devote my everything to you, my lord.”

He couldn’t stop the smile that came to his lips.

“Then I shall hold you to it.”

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Hi!! Really like your writing could we possibly get a drabble or something like that of Middle Schooler Yuu?

Hell-Raising Gremlin: A Middle Schooler

Synopsis: Yuu is a cringy middle schooler that curses a lot and insults people

Cw: Cringe writing. Yuu is 12 and Gn. Cursing. They call Riddle stupid and tell Azul he's gay. No romance ofc. Not proofread

“What the fuck?” Was one of the first things that came out of your mouth when you kicked off the door to your coffin. A crowd of eerily robed people turned to stare at you as if you were the weird one for wearing normal clothes. Each person had matching eyeliner and wait, does that person have horns… and a tail? What sort of fucked up LARP furry cult were you kidnapped into?

“Honestly…” Another voice rang out “Coming through the door of your own accord is virtually unheard of, why are you in such a rush?” A bird masked individual said as he approached you, two glowing yellow orbs peaking through the mask, each part of his person accessorized to fit a perfect aesthetic. Okay, thats a pretty cool costume you’ll admit, but it still doesn't change that you are obviously in the wrong place.

"Um… probably because some strange carriage literally kidnapped me and forced me into a coffin and then I woke up here? I don't think I'm in the right place."

"Hmm I don't think you are entirely lucid yet… a side effect of the teleportation magic perhaps…" the man wondered out loud.

"Can you break character for a second and tell me where the hell I am, dude?" You glared at him and a few of the weird adults around you laugh. You keep a brave face despite the fear building up.

"You are at Night Raven College, a prestigious magician training school in Twisted Wonderland." The masked man states bluntly and confidently like that explains everything.

"Didn't I just say to break character? I'm not playing DND here or anything, I need to get home, I'm not supposed to be here in this weird cult thing… I need to get home!" a few more laughs reverberated in the crowd.

"I'm being serious, this is a school for magicians"

"Right well… I don't have magic. How's that?" You give a smug smirk. "So please send me home?"

The man just gives an infuriating blank expression. "Why, you are here because the black carriage recognized you as a powerful mage! You should be quite proud of that given how young to appear to be! Please stand by and the mirror will sort you into your dorm shortly!"

"I was kidnapped first of all, and I don't even have that weird robe thing! Look dude, you got the wrong person! I'll go up to that mirror right now and show you!" You assume this "magic' mirror was just some computer check in thing. Hopefully when you give your name it'll prove you aren't on the list of whatever the fuck this is.

"My, so hasty… such is the youth I suppose. Fine then, go up to the mirror."

You must give props to this actor for staying in character the full time, but now wasn't the time. As you approach the mirror you hear whispers, and you see 5 individuals and a floating tablet standing by it, looking as superior as they could. Some glared at you, others looked intrigued.

The mirror spoke, "State thy name."

"Yuu…"

"You're soul is… invalid… I cannot read it. Therefore I sort you in no dorm."

The crowd murmurs amongst themselves as the masked person looks genuinely surprised. "Well then. I must apologize, there must be some mistake." You exhale in relief. Finally he gets it. "Mirror, send this person home!" No response. Why was he asking the mirror?

"Ahem… Mirror take this person—"

"I cannot."

"... huh…" You frown

"This child's home is nowhere. They do not exist here. They are from another dimension. Therefore, they cannot be sent home."

The crowd's murmurs get louder. You still don't believe in this whole weird magic school act thing. "Are you fucking kidding me, did I seriously get isekaied by a horse drawn carriage?" 

At that you see the floating tablet mute themselves. Before you could even turn around and ask for the masked man to get a real person to send you home, a strange creature runs in front of you. You stared at it in complete shock.

"Mrahaha! If they can't join this school, then there's room for me!" The weird cat thing talks. Flames came out its ears and its tail was forked. What the fuck, what the fuck. How is this cat on fire and talking?

The crowd laughed at the cat's words. "Oh yeah?! I'll show you!" The creature yells out. You didn't think much of it until you saw blue plumes of flames come from its mouth and aim directly into the crowd. The crowd yells and pushes each other around. You could feel the heat.

This couldn't be some high tech animatronic could it? You gawk as banners catch flames and you see some of the mages in the crowd casting water spells to put themselves out. Is this really another world…? No way… no way. You have to get hit by a truck for that! This just has to be a very weird fever dream...

Another blast of flames is fired across from you, growing bigger and bigger, threatening to engulf everything in the room. One person from before lets out an annoyed sigh and you see him turn to approach the flame. 

Without thinking you immediately run over to pull him back catching him by surprise and making him stumble. "Dude, what are you doing?!" The doll faced young man looks over at you in shock, before his race reddens.

"How DARE YOU try to—"

"Riddle enough! They were just trying to help!" Another taller green haired mad says with a clover on his face. "Come with me…" the man says before pulling you back protectively.

You watch as the strange ruby-haired man, Riddle– what a stupid name–, approaches the weird cat. He raises his arm before lowering it. "OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!" He yelled, and a strange collar appeared around the cat. The flames around the room suddenly die.

"Hey what gives?! What I'll just… huh?! My magic! Its…"

"Sealed away. That collar around your neck does not allow you to use magic." Riddle states. "No cats are allowed are celebrations, your very existence here is a violation." A few robed figures go to grab their cat and toss him out.

"Damn…" you mumbles as you step put from behind the stranger that protected you.

"You there, child." Riddle states, still looking upset. "What you did was dangerous, you should have never stepped in to try to help."

Oh this dudes attitude pissed you off with how condescending he sounded. "Well sorry for trying to fucking make sure you didn't burn yourself. God forbid I didn't know you could do that weird collar thing."

The green haired man paled and the face of Riddle got red. "Excuse me?! You need to learn how to treat your superiors with respect–"

"I respect whoever respects me regardless of age! And you're not superior at all! You throw tantrums like a kid!" You spat back and the crowd seemed to laugh. The green haired man tries to pull you back. "Come on now, Yuu try to be nice…"

"Why would I? He's the one that started it! He can start yelling at people for no good reason but I can't? Hell who the fuck even names their kid Riddle its such a stupid name!"

Riddle was fuming at this point and everyone just seemed to either cringe or watch in rapt excitement. "IT IS NOT! You have not followed a single rule of the entrance ceremony! Those who don't follow the rules should be punished! Especially rude ones like you!"

"Did you not hear the mirror? I'm not from this world! I literally don't know any rules at all! How are you gonna get mad at me for that?! You're the one that keeps yelling for no reason and then getting mad at me for giving back the same energy? And now you're trying to threaten me!"

"Enough!" The red head yells. "Apologize now or it's off with your head!"

"Oh no my magic that I totally have! I'm so scared! Go ahead and do it! You're only punishing me because I'm right! You can't ever comprehend being wrong so you need to make yourself look stronger in every other way because you're a coward and a control freak! I may not have been in this world long, but something tells me in the real world you can't collar everyone that upsets you! You're a coward and a god damn fucking tyrant that feels the need to prove himself superior to a fucking TWELVE year old just because I had the audacity to try and help you! I am twelve and everyone here appears to be an adult yet none of you are actually helping me! I wanna go home!"

"Enough!" The masked man's voice yells out and you huff and look away. "That is enough for both of you." You look over at another man with blueish hair and glasses along with a mole struggling to hold in a laugh. You narrow your eyes. "Oh I just KNOW your bitch ass isn't laughing with your birthing hips and gay little face!" The man's eyes widen and he stares in shock for moment before looking down at himself. The crowd erupts in laughter.

"Yuu!" The masked man reprimands before sighing. "Dorm leaders! Take your students to their new homes! I will deal with this… situation" As everyone left, you glared at Crowley.

"It's about time you fucking listened me, hot topic wannabe ass." Crowley could tell that this child would fit in perfectly here.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Words of Wisdom

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Synopsis: After years of having feelings for your lieutenant, Soap convices you to confess how you feel.

Warnings: none

You and the 141 had just gotten back from a rather tough mission. The mission itself was a success, but you had seen things within the intel you recovered you wish you could unsee. You were investigating a gang that was notorious for killing and torturing perceived enemies. The things on the tapes you recovered showed just how much pleasure the members took when doing such things. 

The boys had seemed rather undisturbed by the images, or rather they hid their emotions better than you had. You were shaken to the core, and silent on the plane ride home. The boys had tried their best to comfort you, to no avail. 

It was a few days later when Soap had approached you with the idea of joining him and the team at the local bar. Figuring it would be a great way to let off some steam, you obliged. 

You and Soap were sitting at a table at the local bar, watching Price, Gaz, and Ghost take turns at darts. You found your eyes lingering on Ghost. You had grown quite fond of the man since you two had started working together. The two of you just "clicked." Often finding yourselves in each other's company and enjoying each other's humor. You'd daresay the two of you were good friends.

"You know, you should just tell L.T. how you feel. Might be more effective than making googly eyes at him all the time." Soap chided, grinning from ear to ear as he finished off his beer. The Scotsman knew of your feelings for Ghost and had for some time. He swore to keep the information to himself, but that didn't mean he wouldn't nudge you from time to time to spill the beans to the masked man.

"I can't." You groaned, throwing your head in your hands. "Not only is it not ethical, as he's my lieutenant, but what if he rejects me? Johnny, I don't know how we'd come back from that."

"Never know until you try Lassie. Who knows, he may return your feelings." 

"I don't know." You huffed.

"Look, all I'm saying is what's the harm in putting yourself out there. The two of you deserve to be happy. Worst case, if he happens to reject you, I doubt he'd treat you any different. Man can be an arse, but it's clear he has some sort of soft spot for you." Soap said as he squeezed your shoulder gently. 

"I just think maybe he feels like he doesn't deserve anyone to care about him. He barely lets us get close to him as is. It's taken me years to get a fraction of the walls he has up, down." 

"True, I think possibly he just doesn't know how not to be "Ghost." Soap smiled sadly. "Maybe he needs someone to show him how to be himself again, in a way a friend can't."

You chuckled slightly, "Who knew you had so much wisdom in you, Johnny? Perhaps I should get you some more beers. Who knows what other words of wisdom the great Soap McTavish has in store."

"Oh you have no idea." Soap laughed. 

"I'm gonna go grab some air, I'll be back." You said, standing up to stretch. The air had gotten too stuffy, and you knew if you stared at Ghost any longer it would become too obvious. 

You made your way past the rowdy patrons of the bar, toward the steps for the roof access. As you opened the door the gust of cold wind hit your face, making you shiver.

You stared out into the night sky, watching your breath evaporate into the cold air. You stood there for a while, letting your thoughts wander, distracting yourself to the point you didn't hear the door open and shut behind you.

"Bloody freezing out here." You turned at the voice and saw Ghost walking toward you, rubbing his hands together. His usual skull mask was replaced with a simple black balaclava while donning a loose black hoodie and jeans. 

"That it is. Feels nice, though. That bar was stuffy as hell." You chuckled. 

Ghost said nothing in reply, just nodded his head as he came to stand next to you. 

The two of you stood in silence for a short while before he spoke up. "Wanted to make sure you were okay. Still seem pretty shaken up after that mission."

"Yeah, I'm good. Was a rough one, so I had a few drinks to shake it off." You stated plainly, picking at the chipped paint of the roof's railing. "Just was weighing on my mind more than I should've let it."

"You seem to have more on your mind than just the mission, Sergeant. You've been quiet tonight." Simon's gaze on you was intense. You could feel it burning into the side of your head.

"Alcohol has a tendency to run my brain a mile a minute. Came up here to try and quiet out my thoughts." You admitted, turning to meet his gaze. As your eyes met, you could see his expression soften. "And you? Doing okay?"

"Another day on the job." He grunted in response. "I'm willing to provide an ear if you need someone to talk to. Not always the best at advice, but my ears work wonders."

You found yourself staring at each other for a few moments. His expression still softened from before. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol or the look he held in his eyes, but you found yourself growing confident, so you decided to go for it. You would go crazy if it had gone on any longer without him knowing. 

"Can I speak freely then? And not to my lieutenant, to Simon."

"Course?" Simon looked perplexed at your request, but waited for you to continue. To say he was nervous about what you were going to say was an understatement.

"I want you to know that I see you. I really see you." You started nervously. There was no turning back now for you. Thinking of the words Johnny had said, you knew what you wanted to say. The question was, how would Simon take it? 

"Pardon?" Simon was even more perplexed at this.

"What I mean is… you have this facade that you carry around, making people believe that you're just some cold, distant man. I see through that. I see past Ghost, and I see Simon. Someone who is so worthy of being loved and cared for, someone who deserves happiness. I worry that perhaps you lost sight of him. I just want you to know that even though you may not see yourself as worthy, I do." 

Simon tensed at your words as they replayed over and over in his head. What exactly was it that you were trying to tell him? You were right, though, he didn't see himself as worthy of anything. After all he's lost in his life, he doesn't think he deserves having anyone close to him. 

Sensing his internal struggle, you continued. "I'm trying, poorly, to tell you that I care for you more than just as a friend. I have for a while. I was always too nervous to tell you because I didn't know how you'd react. And, frankly, I didn't want to lose you as a friend. I'd rather have that than not have you in my life at all." Your confidence was starting to falter. You knew he may not have much to say in reply, but you weren't expecting total silence. 

Simon only continued to stare at you, his dark eyes scanning your face, betraying none of the emotions he was actually feeling inside. He did care for you as more than just a friend. He's loved you for years, but believed he never deserved to have you like that. He had always been okay just being friends, as that's all he thought he deserved. There were so many things he wanted to say, but no words could convey what he was thinking, and all he could do was watch as your face fell. 

"I um. I'm sorry. Perhaps that was highly inappropriate of me. I shouldn't have said anything. We can just forget this happened, yeah? I'll catch you in the morning, sir." You whispered out, your emotions now hitting you like a truck. You didn't want to cry in front of Simon and make an even bigger fool of yourself. You wished you hadn't said anything, fearing now that things would never be the same for the two of you. 

You turned to start walking toward the door when his voice grabbed your attention. "Y/N."

You turned back to look at him, only to see that he had removed his balaclava. You'd never seen him without his mask before, and you couldn't help the small gasp that emitted from your mouth. 

You walked slowly toward him, admiring his features. His eyes were even more vibrant without the hindrance of his mask. You could see the freckles dusting his skin and the redness in his cheeks from the cold. To you, he was the most beautiful man you'd ever laid eyes on. 

Simon remained still, his eyes watching your reactions carefully. He was nervous how you'd react to seeing his face, but he figured this gesture was the only way he could show you how he felt.

A small smile was growing on your lips as you reached your hand out slowly toward his face, waiting for a sign from him that it was okay to touch him. He gave you a curt nod, so you placed your hand softly on the side of his cheek. His skin was warm and softer than you had expected. He closed his eyes at your touch and leaned into your palm slightly. 

"You are so handsome, Simon Riley." You breathed, stroking his cheek lightly. 

He opened his eyes at your words and looked down at you. You had both stood there staring intently at one another until Simon leaned forward to place his lips on yours. You sighed at the contact, pressing yourself into him further as you reciprocated the kiss.

He pulled away moments later with a hint of a smile on his face. "What do you say I take you back to base, make you a cup of tea? Too bloody cold out here."

"After you, sir." You beamed up at him, your cheeks now burning red from not only the cold but from Simon's kiss. 

He took your hand before placing his balaclava back on, and led you back down to the exit of the bar. As you passed Soap, you could see him wink at you, while throwing you a thumbs up. 

~~~~

A/N: I'm not sure if I wanted to turn this into a smutty part two as well or just leave as is. Hope you all enjoyed it!

[ellephlox]

Strawberry Rhubarb

Summary: You get kidnapped by Fisk.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Warnings (please read this entire list before proceeding!): Violence, blood, forced nudity, physical assault, torture, feelings of inadequacy, torture with knife, strong profanity, burning, stabbing, concussion.

A/N: This is set sometime in S2 when Fisk doesn't know for certain that Matt is Daredevil, but he is suspicious of him and definitely doesn't like him.

Also, it's a bit long, so I skimmed it for mistakes, but that's it. I'm at the airport because I have to fly home for a family emergency and I'm too tired to bother reading through critically lol

Everything was pitch black, except for a thin band of light, directly in front of your eyes.

You squinted, thinking at first that it was light coming underneath the bedroom door; had you left the kitchen lights on? But it was too high up to be the floor. Your phone, then. Your phone must have lit up with a notification and you could just see the light underneath it.

And then you realized there was a cloth around your head. For one wild moment, you thought Matt had put his black mask on you, and that this was something intimate that he was initiating, but something about it didn't feel right. The cloth was wrapped too tightly, for one, and the slit of light that you could see suggested that it was ripped in the center, and Matt's mask had no tears in it. Vaguely you remembered walking into the post office to mail out a letter, and something hitting you hard in the back of the head, but everything else was blank.

A gruff voice spoke. "Is she awake, Hanson?"

"Vitals suggest she's conscious," a cool voice responded. "Should I proceed?"

"Yes. You got into her phone?"

"I had Underwood hack it within five minutes. Passcode has been disabled."

"Good. We'll send a warning to to him. From what I anticipate, he'll be willing to come here of his own accord."

Fisk. Dazedly, you placed the voice as Fisk, and the cooler voice as some unnamed assistant. Your heart lurched, thrumming so hard that you thought it might burst out from your ribcage. All rational thoughts had abandoned you; never had you and Matt discussed what to do if someone ever kidnapped you. Sure, you'd had conversations about self-defense and fighting techniques; there had been the random nights that Matt tried in vain to teach you had to send a proper roundhouse kick at an assailant. And of course you'd nagged him about what the plan was if he was to ever get kidnapped by someone he was trying to take down.

But this scenario? It had never even crossed your mind, and the panic of having no idea what to do was gnawing at you.

The person on your left, with the cooler voice — Hanson — stepped forward and ripped off the black mask that was wrapped around your head. You blinked at the blinding light, unable to see for a moment until your eyes adjusted.

Hanson, a wiry man with a receding hairline, was appraising you. He held your phone, and a thrill of fear flashed through you at what texts or photos might be incriminating on there. "Should I send a video, sir? Or would a phone call be more effective?" he asked.

"Underwood's search of Mr. Murdock's files suggest that he has no light perception, though we're still uncertain as to whether forged notes and doctor intervention could have fabricated those documents," Fisk said, his face twitching. "Send an audio message instead. A picture may be a worth a thousand words, but hearing, on the other hand... that's exponentially more powerful, is it not? To be on the safe side; we want to ensure that Mr. Murdock receives our message."

"Understood, sir."

You closed your eyes as your brain tried to catch up with what was happening. If Fisk kidnapped you, did that mean he knew Matt was Daredevil? You tried futilely to think of a way that he could have found out, but came up with nothing. Matt had pissed Fisk off recently; he'd told you that things had gone sideways when they spoke together, and it ended with fists flying.

But he couldn't know Matt was Daredevil. You told yourself this over and over again in an attempt to calm yourself down. Besides, you didn't have hardly any texts with Matt that they could read, you realized — you had mercifully cleaned out your phone to get more storage just the other day. That also meant you'd saved your photos to a different drive and deleted them off your phone. Hope burgeoned in your chest.

Matt's identity isn't entirely doomed because I was stupid enough to get kidnapped.

"You may begin, Hanson," Fisk said, folding his hands together, and the same lightning strike of panic went to your core.

"Wait." Your mouth was dry from disuse. Playing dumb had to be the best course of action; at least, it was the only plan you could think of in your muddled state. "I can give you money, I swear, I have cash in my wallet — you can take my credit cards, I don't care, please just let me go." The end of your sentence finished with a sob, and you didn't need to act at all for that to come out naturally.

"If Murdock comes on your behalf, then we'll let you go," Hanson said flatly. "You'd better hope that your boyfriend truly cares about you."

"Boyfriend?" You drew in your eyebrows. "I swear, I know of Murdock — friend of a friend, invited a few of us over to his place once or twice — but I have nothing to do with him! If he's involved in something illegal — or, I don't know, something with you folks — I don't know about it, please believe me — just let me go—"

Fisk sat down on the chair in front of you, settling himself in slowly. His eyes bored a hole into your skull and you couldn't help but look down at his shoes. "You think I do things lightly, Miss L/N?"

"I don't know. I don't know who you are or what you do."

"I've always found that those who are methodical will always win. Funny, really, that Aesop could articulate such a fundamental principle with a puerile story. When I was a boy, I wanted the hare to win. I didn't think it was fair that the tortoise should enjoy victory when it was the hare who seemingly had the predisposition, the potential, the skillset to win. But I learned. I discovered, through my own folly and mistakes, that it is not the person with the most resources who gets to the top. It's the one who strategizes, the one who is thorough."

"I don't understand." You were shaking where you sat; you could feel the muscles in your hands jumping as tension stretched taut through you.

"Let me spell it out for you, Miss L/N. When I want to win, I take my time. And I took my time in getting to know you. I've seen your family, your yearbook photos, the first job you had. I've read your college recommendations and seen your SAT scores. I've spoken to your therapist and friends. I know the exact day that you began seeing Matthew Murdock and I have footage of all the dates you've ever been on with him. So, when I suggest that you do not try lying to me, I am recommending it for your own sake, lest you want to lose your tongue."

Never had you felt so cornered in your life. Fisk sat in front of you like the opposite of light at the end of the tunnel — he was a black hole, sucking every bit of hope from the room, and in that moment you were certain you would not leave this room alive, and a silent voice within you begged that at least it wouldn't be messy, for Matt's sake.

"Start recording," Fisk ordered, and Hanson picked up your phone. Dread coiled in your stomach as it rang. Based on where the sun was in the sky, you'd been gone for awhile and it was unlikely that Matt was already wondering where you were. He'd receive and listen to any audio file sent to his phone almost immediately.

The way Fisk's eyes settled, calm and snakelike, on you made your heart freeze. "Y/N, say hello to Mr. Murdock."

You said nothing. Obeying him, putting your voice onto that audio message, felt like a betrayal of sorts. Maybe it was just the headache speaking, from where you'd been knocked out, but it felt all kinds of wrong to open your mouth and follow through with Fisk's intentions.

"Hanson, encourage her to speak," he said.

Hanson did not hesitate. He took out a knife and pressed it to the tip of your thumb. "Speak, or your thumb will be a centimeter shorter."

"Hello, Mr. Murdock," you parroted back, despising yourself with every word and shivering at what Matt would say when he heard the audio file. At what he would think of you. You knew he wouldn't blame you for getting kidnapped, but still, you hated that now you were just another burden for him — another person to save.

"Give me the phone, Hanson," Fisk said. He took your phone (if you made it out of this mess, you would definitely be sanitizing it) and spoke slowly. "I hope that this is enough of an incentive for you to stand down. You see, this is what you brought upon yourself when you decided to bring Vanessa into this. It was a mistake to say her name." He ended the recording and handed the phone back to Hanson. "Send that to Murdock, please."

"Yes, sir."

Once Fisk waved Hanson off, you felt even more apprehensive. You wanted to meet his eyes — to show that you were unafraid, to prove that he was making a mistake in holding you captive — but that was so far from the truth that you didn't dare make eye contact.

"We'll release you in soon," Fisk said, standing up. "I understand that this isn't pleasant for you, and I regret that you must be the way for me to make a point to Murdock."

"You're going to let me go?" you said, stunned.

"This is a long-term game plan, Miss L/N. This isn't like a movie, where we take people and behead them. No, I consider our tactics more mature than that. I intend to keep you long enough to show Murdock what I'm capable of, and to demonstrate to him that he should never again utter Vanessa's name."

"He's a lawyer," you said, your voice shaking. "And a damn good one. You'll be deep in legal trouble, so—"

Fisk laughed. "Do you know where you are right now, Miss L/N?"

You glanced around the room for the first time. Barren, cement walls, no windows. "A... lair of some kind?"

"As I said before, we are not children, playing out some movie," Fisk said. "No, this is a prison. A prison that I am in control of, as Murdock discovered when he visited to inquire about one Mr. Castle. You can rest assured that the extent of my control goes far beyond the walls of this prison, and the courtrooms are not exempt." He took a step forward and placed his hand on your head. You closed your eyes, trembling, as his palm brushed your hair, as though curious to know what the texture was.

"I apologize, Miss L/N, that you have been caught in this war between your boyfriend and myself." And then, without any warning, he swung a fist so hard into your abdomen that you choked aloud, all of the breath gone from your chest. There was no reprieve before he swung again, and you tried to curl up but the restraints around you made it impossible; you could only heave for breath.

That was only the beginning.

Once Fisk left, you didn't see him for a long time. He had said that you would be released "soon", but you quickly learned that was a subjective term; at least a few days passed with no word of him. You tried to tell time from when you were given food — which was sparing and meagre. Though you were no longer tied to the chair you had woken up in, the room was small enough that you still felt suffocated, and you could do nothing but sit on the corner, back aching, and wait.

At first, it wasn't that bad, as far as kidnappings went (at least, in your imagination). You were hungry, and not nearly enough water was provided, but that was the worst of it, aside from the discomfort of sleeping on a wooden bench. Your bones felt as though they were bruised all over and you were sore from shivering; your shoulders especially were taut from pain of being clenched for so long in the cold. The hunger, while throbbing at first, subsided to a dull feeling that you could attempt to ignore, and the headache gave you something to think about, at least, during the empty hours in the room.

Every thump that you heard, every shout... you couldn't help but hope that it was Matt, there to rescue you. There was a small part of you that began to doubt that he'd be able to make his way to you, let alone find you, as another few hours passed without anything happening.

Or maybe he'd cut his losses and was going to leave you there.

No, don't be dumb. That was ridiculous. Matt loved you. You loved him.

Oh, but what if you're just temporary for him? He could always go back to Elektra. Besides, Elektra at least wouldn't be weak enough to get kidnapped, you thought derisively. It would frankly be justified if Matt went back to her. He deserved someone who could keep up with him.

Maybe it was the dehydration that made your thoughts spiral even more, or maybe it was the exhaustion, because you only convinced yourself further that he wasn't coming, and that he had elected to leave you there.

I'm annoying. I'm always waiting for him, I'm always clinging to him, I'm like a leech that won't go away. He's probably realized how nice it is to have a break from me.

Or maybe he's met another lawyer. Someone really smart, someone who got a 180 on her LSAT and gives him a run for his money.

Karen, maybe. He always liked Karen. She's courageous, and passionate, and literally a model, and so much better for him than I am.

You were so lost in your own self-loathing that you didn't hear Hanson enter and started so violently that you gasped aloud when he spoke.

"Y/N, we're beginning a new recording."

"What?"

"Mr. Fisk would like a new recording to be sent to Mr. Murdock. Say hello."

This time, you kept your jaw firmly shut. It wasn't even out of a refusal to obey Hanson, but more out of your own reluctance to say anything to Matt, because you detested the idea of being even more of a burden on him.

This time, Hanson didn't wait for you to cooperate. He took out his knife and expertly swiped it near your upper arm, so quickly that at first you thought he missed, until a fiery sting flared, followed by the trickle of something warm.

Yet you remained silent.

"I might suggest you speak, Y/N. The quicker you talk, the less pain there will be, and Mr. Murdock won't have to receive quite as lengthy of a recording."

Feeling inspired, you spat at his feet. Hanson was quick to react — he flipped the knife up so that the tip was pressing into the back of your ear. "Did you hear me? Say hello to him."

When you said nothing, he applied pressure to the knife, and it began to cut through your skin; you couldn't help but gasp out loud, panic beginning to set in as red drips started to flow down your neck.

He's going to take off my ear he's going to take off my ear he's going to take off my ear—

"Hello!" you cried out finally, wincing at the stinging residue left where the knife had been.

"Good." Hanson tucked the knife away. "It makes things easier, doesn't it?" His gaze lingered on you for a moment before switching back to the phone. "Mr. Murdock, I'm undressing your girlfriend now. Don't worry, we don't intend to violate her."

"What?" you demanded. "You're not undressing me!"

Hanson ignored you. He took his knife and ripped your shirt open, removing every bit of fabric from you — including undergarments — until you were shivering, goosebumps crawling up your flesh where you made contact with the cold wood of the chair. You tried to cover yourself to no avail; the cuffs made it nearly impossible to give yourself ample cover. With no other choice but to sit in the chair and wait for Hanson to leave, you closed your eyes as tears rose.

Do not cry in front of him. Distract yourself. Ask him a question, get him talking.

"Why undress me?" you asked finally. "What's your endgame here?"

"Mr. Fisk wants you to understand the power he holds," he said smoothly. "And he wants Mr. Murdock to stop interfering. A show of power, especially with humiliation, is apropos for that sort of message, isn't it?"

"Fuck you."

"That's not the kind of diplomacy we're looking for."

"I don't care. Fuck you and your stupid messages. You're torturing someone who's got nothing to do with any of your shit, and as far as I'm aware, Matt was only fulfilling a legal obligation to talk to Fisk. You're making a mistake."

"Was it his 'legal obligation' to mention Vanessa to Mr. Fisk? No? Then, I am sorry to say, we are justified in our actions." Hanson twirled the knife and drove it downwards, faster than the blink of an eye, into the top of your hand.

This time, you screamed. And it wasn't the only scream, either — when you glanced down, and saw the blade of the knife gouged straight through the top of your hand, staking your entire arm to the wooden chair, you screamed again, throat so raw that it felt as though it were tearing, because God, the pain, make it stop, there was no way that one little blade could make you feel as though you were being torn apart, atom-by-atom—

"Mr. Murdock, I hope you've made it to the end of this message, because Mr. Fisk has something he'd like to say to you," Hanson said, unconcernedly straightening his tie. "Never bring Vanessa into this again, ever. Good day."

He clicked the end button on your phone and typed a few buttons as he delivered the audio file.

And that was the last thing you saw. Your tunneling vision collapsed altogether and the wooziness of looking at the blood streaming down your fingers took your consciousness.

When you awoke next, everything was pitch black. The light that used to stream in from the hallway was gone. You couldn't see your hand, not that you particularly wanted to, but it felt hot and irritated, though the blood around it had clotted. That was the one good thing, you supposed, though you had a suspicious that the heat around it was not as good. But maybe heat was good. Like a fever — fevers meant that the cells were killing the bad cells, right? Perhaps the same principle applied to knives-in-hands.

Then again, you weren't sure how straight you were thinking at the moment.

Every so often Hanson would enter, leaving you squinting in the jarring yellow light that he brought with him. Best case scenario, he'd add a cut to your collection, taking the tip of a new knife he had to make you bleed. Worst case scenario he tried something new — choking you, grazing your foot with a lighter. Either way, you learned to be obedient, and whenever the recording started, you said hello to Matt, just as he wanted you to.

And then, as time blurred and warped into a funhouse kaleidoscope of nonsense, you were no longer in that room. You didn't even remember being taken out of it. One moment you were lying on the floor, trembling uncontrollably from the cold, and the next... you were being handled roughly, thrown down, and left alone. The roar of a vehicle beside you was loud enough that you opened your eyes.

Water. There was water near you. The Hudson? The wood beneath you was damp, like a dock.

And next to you, sitting silently, was your phone. Hands shaking, you reached out, wincing at the throb of pain and at the gaping dark wound where the knife had apparently been extracted from your hand.

It was your phone. You stared at it, unsure of what to do. Was this a test? Did Fisk leave you here as torture?

Or was this your chance to escape?

Which, at the moment, felt unlikely. Your legs weren't moving. You could hardly lift your head, for whatever reason, and you were so damn cold that it made you want to fall asleep where you were, no matter how damn uncomfortable the dock was.

Or... you could call Matt.

Matt. You wanted to cry at the thought of him. Why hadn't he come for you? He probably was tired of how needy you were, how incapable, how useless compared to Elektra. But you stared at the contacts in your phone, then at the various cuts on your body. There was no one else to call.

You clicked his name, unsure of whether he'd pick up, but on the very first ring his voice was there. It sounded like an ethereal tether, anchoring you back to a reality that you hadn't been to in days, not since before you had been kidnapped.

"Y/N?" Matt said, almost breathless.

God, you missed his voice. And being in his arms. Suddenly you wanted to sob, just at hearing him, because hearing him meant everything would be alright. Matt's voice was comfort, it was home.

"Y/N, are you there?" he said, this time more insistent.

Right. Answering him would be a good idea.

"Matt?" you said weakly, taken aback by the sound of your own voice. It sounded like someone had taken your voice box, air-fried it, left it in the desert, then thrown some shards of glass in for good measure.

"I'm here, I'm here, sweetie. Where are you? Are you okay? What can you see?"

"I..." Something was pulsing behind your eyes, and it was distracting. You closed them to alleviate the pressure. "I... what?"

"Sorry. One question at a time." Matt was speaking slower, now, and you were glad for it. "Are you hurt?"

"Mm. Probably. But I'll be okay." Worrying him seemed like the wrong thing to do. You'd be fine, of course you would be, because it would be embarrassing if you weren't fine. The thought of having to be rescued as well as being incapable of getting up and brushing off your knees was alarming.

"Y/N, I need you to look around and tell me what you see. I'm going to try to find you. Is that water I can hear in the back?"

"I'm... by the Hudson, I think." You tried lifting your head, but it sent electric bolts of pain down your neck. "Ow. I'm having a hard time looking."

"That's okay, sweetheart, you're doing great. What else can you see?"

"Streetlamps. Dock."

"Okay. Anything else?" There was rustling in the background of the call, then the telltale squeaking of Matt's apartment door. Was he headed to work? No, it was dark out, you reminded yourself. It was too late to go to work. He was headed for Josie's, maybe. Or to go see Elektra.

"Y/N, are you there? Don't fall asleep. Stay awake, listen to my voice."

You jolted upright, unaware that you'd been drifting. "Sorry. I'm here."

"The phone isn't picking up much of the audio, but I'm headed in your general direction. Keep talking to me, Y/N. I need you to stay awake."

"I'm not falling asleep," you protested.

Though sleep did sound really nice. You didn't even notice the cold anymore, and you were glad you were in the shadows of night, because if anyone found you, naked and laying there on the dock, you'd surely get arrested. Was it a felony to be naked in public? You couldn't remember.

And your hand, it hurt so much, it felt as though it were numb and on fire at the same time. You scratched at it, but it only made it throb more, and then you could feel the warm stickiness that suggested it was bleeding again, so you let it fall back down onto the wood and stared up at the few stars bright enough to penetrate the haze of New York City.

And then your eyes were shut, and you were reluctantly opening them as a sharp voice commanded something of you in the background.

"What?" you asked, trying to remember where you were. Right. The dock. Waiting for Matt, presumably. Was he coming? That didn't seem certain.

"Y/N, talk to me. You've got to stay awake. I think you've lost a lot of blood."

"Talk... 'bout what?"

"Tell me about the nearest building to you."

"Mm. Okay." You swung your gaze to the right. "Um, there's a bottle." And it was a big bottle. At first you weren't sure if you were hallucinating, but it was definitely there, and bottle-shaped. Art, you realized. A sculpture of some sort. "Big bottle. Big, big bottle."

"You're amazing, sweetheart. I know exactly where you are. I'll be there in five minutes, alright?" He didn't wait for your thoughts to drift. "Talk to me about your plans for Thanksgiving. You had plans for us, right?"

"Right." You struggled to think of Thanksgiving. It felt like eons ago that you'd been mapping out the holiday, like you were a different person entirely last you'd thought of it. "I want... homemade cranberry sauce. Not the jar stuff."

"Right. What's wrong with the jar stuff?"

You were exhausted; it was too tough of a question to answer coherently. You opted to ignore the question and moved on. "Mashed potatoes. With toppings."

"What kinds of toppings?"

"Um." Thinking was making your head hurt even more. "Butter? I don't know. Matt, it hurts." The admission slipped from your mouth before you could check it.

Stupid, you've got to keep him from worrying, he needs to think that you're alright, he can't know that it hurts.

"I know, I know it does, I'm going as fast as I can go," Matt said, and you assumed he must have been telling the truth — he sounded out of breath and his speech was punctuated with running footsteps.

It began to rain. It was a cold rain, the kind that felt as though it should be snow but the temperature wasn't quite low enough. It splattered across your skin and reminded you of the fact that you were naked. "Matt, I'm naked," you informed him, blinking as you looked down at your body. Blood was all over you; it was difficult to see where Hanson had targeted you. The burn on your foot was making itself known as it got wet in the rain, and you bit your tongue to keep from crying out.

But he didn't sound surprised. "I heard. In the audio file. I've got clothing for you."

Oh, yes. The audio files. How much of your kidnapping had Matt been privy to hear? You weren't sure if you wanted to know.

"What vegetable were you thinking?" he prompted.

Your eyes drifted open. "Well... that depends. What d'you want?"

"Whatever you want to have."

"Not fair," you objected, voice slurring slightly. It was annoying, trying to keep up with the conversation; you wanted nothing more than to sleep, even with the rain now pattering hard on your face. "I guess... peas are nice. Peas are Thanksgiving-y."

"I like peas. My dad used to make them all the time — he'd buy them frozen, heat the whole bag up at once, and melt butter in it. Then we'd keep it in the fridge for a week and it would be our sole source of a vegetable."

"Mm. Butter peas," you repeated. "I'll do that. What... what's your..." The word wouldn't come to your lips, and you paused for a few seconds. "Favorite pie?"

"Strawberry rhubarb," he said, but this time, the voice wasn't coming from the phone, but above you. Everything felt foggy, though, and for a moment all you could think was that there was a man above you, and that it had to be Hanson — Fisk must have wanted to take you back, and they were here to take you again, and please, you couldn't do this again—

"Hey, hey, it's me. It's me." The voice above you was Matt's, and his face came into focus as he kneeled next to you with a wavering smile. You drew in a breath, ignoring the stab of pain in your chest.

"Matt?"

"I've got you," he said, pulling you up into his arms. "I have you."

You couldn't help it; tears began to flow, because Matt's arms were so strong and safe, the exact thing you had longed for all that time in the cell. You could still feel your heart racing wildly and you tried to draw another breath to calm down.

Matt's head was tilted as he surveyed you. He must have left the apartment in a hurry, because he hadn't bothered to put on the red suit, or even the black outfit. He was still in his work pants, with an untucked collared button-down and a tie that was loose enough that it looked ready to fall off him. The only part of his ensemble that he'd put on was the black mask.

And, dammit, even lying in the rain naked and injured, you were still able to appreciate how good he looked.

"Okay." Matt's head was still tilted, and you realized he was appraising you. "Okay. We're going to be okay, sweetheart."

We. You felt a rush of affection for him, and reached outwards weakly with your uninjured hand. He took it, squeezing hard. "I'm here, Y/N." He took off a backpack that you hadn't noticed yet and helped you to sit up, slipping one of his larger tee shirts over your head as though you were a lifeless doll. You didn't mind the help; you wouldn't have had the energy to do it on your own.

He was exceedingly careful. His hands skated over the parts of your body that hurt the most, precisely aware of where he should and shouldn't touch in order to not aggravate the wounds. When it came time to putting on the pants, he practically lifted you up before putting your arm around his neck so that you wouldn't topple over as he pulled your pajama pants on you.

"Thanks," you murmured. "Sorry... sorry I'm useless."

He kissed your cheek gently, and then picked you up, carrying you away from the dock. "You're never useless. Never. I was..." He drew in a breath. "This past week has been hell. I tried to get into that prison dozens of times, but Fisk had it guarded so well that I couldn't — I'm sorry, sweetheart, I did everything I could — but it was a fortress. And the law couldn't help, the police couldn't help, because they've all been corrupted, and — well, I'll tell you when you're better."

You wiped roughly at your face with your good hand. "Can we go home? I'm... I'm scared he'll come back, that they'll try to take me again — I don't want to go back there. He knows I'm here, Matt, they dropped me off here, they know."

"We're going home," he promised, and then his face darkened. "If they ever even try to talk to you again, let alone touch you..." He broke off. "The point is, they won't. I will never let this happen again, do you hear me?" He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, a bit more roughly, as the anger broiling beneath the surface for Fisk crested slightly. "How are you feeling right now? Are you able to walk?"

"I'm fine." You shifted slightly. "I can walk." It was an ambitious offer, though. You were struggling to keep your head up and you weren't sure how long you could stay upright.

Matt exhaled. "I've already texted Claire. She's going to come to the apartment. You... you've been through a lot, sweetie. You've lost a lot of blood." He helped you to your feet, and you clutched at him, swaying uncertainly. It only took one step forward for you to yelp, as your burned foot seared in protest, and without another word Matt took you up in his arms.

"I'm fine," you insisted. "You don't have to carry me, really. I can walk."

Matt's face twisted. "No. You're... you're not in good shape, sweetheart. I can take it from here."

You didn't answer. His tone was more serious than you were anticipating, which suggested you'd underestimated your own injuries. The exhaustion that followed seemed to corroborate that. It was hard enough staying awake on the dock, but now, in the warmth of Matt's arms, and with the rhythmic jostling as he walked you away from the Hudson, it was enough to make the black start to descend on your vision again.

"Y/N, hey, stay awake. Don't fall asleep," Matt was saying, but as much as you wanted to listen to him, the heaviness won out, and you passed out, into a heavy blackness lined with the velvet curtains of dreamlessness.

Moments flickered in and out.

Claire's face. Determined, stoic, and at times, anxious. You wanted to say hello, or to say that you were fine, but your lips were lead and no sound emerged.

Then Foggy. Attempted smiles, cracked jokes that you couldn't hear or retain. Doughnuts, you noticed once, hazily drifting in and out.

Karen was there. Beautiful Karen, who you couldn't help but envy. Sitting beside you, reading beside you silently, glancing up at you.

And, of course, Matt's face. Constantly worried, constantly seeking out the sounds of your heart or wounds, fingers dancing over you to check for invisible damage. Sometimes he was sleeping in the chair next to you. Or he'd be pacing in the living room. Sometimes he had his work out with him, his fingers running over the braille keys as they popped up, but still his head was always slightly tilted towards you, keeping watch.

And then...

Hanson's voice.

You jolted upright, heart leaping into your chest as you glanced around wildly, certain that you'd see Hanson's polished shoes crossing the floor towards you.

"Shit, shit, sorry!" someone was saying, and you jarred your neck as you turned to face Foggy, who was guiltily setting down your phone. "I'm so sorry, Y/N!"

"Y/N?" Matt was next to you; how long had he been there? His face was anxious and he was holding your hand. "I'm sorry. Foggy and I were listening back through the audio files, trying to find clues as to where Hanson might be — if there's a chance we can go after him legally, Foggy thinks we should take it."

"He's... he's not here?" you said, uncertain, still feeling shaky from the adrenaline.

"No. No, he's not." Matt was looking at you sadly, his eyes almost locked onto your gaze but just a bit high on your forehead, and the near guise of eye contact made a rush of embarrassment flow through you.

"My bad," you said, struggling to sit up. "It just... took me by surprise, I guess, hearing his voice again."

"No one blames you," Foggy said automatically. "Jesus, slow down, Y/N — you nearly died of hypovolemia."

"Foggy's right." Matt settled onto the bed next to you. "Rest, stay laying down. You've been out for awhile."

"How long is awhile?"

"Awhile," was all he said.

"Did I... did I miss Thanksgiving?"

Matt's expression told you all that you needed to know. You groaned and flopped back onto your pillow, which was a mistake; your skull resounded with the impact and stars floated above you.

"You need to take it easy," Matt was saying, concern in his eyes. "You're not unbreakable, Y/N."

"Think I figured that out on my own," you muttered, shielding your eyes as the sun glinted off of the window. "Shit. I missed Thanksgiving."

"Not really," Foggy said. "We're postponing it. Homemade cranberry sauce and buttery peas will still be on."

His words tickled a faint memory in the back of your head, of lying in a dock and talking almost incoherently with Matt on the phone. "Aw. You two talked about... the plans? While I was out?"

"It was that or talk about the latest legal precedent issues that are making life hell for us at the office," Matt said, smiling. "But we would never do Thanksgiving without you." He rubbed his thumb gently against the top of your hand, avoiding the bandage where the skin was sensitive. You didn't even want to think about what that wound looked like.

"I'll have to run to the grocery store soon, then," you said. "And we have to buy a crock pot, Matt. And we need—"

"We need you to get better, first," he cut in. "Claire left some medication for you. You should take it now."

"I'm fine."

"Y/N."

"Matt, whenever I tell you to take your meds, you brush me off and say that you're fine." You tried to push yourself up onto your elbows. "I want to get ready, I want to get out of this bed — I feel like I've been out of commission for so long."

But Matt gently stopped you from getting up. "Sweetie, Foggy wasn't lying. You almost died. I need you to get better, okay? Rest, and heal. I'll be here."

"But—"

"Get some sleep," he whispered, and it wasn't really that unappealing an idea. You slowly lowered yourself back onto the pillow, this time avoiding the mistake of flopping backwards.

"Okay," you said finally, sleep already taking you. "But... I want to do two desserts, okay? One strawberry rhubarb."

"And the other?"

"Devil's food cake," you murmured, closing your eyes. "'Cause it'd be funny."

As you finally fell asleep, the last thing you heard was Matt's laugh.

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

OKAY it has been a day of being sad and panicky. Time to move.

Yesterday, I made a post detailing the cdc announcement that there will no longer be an isolation requirement for covid. If you are one of the thousands of people rightfully raging in my notes, here's some steps to focus on.

We're not gonna give up. I've seen quite a few comments with things like 'what's the point', 'why should I even try anymore' etc etc and what we're not gonna do is give them what they want! It helps the eugenics cause to be apathetic and listless. We've made it this far, we will continue to make it. I know it's hard, but I am at least right here with you. Give yourself whatever time you need to grieve, and then I need you to get up.

If you have stopped masking for any reason, or you haven't upgraded to a respirator style mask, now is the time to change or start. From now on, we will be living in a country where you could assume there are multiple covid positive people in the room with you at all times. Surgical masks will not handle that load, and cloth masks will be even less effective at that point. Obviously, this is an unprecedented situation we're putting these masks in, and I'm not gonna sit here and pretend to be an expert that can tell you with certainty that even respirators will hold up with this amount of viral load for a long period of time, but it's the best and strongest tool we have. I'm considering using my p100 more, so that's always something to consider as well (and they make you look like a cool raver when you wear them!!!). You can buy all sorts of masks here, there's more links in the comments of my original post, and most states have their own mask blocs. To find them, go to Instagram and type "[your state] mask bloc". Here is a google doc of verified advocacy groups and mask blocs all across the country here is a diy fit test kit you can buy for $30 (unfortunately they are sold out right now. shocker.) PLEASE remember to take a layered response in these times. Masks are not the only tool in our arsenal. PLEASE for the love of God keep up with your vaccinations. Make a corsi-rosenthal box or buy a high quality air purifier if you can afford it--at the very least our homes can be safe havens (you can even put a hepa filter on your furnace!!!! And in your car too!!!!!). Use CPC Mouthwash, nasal irrigation, and nasal sprays like this one. Make it a routine: you come home, you shower, you brush your teeth, you rinse your nose, you change your clothes. And, like I said in another one of my posts, DO NOT TAKE OFF THE MASK.

3. If you would like an outlet for your rage and you're into calling your reps, feel free to calmly but firmly let the cdc have it at these numbers!!!!!

[alt text: a tweet by user silly_paulie that reads:

"Disdain for the CDC unites us all. Call today and demand isolation policies be returned to 10 days, and reducing it further to 1 day would be criminally dangerous. Call both:

404-639-7000 (press 8)

800-232-4636"

end text.]

4. If you need more outlets for your rage, I STRONGLY encourage you to get involved with your local union. Moreso than calling the CDC, tbh. I've seen multiple comments telling people just to lie about your symptoms to get more sick time off, but since there's no legal precedent to allow employees sick time for covid, all that's gonna do is get people fired. I truly believe in my lefty heart that the ONLY way we're getting anything close to mitigation is through labor rights. Even the standard for the fucking flu is 3 days, and that's nowhere near as contagious or disabling as covid. I say this as a high risk person with a neuromuscular disability: covid is an intersectional issue, but where we have the most leverage to get what we need is through labor rights.

It is NOT safe for workers to be working while ill with a Level 3 Biohazard (same as TB and the FUCKING PLAGUE. Seriously we have more regulations around fucking lice)

It is NOT safe to willfully EXPOSE your employees to a Level 3 Biohazard

It is NECESSARY for all employees to be allowed up to 10 days to recover fully from Covid-19, in order to avoid possible further injury from or hospitalization

You will NOT die or be disabled for the sake of the wealthy!!!!!

(and while you're at it, ask for better air filtration too!!!! At least 5 air changes an hour, MERV-13 air filters!! Then we won't have to constantly worry about virus bs and policy changes in the first place!!!!)

5. Closing statements. Nothing has changed with covid, this is just policy. Covid still isn't magic, she still has to get in you before she can do damage--mask up, arm your home with clean air, and don't let her. It's always worse toward the end. This is not the time to give up, it's time to dig in your heels and get to work. There are so many good things happening with covid. They are finding encouraging treatments for long covid. Finally, after years of nothing, a new prophylactic for the high risk was submitted for emergency use to the FDA, and it looks like this time it's built to last against new mutations. Covid is here to stay for the rest of our lives, but the real science hasn't given up on taking the worst of its teeth out. We WILL get to the point where the extreme fear of catching covid is nothing but a bad memory for EVERYONE. All I need you to do is commit to the belief that you're gonna survive long enough to be in that moment with the rest of us.

Now stay safe, and give em hell!!!!!

[batwritings]

Kinktober Day 10 - Fingering

Back at it again! Sorry for the delay ya'll. ^^; Enjoy!~

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

You’re not entirely sure why you’ve had this fascination all these years. It was nothing weird, granted; you had a fascination for hands. Again not in a weird way, but you could see the beauty in them where others couldn’t. The stories that were told by every bump, scar, and line in them was something that drew you in and wouldn’t let you go.

That’s part of why you became a medic in the military. You knew these men and women got beat to hell and back, and often times on their hands. You wanted to see what they had seen if only through a brief glimpse of the battered flesh as you patched them up with gauze.

Enter Task Force 141, and more specifically Lt. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. You could tell by the mask that the man had seen his fair share of warfare amongst other things in his life. And this was no different when he came to you in the medbay one evening.

“Can I help you lieutenant?” you asked, sounding far too chipper for someone working in your field. You watched chocolate eye blink slowly, and a heavy sigh get muffled by his mask. The man holds up his left hand that was slowly oozing from a few different places. You stood immediately, ushering him onto a stool beside yours and grabbing your gauze pads and wraps. “What in the hell happened?”

You worked slowly, seeing his hand truly from outside a glove. “Cooking accident,” Ghost answered plainly, with a hint of annoyance. “Soap urged me to see you.” You nodded in response, careful not to stare too long or ask questions as you covered his finger and palm.

“Good that he did,” you smile at the man. You put away the excess medical equipment neatly in your smaller pack. “You’re right as rain. I know that’s not your dominant hand but that wrap job shouldn’t impede your movement in any way.” Ghost gave you a quizzical look and it truly dawned on you what you’d said. “Ah, I-I’ve gotta clean up the rest of the medbay, so…I have to ask you to leave Lieutenant. We’ve uh, got that big mission tomorrow anyway!”

Ghost left without a word and you sighed heavily. You really should be following his lead and taking your mind off what came out of your mouth. Sadly, the distraction followed your mind onto the field the next day, leading to the very same lieutenant dragging you out of the line of fire. 

“Thanks for the assist today Ghost,” you mumbled as you sat in your own medbay. You had a cast on your right leg for the next ten weeks thanks to your carelessness. The man shrugged, now in what were effectively his civvies. 

“You take care of us the rest of the time,” he retorted. “You should get to be taken care of once in a while.” You watched with growing awe as the same calloused hand you’d patched up last night tilted your chin up. Your entire body froze; his skin was so warm against yours, beautiful hands handling you so gently. “Thought this was what you might like.”

You jumped a bit, thankfully with minimal wincing due to the pain meds when you felt Ghost’s other hand slide up your thigh. “Just relax and let me handle you for a while,” comes that low, gravelly British accent. Thick, war torn fingers slip beneath the waistband of your regulation sweats and beneath the confines of your underwear. Your breath hitches when he finds the most sensitive part of your sex, hip raising to meet his touch.

“Eager are we?” Ghost teases, and despite the fact that you can’t see his face, you swear you hear a smirk. You whimper in response, trying to shift so you can pull down your pants and undergarments to watch. The lieutenant catches on quickly, helping to pull down the fabric while being mindful of your iv. 

You lay back, content when you can actually see the way Simon’s beautiful hands touch you. “That’s it sweetheart,” he rumbles, the praise making you whine a bit. You’re mesmerized, in shock even. It just baffled you how hands that could be so brutal, could take lives in the blink of an eye, could be so gentle and soft with you.

Meanwhile Ghost would watch your reactions for every spot he touched. Every gasp, every jolt of pleasure that made your body jerk, every little bit were noticed by patient brown eyes. He couldn’t help but chuckle when you would meet his curious eyes and immediately look away. 

Eventually the man grew tired of simply playing with you; he wanted to see more. Thick fingers found their way to your hole, and couldn’t help but smirk in amusement when your eyes grew wide. “P-please,” you whimpered, completely blissed out. Ghost leaned forward, pressing a muffled kiss to your head as he pushed one finger in.

Your hands flew to his shirt, gripping tightly to hold him close. The lieutenant could’ve sworn you thought he’d disappear, yet here he was, fingering you gently. When he felt you were open enough, he added a second, thick finger. He’d be lying if he didn’t feel so turned on by you gasping his name openly, forgoing titles or call signs. 

“Si–” you whimpered, hips rolling in time with the man’s thrusts. “Please, I’m so close–” Ghost contemplated making you wait, completely removing his fingers from you just to hear you whine. Yet he took mercy on you, speeding up his pace and curling his fingers when he was fully inside you.

The pressure, the pleasure, the overwhelming of your senses sent you over the edge quickly. Yet your eyes staying trained on those beautiful hands, working you through your orgasm. Only once you fell back onto the medbay cot did he stop waiting for you to catch your breath before he would remove his fingers slowly. 

Simon stepped away briefly to rinse off his digits and dry them before he’d return to you. He pet your head and even pressed another muffled kiss to your forehead. “Good thing I know how to take care of you too hmm?” He chuckled. 

“With those hands? Any day.”

[redbird-tf]

Mended Hearts

Nightwing x batsis reader

Summary: Nightwing awakens in the Batcave after a mind-controlling encounter with the Mad Hatter, only to discover he hurt the person he cares for most. How could he ever forgive himself.

Word count: 930

Warning: mention of injuries

Nightwing's head was foggy as he slowly gained consciousness, it felt like he had been out for weeks. His heavy eyes finally opened and recognized the familiar rock ceiling above him as the bat cave. He tried to sit up but found it impossible. He turned his head and found himself restrained to a medical table. His body ached at every inch, and his memory was fogged beyond belief, What happened to him?

“Bruce? Alfred?” He tried to call out, but his throat was raw and dry. He lay there for hours trying to remember what had happened knowing there was probably good reason he was in such a state. He turned his head hearing the door open and saw Alfred stepping into the cave. “Master dick, you're awake” he stated with a little shock in his voice, he walked over and began examining him. “What happened?” Dick asked. “Let me call master bruce first”

Less than 2 minutes had passed before the bat appeared, and made his way to dicks side. “Nightwing do you remember your name?” Bruce asked “dick grayson, what going on?” He asked growing more anxious “What was the last thing you remember,” Bruce asked again, “i- i don't remember, why am i here Bruce!? What happened!?” He asked pulling against his restraints. “Alfred?” Bruce questioned “i believe whatever effects mad hatter had on master dick have worn off” Alfred stated. “Someone answer me!” Dick demanded. Bruce sighed removing his mask and began undoing his restraints. “A week ago, we were dispatched to deal with the mad hatter after he escaped from Arkham. We had infiltrated his hiding place. We were dealing with his goons when you spotted Hatter and against my orders went after him alone. By the time i caught up, you were gone” bruce explained

“and how did i end up back here,” dick asked rubbing his wrist “Over the week I and the others responded to sightings of you and followed your trail. You were being mind controlled by him, you attacked multiple of us when we confronted you until i and Tim was able to take you down” Bruce finished. “Hatter?” He questioned for the last time, “taken care of” Bruce stated.

Bruce took dick back up to the manor to rest properly where he ran into Tim and Damian. “I see you're not beating anyone down anymore,” Damian said in his bratty voice. “I'm so sorry, both of you, i never wanted to hurt you…” he explained in sorrow. “Where y/n?” He asked turning to Bruce “On a mission, now go rest” Bruce demanded. Dick tried to sleep but was pledged by guilt, he couldn’t sleep until he knew exactly what he had done. He silently made his way down the bat cave stairs before pausing. “Are you planning to tell master dick the truth about y/n?” Alfred asked Bruce who was busy at the computer “No, i want y/n to be able to make that decision, he’s already too hard on himself” Bruce's tone was serious. Dicks mind started to run.“have you told her about Master dicks current state?” Alfred questioned back “No, i don't know how she’ll react” he stated coldly.

“What happened to y/n?” They both turned around in shock, “you should be in bed” Bruce started “What have i done!?” Dick shouted fear and anger laced his words. “Get in the car” Bruce instructed. They had arrived at one of the many safe houses and Bruce led him to a room slowly opening the door. There you were, an arm in a cast, heavy bandages around your head and throat, heavily stitched lacerations and hooked up to a heart monitor. Dick backed himself into the wall guilt and denial filling his body. “She was the first one to make contact with you…” Bruce paused seeing the fear on his son's face “I'll give you a moment” Bruce said excusing himself.

dick watched your chest rise and fall while you slept unable to look away. He couldn’t believe it, he had beaten someone he loved, his sister, to a bloody pulp. How could he let himself do that? “Dick..?” He broke from his trance seeing you awaken. More fear filled his body unknowing how you'd react to seeing your attacker. Your eyes were wide but slowly softened as you realized the man across from you looked more terrified than you. Your body was weak but you mustered the strength to hold your hand out towards him.

He was shocked but slowly made his way towards you, softly taking your hand into his, holding it as if it was made of glass. His knees collapsed at your bedside and tears streamed down his face. “Y/n i am so sorry for what I've done, I promise you’ll never have to see me again” he cried “No!” you screeched with a hoarse voice “Y/n, i almost killed you, You're not safe around me,” he explained grinding his teeth at the thought. “Please, dick...i still need you” you began to cry “i don't care what happened that night, it wasn’t your dick!” you said weakly gripping his hand “But it was..” he whispered “No, dick you were the first person i ever felt safe with. The only person i felt i could trust completely. I need you. Ill always need dick Grayson” you cried out. He embraced you so softly, allowing you to hide your teary face in the crock of his neck. “I'll be here as long as you need me”

[anamericangirl]

During the height of pandemic, I was among the people who didn't like anti-vaxxers because they claimed outlandish things. I remember getting into an argument with an anti-vaxxer who claimed that vaccines will make your heart explode or something. He deleted his comment quickly after but I was thoroughly unimpressed.

However, I wonder: why were you all against vaccines, masks and COVID-19 restrictions? What made you think that this is all bullshit and I should resist this?

We were against the mandates, mostly. If someone wanted to get the vaccine or wear a mask then fine they have the freedom to do it but making everyone do it is an unconstitutional restriction of liberty.

The government has no right to force people to take an experimental medicine. People were banned on social media and censored for asking questions about the vaccine. They were being punished for not blindly following what they were told to believe. We were told the vaccines were perfectly safe and there was no risk but there was no way they could know that because it was a completely new and untested medicine and there was absolutely no research or knowledge on long term effects. And it turns out the “anti-vaxxers” were right about pretty much everything. The vaccine doesn’t stop the spread or protect people from covid and if it did why the hell do you need to get three or four of those shots in a single year?

We know now there are some risks with the vaccine. Myocarditis can result from it and it’s something even the CDC quietly admitted to after a while. There is a risk of myocarditis especially in young people and they still encouraged people to have their kids vaccinated even though children are the demographic least threatened by covid.

And still, “anti-vaxxers” were treated as evil and dangerous. Threatened, even by the White House, with a winter of “severe death” that never happened. They were blamed, censored, mocked, and people even called for their death and for them to be put into “reeducation camps.”

Masks don’t work like they claimed either. There have been multiple studies, again quietly, published admitting this to be the case. And it’s something we knew even before the ridiculous mandates came down. And no one should have been forced to wear one. Ever.

And the restrictions were authoritarian and unnecessary and completely unconstitutional. Covid, from the very beginning, had an over 97% recovery rate and there was no justification for mandating people be locked up in their homes for what turned out to be way more than two weeks.

And they did it all under the guise of “oh we have to for your own good we’re saving lives!” When they weren’t. Nothing they made anyone do prevented the spread or helped at all and they knew it from the very beginning.

If it was really as bad as they said why were people arrested for going to church, having funerals, or visiting family in the hospital but not for engaging in violent riots across the country and why wasn’t anything done to stop people from flooding across the border illegally?

It should be resisted because it’s a violation of your rights and it was all a lie.

[not-my-final-account]

I flew back into the cave with my backpack and stepped out of a shadow, it made Robin flinch and that was worth it “Don’t be sad B, you’re nearly as good as him and you don’t have powers.” Red Hood said

“Do you eat human food?” Nightwing asked

“I can.” I said, Nightwing considered that and I realised it might look like I take blood just because I can. “We’ll let me show you to your room,” Nightwing started walking so I followed him.

-

“I know you hate magic users but he’s definitely something supernatural.” I said

“I know.” B grumbled

“He easily followed Dick and Dick clearly was not going easy on him.” Damian said

“Besides.” Tim cut it “He has that walk, like what he’s doing is too slow for him and there would be an easier way to do this, like with Superman and Clark Kent?”

“How long do you think he’s been alive?” I asked, “You know, if he’s a vampire?”

“Old as heck, he was experienced enough to know B wasn’t a vampire and he’s seen Demons.” Tim said

“That is ridiculous.” Damian scoffed

“Murder child is right, demons are rare and living after you’ve seen one is pretty much zero. Their like ghosts but way more common!” I said

“What if he’s not a vampire?” B asked. Silence.

“He was drinking blood.” I said

“And did you see the way he looked in the first few seconds?” Damian asked

“He is better and phasing from shadow to shadow than you! Better at the night than the Batman!” Tim said, B seemed to sulk a little more and I smiled behind my mask “He switched sides of the room without being seen by us!”

“That would take either years of practice- as in hundreds of years or powers. He probably has both.” Damian said

“Just considering all possibilities.” B replied

-

“Thank you!” I said. Nightwing closed the door and I fell down onto the bed in a belly flop, I changed back to my human form then switched back in a few seconds, now that I could do it for ages and even keep it up while knocked out I figured I should. Gotham was a dangerous city (seriously, both new and old ghosts keep coming to me and I have to let them use me to get to the ghost zone) and I should have my powers ready, also I have a whole vampire thing to keep up now.

What else do vampires do? Vlad certainly looks like one, in ghost form at least, that thought made me sigh. Vampires were hated and distrusted but not hunted down on sight like ghosts were, somehow I doubted Gotham would be any different. Besides even if ghosts were kept safe what would people think about a halfa? I was sent here to live not worry! I can’t wait until I can see Sam and Tucker though, oh well. I yawned, you’d think being a halfa meant needing less sleep because ghosts have this weird relatioinship with sleep, but in reality it just meant I got twice as tired because I use both human and ghost things almost constantly.

-

I drank from my thermos and sat on a high outcropping, I watched as a motor cycle roared in and a delicious Red Hood stumbled off. I wasn’t going to go close when I realised the smell was stronger and his eyes were glowing green. He had too much ecto in his system for a human!

I flew down quickly but Jason jumped me, I held him down and bit his neck cleaning his blood from the ecto. Jason thrashed in my grip then calmed down. I know personally that big changes in ecto levels can have effects so I stopped drinking, this was a slowly take more each time kinda thing.

“P-Phantom?” Jason asked, he slumped down and any human would’ve had trouble carrying him. “The pit rage.” Jason said, I’m going to look into this pit

“Don’t worry, you need rest, ecto- pit stuff can be dangerous.” I said, I cleaned the last ecto off my teeth and Red Robin and Nightwing came running

“Jaso- Did You Bite Him!?” Red Robin yelled

“… no.” I said, Nightwing gave me a look and I remembered the news report about which robins were the most violent, the one which showed him beating up some super villain, and handed him his brother.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[bookofmirth]

Can I ask who's side you were on from the Ember bonus chapter? Or are you kind of neutral on it?

Oof this is so complex, anon. This is going to be so long. And I doubt that this conversation will be settled any time soon.

I wouldn't say that I am neutral because I have Thoughts and Feelings, but I think Rhys and Nesta both had good points and did dumb things. I know this post leans in Nesta's favor, but it's not anti anyone. It's more my thoughts about how complex the situation was, and why I think people did the things they did, what was motivating them. Let me explain:

Should Nesta have consulted someone about giving the mask to Bryce, even just to borrow it? Yeah, I think she should have. I knew that she had done that prior to having read the bonus chapter, and in the back of my head I thought it was so... weird for her to have given this important object of power to Bryce without asking for anyone else's opinion? I felt like I was missing some context, like why does Nesta just hold onto these objects all the time and do with them what she wills? Guess my unease was right, because other characters do NOT like how she handles the trove.

The stakes from Nesta being wrong about this were insanely, astronomically high. And "astronomical" isn't even a metaphor in this case, it's literal. She wasn't wrong, but that is a huge, gigantic, ridiculous risk to have taken. Everyone in acotar knows that the Daglan/Asteri are the beings who oppressed them thousands of years ago, and now they have proof in Bryce's arrival that the Daglan are still up to their old tricks. For the Daglan to then have these objects of immense power, potentially?? OOF. And Nesta is newer to the fae world, she may not fully grasp the gravity of the situation, so she probably wasn't working with complete understanding of the implications.

I mentioned that the group chat has been ACTIVE on this topic, and @areyoudreaminof (I think it was Kelsey, if not correct me) said that perhaps Nesta was thinking that by doing this, she could help humans in some way. Maybe not the humans she grew up with, but somewhere, Nesta thought, maybe she could do something good for other people who are effectively powerless. So I understand why Nesta did it. This was also after she had spent a bunch of time with Bryce, they learned about each other's worlds, and I think they had attained a sort of understanding.

Also side note, but people didn't trust Nesta with Made objects in acosf either and that was condescending as fuck - maybe she didn't want to be just as shitty to Bryce as everyone had been towards her. I get why people don't trust them with these objects, but in a way it comes down to underestimating them and not understanding their intentions.

Was Rhys right to have lost his mind about the mask going to another world? Absolutely. The Night Court is his responsibility, which means that everything that happens there ultimately falls to him. His fears about the Daglan invading again have been real since he saw Aelin falling through the sky. He's been thinking about these very real threats for a while. Merrill is researching other worlds and although this hasn't been confirmed, I feel like she was brought there for that reason? To give him answers? Whether or not that's true, Rhys is the High Lord and the fact that some of the most powerful objects in their possession were off galavanting in another world without his knowledge, in a way that could literally lead to the destruction of their world - Rhys being understanding and nice about it in this situation would be totally unrealistic.

Rhys has also Been Through It in terms of war, court politics, fae bullshit. He has a much better grasp of what the consequences could be if Made objects get into the wrong hands. His fears aren't hypothetical, they are very real.

HOWEVER - was Rhys right to have treated Nesta the way that he did? Absolutely fucking not. I am honestly so sick of him being a dick to Nesta just because of shit she's done to other people. Not to him. It was so hard to read descriptions of Nesta's body language when they came back into the scene, after their fight. "Nesta's shoulders tensing, her head bowing". For Nesta to have been so thoroughly chastised by someone who already has a history of treating her like shit, it made me so mad. For Nesta, who has gone through so much growth and made so many strides to not hate herself, to regain confidence and better awareness of herself, to have been made to feel small - it makes me so, so mad honestly.

The thing is, we don't actually know the content of their argument, what Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel said to Nesta. All we have gotten thus far is the aftermath. Maybe Rhys tried to be tactful and then Nesta pushed his buttons, as she's done in the past. All we know is how Nesta acts afterwards, which doesn't make me feel charitable in terms of how Rhys handled it.

I think - and again I'll need to read more of the context of this fight which I assume we will see in acotar5 - but I think that one of the main reasons Rhys was pissed off and reacted the way he did was because of his ego (and fear, even if it's justifiable). He's so used to calling all the shots, to having everything under control, that I think he's not used to anyone else having power on the same level as him. Power in this sense refers to authority, the ability for other people to make these kinds of decisions without consulting him. He's used to being the Big Man in Charge and Nesta is clearly a threat to that. This is all my headcanon/assumptions about how he's feeling, but... I'd be surprised if I'm off the mark, based on his past behaviors and the way he makes executive decisions without consulting the IC, who ostensibly exist in order to support him.

Basically, I think that Nesta was on shaky ground in letting Bryce borrow the mask even though it did turn out okay in the end, but Rhys was wrong for acting out the way that he did.

This is only somewhat related to your actual question, but I think that this is one of the scenes that we will see in acotar5, made possible by having Azriel's POV, him as the main character.

[worriedvision]

arguing with alhaitham and reader goes to leave, goes missing for a bit, and comes back with no memory at all ! (make it hurt tysm)

Oh wow I'm doing another Alhaitham ask lol! Gender neutral reader, angst with no happy ending in the end. Basically really bad communication lands up having consequences. As much as I would like to do a part 2 of this, I feel like this is better just as itself. If anyone else feels like doing a part 2 of this, however, feel free to do so!

--

Another argument, another insult session between the both of you. Your insults were never hitting deep with Alhaitham, you didn't use his weaknesses against him.

However, Alhaitham was particularly mean this time. He insulted the fact you never got a vision, he insulted the fact you got too emotional at times, and he implied that he could aim a lot higher than you. You begin to cry, and Alhaitham lands the final blow before you run out crying.

"You are an embarrassment. Even Kaveh is more logical than you." Alhaitham shrugs, you running out and slamming the door behind you.

--

Deciding you needed some time to process those words, and to slowly get over the statement so you could both have a logical conversation that wasn't laced with insults. When you caught wind of a commission regarding a domain in Liyue, right before you enter Sumeru, you take it. You knew the traveler had so much on their plate, and recently they were enjoying the Mondstadt Festival, and you figured it was the least you could do for all they have done to help so many people.

The domain was very strange. Every turn you made, you heard a male voice telling you to leave while you still could. At the time, you believed this person was in a dangerous situation based on how they were out of breath when screaming out for you to leave. Pushing forward, you eventually come across a short man, clearly almost passed out completely.

"Why are you here, mortal?" He gruffs out. "My karmic debt has caught up to me, it will kill you." He chokes out, spluttering as he looks around. As he goes to grab his weapon, however, you take it instead.

The fight was difficult, but eventually the onslaught of enemies stopped completely. An opening in the domain seemed to be almost ready, but it was clear you needed to investigate another part of the domain. Ignoring Xiao's warnings, you rush in.

'Mortal, you must sacrifice something near and dear to you.'

"Huh?" You ask, looking around to see nothing but void surrounding you. "Who said that?"

'Oh, you poor thing. I can tell you are so...deeply hurt by your lovers harsh, harsh words.' The disembodied voice coos, you hearing a very muffled voice calling out for you. 'Let me take away the suffering.'

"What are you talking about?" You tilt your head, failing to comprehend how you forgetting someone special to you would help this individual.

'Dear, I am here to comfort you'. The voice explains. 'I can help you. I feed off of your negative energy, and this hurt from an argument is perfect.'

"Why did you say I have to sacrifice something near and dear to me?" You ask, hearing Xiao screaming for you to stop responding and wait for him.

'Just hurry up and say yes, and I can make you forget everything bad that lover of yours has said.' The voice tuts, clearly losing patience. You feel your health getting worse by the second, and in a moment of desperation you follow the rules. Saying yes, you feel yourself passing out as Xiao finally gets through the void.

--

"Well, I am the bearer of good news." Doctor Baizhu hums. "You are physically fit."

"What about the effects of the karmic debt?" Xiao asks, crossing his arms. "I need to know the magnitude of these memories being stolen."

"I'm afraid I can't say...It doesn't seem to have affected them, but neither you nor I know what they have agreed to forget." Baizhu hums.

"I should have forced them out when I sensed them. No mortal should be near me in a domain like that." Xiao huffs, looking down at his mask. "This all happened because 'someone' was worried about my lack of presence."

"So I can go home? I kind of need to get my commission sorted out, and I have some house chores I should get around to." You ask, Baizhu nodding.

As he watches your retreating form, he senses Xiao is feeling incredibly guilty for you coming along.

"Don't blame yourself for this. In fact, you got them out of that domain before the karmic debt got to them physically." Baizhu states, Xiao simply teleporting away.

--

"_, my dear." Alhaitham lets out a sigh of relief, thoroughly confusing you. "I have been worried sick about you leaving after the argument. It's been days! I wanted to apologise, tho-"

"...I'm sorry, sir." You start, just looking at him. "But I don't know you."