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cinnamonest · 3 years

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Razor (Genshin Impact) - Yandere Profile

@bleachlemon

I'm glad you are ok with it because oh boy do I have some very very n a s t y noncon-y thoughts about our wolfboi. We love a dense boy, not a single thought in his empty, horny lil brain. Head empty, just horny for y/n.

I also have the big horny™ for any cross between boys and canines... Does smth for me. As if my favoritism wasn't obvious by how much I've written below lmao

tw: general yandere content, violence, mentions of n/sfw

tw below cut: breeding, heavy noncon, like jfc this is nasty, misogynistic

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What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

The biggest issue with Razor is his complete and total lack of restraint. He sees no need for it, he has no real concept of social norms. Wolves don't really practice restraint on... anything. When they see something they want to kill, they kill it, when they see something they want to have, they have it, when they're mad, they attack, when they're hungry, they eat.

So in a way, he's perfectly lucid, but doesn't act as a normal lucid person who understands social norms would do. He knows that you give him some burning, fluttery feeling, and that he enjoys having you around, and that he gets sad when you have to leave. He's perceptive enough to know it's the same urge that drives humans to form their long-term mate partnerships. If that's what they refer to as "love," he'll readily adopt that term as a way to describe what he feels. What he doesn't get is everything between point A and point Z. No point in all the "courtship" and "marriage" and other human customs -- he doesn't need to "date" to know you're the one, and he doesn't need some signed paper to signify he loves you. In his mind, it's perfectly logical to expect you to immediately come live out in Wolvendom with him. You did accept all his courtship signs, after all.

Wolves are very straightforward with it, you see. Their courtship includes going for walks side-by-side, close to each other, which you did when you let him guide you through the woods. Wolves will rest their head or legs on the other, and you let him rest his head on your shoulder (even if you flinched with surprise when he did, uncomfortable but too nice to say anything). He even when to the extent of engaging in human mating rituals -- you accepted all those gifts he hunted down, and you smiled when he said nice things about how pretty you are, how nice you smell.

So in other words, you've basically already accepted him as a mate. That's what he's perceived, and changing his initial perceptions is not easily accomplished.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

One of the most likely, and definitely the fastest. Possibly after meeting you a single time. He can't take the risk of you not coming back.

He won't be very subtle or sneaky about it either, not tricking you into walking right into captivity, nor drugging you or taking you in your sleep. It's very straightforward - it's not like there's anyone in Wolvendom to hear you, so he has no problem just slinging you over his shoulder and carrying you off. He kinda gets why you'd panic, so he reassures you that no, he's not gonna eat you or anything, you're just going home.

Don't worry about the pack - they won't eat you either, or even hurt you. He's already told them not to. He gets why you might be frightened by the massive, snarling creatures and their massive teeth and eyes that shine in moonlight, but he'll make sure you get used to them and accept them as your family, just like he has.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

That depends. Can you fight off two 180-pound masses of claws, teeth, and muscle? If so, sure, it'll be easy. If not... you'll have some issues.

He's lucky to have such a loyal pack that will help him with these things - they don't exactly understand why you'd want to leave, but they know you're not supposed to. Even when he has to leave you, which isn't often, he'll leave a few of them around to watch you. To make sure no one comes and steals you or anything - and of course, the implication that it's to make sure you don't run away, either. He doesn't really get why you would, but he's come to the realization, based on what you've tried to tell him, that you miss your family and friends. And he gets that, he really does, but in the end, he's selfish at his core, and his empathy for you isn't enough for him to just let you go.

He sleeps latched onto you, arms wrapped around you, so it's not a good idea to try. Your best bet is to wait for a time he's gone and distract the wolves with something, which isn't too hard, and run for it. But even if you do manage to escape, you won't be for long. They can smell you from a mile away and will use your scent to pinpoint you down within a few minutes. They don't exactly have any gentle ways of taking you down and bringing you back, either. They're basically going to have to use their teeth, so it's better if you don't struggle - you'll just hurt yourself.

If he catches you, though, he'll just get huffy and angry, and much like when initially taking you, he'll just pick you right up and bring you back. He's not opposed to stealing ropes and the like from the passing knights, and tying knots isn't too difficult to figure out.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Poor boy is very easy to lie to and manipulate. Head empty, not many thoughts up there. However, you'll have to be clever about it, because most of the time, even if he believes you, he doesn't care. Sure, you can easily convince him that it's normal for human couples to sleep separately... But that's not going to stop him from curling up with you, because that's what he does. That's what wolves do.

He will, however, be somewhat easily manipulated into getting you things you want, if he thinks it'll make you happy. However, obtaining things you want will almost definitely come in the form of theft, or worst case scenario, the body of a passer-by that just so happened to have something you wanted visibly on their person.

If he finds out you lied to him on something, he'll get pouty and grumpy. It's not pleasant, but it's better than the rage reaction of some yanderes.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

His life revolves around you, and yours should revolve around him. That's how mates are. You can go for walks in the woods! You can take naps in the sun together! You can spend literal hours mating! Why would you need anything else?

That being said, he's always had a uniqueness from the wolves in that he's awake more - wolves sleep about 14 hours a day, him only about 8 or 9. You'll definitely be getting a lot more sleep than you would back home, but you'll have a few precious hours to yourselves. It makes him happy - it used to be time he spent all alone, a reminder of how he didn't truly fit in with humans nor wolves. But now, you have that time together! He's willing to do most anything you want, so long as you're together. He's always had some adaptative differences he practices by himself - making fires, cooking food on them, wearing clothes. If you want to go exploring, you can do that, if you want to make food, you can do that too. He'll even accommodate you if you want to do useless things, like your insistence on teaching him to read, or practicing his speech.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

It's fairly simple. Don't leave. That's really the one big one.

He's actually not one to make a rule against fighting him - he'll see it as you wanting to play fight, wrestling, which wolves do all the time. It's fun, even if it's easy for him to win. And it's exciting when you fight back, in a weird way.

Don't make contact with other humans, if you see them. Oh, and he'll want you to report to him everything you did or saw while he was gone hunting.

Generally, if he gives you a command, which isn't too much, he expects you to follow it. In his mind, he's the male, he's supposed to tell you what to do. Isn't that how it usually works with humans too?

If you're too disobedient, he'll get grumpy. Honestly, his most likely form of dealing with it is to wrestle you to the ground, and essentially hold you down until you comply or agree to whatever he wants.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Rip.

But seriously. No, they're not going to last. He's one of the more paranoid ones, because deep down he's aware of how little he understands. For all he knows, every human male that talks to you could be doing what you call "flirting." Hell, didn't some girls like other girls too? How does he know which ones do and which ones don't? That means everyone is a threat, and he can't let threats get in the way.

He's not one of the ones to be subtle or try to hide it from you. He will probably try a little bit if he knows it's one of your family or friends whose blood is soaking his clothes when he comes back to you, but if it's random, he might even be proud. Look at that, he took down a whole search party that came looking for you all by himself! It's proof of his strength and dominance, and you should be happy that you have a strong mate to protect you! And he doesn't really empathize well - if you're upset, he will explain exactly that to you, and insist you change how you see things. Humans are so strange, being upset that your mate is able to protect you. You'll see why it's a good thing eventually, he's sure.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

He gets frustrated pretty easily. It's usually just a lack of understanding, in his mind, you're being unnecessarily difficult almost all the time. He has told you a million times he doesn't care about whatever is normal for humans, yet you continuously bring it up, and that's a bit irritating. He'll huff and sigh and clamp a hand over your mouth if you're going on about it, and if you really refuse to shut up about it, there are a variety of ways of making you quiet - or distracting you from complaints.

He's got an immature streak, as he never really had anyone around to teach him otherwise. So he gets very pouty, a little bit aggressive and forceful when it comes to being upset over something or getting his way. If he wants attention and you're not giving it to him, he won't hesitate to just take whatever you're holding and focused on of your hands and toss it to the side.

On the positive side, he's never going to be passive aggressive. He's always straightforward and has no hesitation to tell you exactly how he's feeling.

If he's genuinely, truly furious, he can get violent. He'll probably apologize and definitely feel bad, licking all the little wounds. He wouldn't try to do anything so bad as bone breaking or severely hurting you, but might accidentally lose control of his own strength.

Do they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

More or less an equal. Not much to say here, as, to be honest, that sort of thing hasn't really crossed his mind. He doesn't waste time with thoughts of relative value, he just knows he loves you and wants you.

Subconsciously, it would be slightly below. Due to a very natural upbringing, he automatically associates males as being the leaders and alphas, while females are... Well, puppy-making machines. Don't try to accuse him of any sort of sexism or anything - he can't even really wrap his head around the concept, much less understand why it's wrong to acknowledge how much weaker you are than him. If you need proof of that, he can easily wrestle with you and prove it.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

Pretty highly determined. He mistakes a lot of things as signs of love, though. You might be only complying out of fear or exhaustion, but he won't be able to tell, he's not good with facial expressions, so he thinks it's a sign you're accepting him.

Honestly, he's one of the ones that, albeit unintentionally, will kind of guilt you into acceptance. You inevitably feel bad for him, you can tell how lonely he really is, and how desperately he loves you, wants you to love him. His intentions aren't malicious, and it's actually difficult to truly resent him, unlike some yanderes. Ironically, it reaches a point where rejecting him sometimes really does feel like kicking a sad little stray puppy in the rain - it makes you feel awful when he gets sad and quiet.

While there are a lot of yanderes who would be a lot more earnest and striving to serve and please you, which he doesn't really do, he's probably one of the most patient yanderes when it comes to this. He doesn't care if it takes the rest of your lives. He'll never give up or just settle for having you with him, he'll be loving you and trying to be reassured of your love till the day he dies, if that's what it takes.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Primarily, it's hard to emphasize how significantly his lack of human socialization impacts his yandere behaviors.

Most yanderes are forced to acknowledge the inherent wrongness of their actions - some will accept it and not care that it's wrong, some sadists enjoy knowing it's wrong, some will delude themselves into justifying it, some will try their best to act within moral boundaries or make up for their wrongness somehow. But all in all, they all have to face the reality of the situation and understand that what they're doing is considered wrong.

Razor's not like that. He doesn't really take the moral aspect into consideration. To him, the whole idea is simply a human thing entirely. It doesn't matter what humans do. He views the world in a very black and white sense. Morality is a more abstract concept, what's more important is how things are relative to himself - what he wants.

Tends to communicate in strange ways. Excess emotions, too much happiness or anger or whatever can make him forget his words, so there's a lot of subtle communication through grunts, whimpers, growls. Over time, you learn how to distinguish between the various noises and body language and what they mean.

Will lick you. It's weird. It's kinda gross. But it's just how he shows affection. He tends to get carried away with kisses, ending up lapping at your lips, licking your neck and collarbones, nuzzling his head into you.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Scientifically speaking, male sex drive is heavily boosted by testosterone. Testosterone can be greatly increased by heavy physical activity, eating high amounts of meat, sun exposure, and is even directly correlated to spending large amounts of time outdoors.

You see where this is going.

Very high drive, very touchy, and no reservations, no shame. Thank whatever deity you care to recognize in Tevyat that you're isolated from other people out in the woods, because he has no concept of norms or appropriateness, and trying to get him to understand is a fruitless effort. You're wasting your time trying to explain the idea that groping and touching out of the blue is considered rude, or that most human men take issue with being very visibly, very noticeably hard and would likely try to conceal it, not just sit there with the blatant bulge poking forward... His response will only be that you're far away from humans, so it shouldn't matter. He's just trying to show you he loves you, that's why he insists on grinding into you all the time, staring at your body, humping you when you're curled up together quite ironically like a horny dog.

Unfortunately, he basically just does not know how to be gentle or slow about it. He can start off trying to be slow and soft if you beg for it, but once you're actually laying there and he's in you, he gets caught up in instinct and the heat of the moment, and just kinda... forgets about that whole "slow and gentle" thing, opting to just rut you as hard and fast as possible.

He doesn't talk much during sex. He already has some trouble forming sentences in normal times, you can't expect him to when he's fucking. You won't get a lot of words besides the occasional, "good, feels good," or little commands, but you will get a lot of animalistic noises - possessive growls, little whines of pleasure. He doesn't have any sense to hold back on his noises.

He's also the least likely to care about things like shaving, periods, or imperfections. Which is good, but you also can't use those things as an excuse to not fuck, it'll go in one ear and out the other.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

It's not so much an intentional disregard for your willingness, so much as a combo of not really considering it, and thinking it's just something you'll change on. If he's human, and he has the urge, that means surely you do too. Sometimes humans need emotional connections before they want to mate, right? So he just needs to express his love to you. The looping problem there is that fucking you is pretty much his primary way of expressing love. It'll work out in the end, he guesses.

His limited knowledge of humanity also will lead him to certain conclusions. From what he understands, human society often shames females for having sex and wanting sex, right? That's dumb. But their mentality is probably ingrained in your brain, isn't it? That's why you act like this. But don't worry, he's not like the human men. Wolves don't feel that way. You'll understand that with time.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

Biting/Scratching/Marking

It's a natural reaction to him. If he's balls deep in you, mounted on and pounding into your body, thrusting so hard that your body is lurching forward with every movement, he wants a way to hold you still, keep your body in place so that each pounding goes deeper and harder. It's second nature for him to just sink his teeth into your jugular, your neck, your shoulders. As an added bonus, he likes seeing the marks it leaves behind, in addition to how his fingernails that dig into your hips leave little indents in your skin.

Breeding

He doesn't know how to not cum in you. You can't honestly expect him to pull out of you, you're so warm and wet and soft, it would be torture not to reach a climax buried inside that tight heat. You can go on a rant about not wanting to get pregnant, but it'll go in one ear and out the other. He doesn't get it - you're supposed to want to have his pups. Do you not think he's a suitable mate for reproducing? You'll be halfway through explaining why kids aren't in your current agenda before being flipped over and pounded into yet again with his newfound determination to prove his strength and dominance to you. Once you understand that, surely, you'll want all the puppies you can possibly make.

Predator/Prey

This applies mostly to escape attempts. He'll be mad, but it triggers something in him, something instilled by years of hunting down poor little prey animals. The desire to hunt you down, find you, and ruin you. Instead of ripping you apart like he would boars, he can't think of anything but just fucking you up against the nearest tree, the ground, anything. The faster you run, the more afraid you are, the more exciting it is. It's a very primal urge, one that commands all sorts of predators, both in feeding and breeding.

Forced Orgasms

As with many human things, he makes certain discoveries with time about sex. The first time you fuck, it'll probably be too rough for you to really cum, but it'll only be a few days in before your body adjusts to the girth that's frequently inside of you, and you end up spasming all over him - and he's just got this shocked expression, watching with amazement when you clench down and quiver under him. Wait, you mean human females can orgasm too? Not just the men?

From that point forward, he's determined to fuck, lick, grind, and force every orgasm out of you as physically possible. It makes him feel a weird sort of pride and contentment. It's one of the few things that makes him a big smug. Even if you feel like you can't possibly cum any more, he'll try anyway.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

It's your purpose! He has learned that human girls only have one baby at a time, sometimes two, which is nothing compared to how many pups wolves usually have in one litter. That means that you'll have to make up for the lack of quantity of pups with quantity of pregnancies, which means constantly breeding and breeding and making sure every last drop stays inside of you. He doesn't understand why humans would even want to prevent pregnancy, it's the best thing that can happen, it's the whole reason you're alive, and it's a sign that you're his. Like with most things, he knows eventually you'll come around. Once you actually have the pups there in front of you, you'll love it. He knows you will.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

He's a little lacking on the thought process behind punishing. If he's mad, it tends to cloud his thoughts, reverting to a more animalistic state, and he's not gonna have the complex thoughts required to really think through punishment, so it's not gonna be anything complex.

Doesn't really matter, if he's mad, just fucking you is going to feel like a punishment, with him slamming you into the ground, a tree, any rough surface nearby and just rutting you, claw-like fingernails digging into your skin and teeth sinking into your shoulder to hold you in place, a hand clasped around your throat. Fucking is basically the primary outlet he chooses for his emotions, happiness, love, stress, and anger alike, a simple, primal form of expression. If he's mad, he just needs to take it out on something, release all of that force and energy into rough, brutal motions. Normally when he's angry, he'll go hunt down some animal, taking all that anger out on the kill. But, recently he's learned he actually quite prefers to release his anger this way. It's more satisfying and enjoyable, and it deters you from stepping out of line, too. It's not just your average slightly rough fucking, no, it's the kind of fucking that will genuinely hurt you, rutting you over and over until your insides are burning from friction, your walls and cervix so completely bruised and abused you'll feel the throbbing soreness with every movement for days, hands leaving massive bruises all across your hips and shoulders. Not that that's any excuse to not fuck more, no, no soreness will get you out of normal daily routine.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

He has a thing for breasts. They're very unique to humans, it's something he hasn't had the opportunity to see or understand, and he'll spend a lot of time just burying his face in them, licking and sucking. Big or small, doesn't matter. He just likes them.

One more nasty HC i can't not talk about

wait, you mean humans have sex... Facing each other? There are positions other than doggy? It's all he's ever seen. Porn and the internet don't exactly exist in this world. The whole concept blows his mind. He can fuck you AND see your face while he does? He'll nearly faint right then and there, and you'll regret bringing it up once you've gone numb from the repetitive pounding. He'll start asking you what else exists out there, his brain will start thinking of all the different ways to fuck he's never thought about. Once he learns you can ride him, he's in heaven, even if it's not so much riding so much as you sitting on his cock and him bouncing you up and down with such ferocity you can't even move your legs.

Speaking of things he doesn't know about, if you're smart, you make sure he doesn't find out about blowjobs. He'll love it, and it won't be a blowjob so much as him literally fucking your throat, grabbing your head and hair and just wrecking your mouth.

None of it is him trying to hurt you, really. He just doesn't understand how to be gentle. He might get better with time, but he's got a predator-born ferocity, a primal roughness that will always be a part of his nature.

(yes i did research on wolf courtship/mating rituals for this bc i suffer for my art)

#yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere razor #tw: noncon #tw: dark content #yandere profile #tw: misogyny

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nightingaelic · 3 years

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One I've always been infuriated by: you can't take a companion to Honest Hearts because the caravan is at capacity, but you can get Ricky kicked out. So New Vegas companions follow the Courier to Zion: what hilarity ensues?

Arcade Gannon: While Arcade is absolutely not a fan of Caesar's Legion, he's reserved enough not to shoot the Burned Man as soon as he appears, and he may even test the former Malpais Legate's philosophy and convictions in some sparring of wits once he feels comfortable enough [Speech 75]. Arcade thinks that Graham has replaced Caesar in his life with God, switching out a human tyrant for a nebulous deity: Graham argues that Arcade's desire for a wishfully-thought, balanced world springs out of an unsatisfied need for internal harmony, one he might find through spirituality. The courier can only stand an hour or so of this back-and forth before giving up and leaving Angel Cave to go find some geckos to hunt. Follows-Chalk amuses Arcade, and he encourages the young scout's desire to explore pre-war ruins: After all, there's always something to be learned by studying who and what came before you. Waking Cloud earns Arcade's utmost respect with her knowledge of medicine and of the canyon's natural order, but he would likely be disappointed with Daniel's and Graham's encroaching influence on the Sorrows' faith.

Craig Boone: Fight on sight with Joshua Graham, which leaves the Burned Man's bandages a little bloodier than normal but is ultimately broken up by the courier before any real harm is done. A shouting match ensues in the middle of the Dead Horses' camp, with Boone airing all of Graham's atrocities at maximum volume and the courier admitting skepticism of the man's change of heart, but still wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe Boone wins and the Dead Horses must be convinced of Graham's crimes in the wider world [Speech 100], or the New Vegas visitors beat a hasty retreat from Zion [Speech 85/100]. Maybe the courier wins and Boone realizes that the Burned Man already lives a life wreathed in the pain he inflicted during his decades of Legion service and the eternal mark of Caesar's fury. Either way, Boone is on edge for the remainder of the time in Zion Canyon, and doesn't make too many friends. Follows-Chalk takes a shine to him though, and Boone admits that the scout makes for a decent spotter. I don't think Boone would form a strong connection with Zion until encountering the diaries of Randall Dean Clark, and realizing that the people the courier was trying to save were the chosen loved ones of a man not unlike himself.

Lily Bowen: Having Lily along on the trip to Zion might give some of the other caravan members a chance of surviving, as I don't think the White Legs are used to encountering super mutants and would probably falter anyway at a courier backed up by a giant nightkin grandmother swinging around a vertibird blade [Terrifying Presence]. The Burned Man's appearance in the canyon doesn't bother or even interest her, but she loudly laments the Dead Horses' practice of hunting bighorners rather than taming them. In contrast, Lily loves the Sorrows' treatment of Zion's wildlife, particularly their domestication of geckos. The tame geckos are terrified of her. Of all the inhabitants of Zion, Lily would best relate to Waking Cloud, finding common ground with the tribal midwife on topics like motherhood, the uprooting of a happy life and respect for nature. I think the courier would recognize this bond and even give Lily the chance to complete White Bird's rite of passage herself, defeating the Ghost of She with the courier and Waking Cloud's help. Lily would be most likely to leave Zion with more friends and family than when she entered it.

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Apart from being somewhat of a living ghost himself, I don't think Raul would have much in common with Joshua Graham. While they're both trying to atone for mistakes they've made, their respective mistakes are in completely different time zones. Plus, I don't think Graham talks to ghouls much, thanks to his history with the Legion. Maybe Raul would share a tip with the Burned Man about .45 maintenance, maybe some helpful info about caring for damaged skin if he's feeling generous, but their relationship wouldn't go far beyond that. Like Boone, the story of the Father in the Cave strikes a chord with the old ghoul, and he might seek out Clark's final resting place with the courier to give the man a proper send-off and burial. Similarly, I think he would sympathize with Daniel and his attempts to help the Sorrows, and what bond he might have built with Graham would instead grow with the Mormon missionary. On the side, though, I think he might teach some Sorrows a few phrases in Spanish to heckle the man with, just for fun [Wild Wasteland].

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Convincing Cass to accompany the courier to Zion in the first place would probably be a feat in and of itself [Barter 62], and once the White Legs appear over the horizon and start assaulting the caravan, Cass might just admit out loud that she and any crew she travels with are cursed. From there, every new piece of the story would entertain her to no end. The most wanted man in Caesar's Legion is just hiding out in a canyon in Utah. The remnants of Vault 22's inhabitants are scattered all over the landscape, meaning Ricky would've eventually been caught in his lie if he'd actually made it to Zion. The Mormons are here, and they're arguably more enthusiastic about proselytizing the tribes than they are about helping them escape and defend themselves. I think Cass would be the most angry and vocal about that last part, and might even wind up arguing with Graham and Daniel about how the only part of their faith they should be spreading right now is the belief in making amends for their actions: Namely, leading the White Legs to Zion in the first place. She would probably be the only one of the companions to propose going to Salt-Upon-Wounds and discovering the tribe's motivations and the manipulations of Ulysses and Caesar, and maybe convincing the war chief that he is being used [Speech 100].

Veronica Santangelo: The Brotherhood Scribe finds a kindred spirit in Follows-Chalk, and the two quickly become fast friends. The young scout happily shares the history and practices of the Dead Horses with her, and in return, Veronica tells stories about the wonders of New Vegas that she has seen while traveling the Mojave with the courier. Joshua Graham creeps Veronica out though, but her own curiosity leads her to prod the courier into interrogating the Malpais Legate by proxy. Like Cass, Veronica would be annoyed with the Mormons' roles among the tribes, but unlike Cass, she lacks the knowledge and context needed to convince them to take some steps back. She is, however, good at tracking down evidence to back up her suspicions, and she and the courier might be able to find evidence of the Legion's influence on the White Legs by poking around their camps [Sneak 73]. Veronica is also in awe of Waking Cloud, particularly of her skill with the yao guai gauntlet. Once she's picked her jaw up off the floor, the Scribe asks the midwife to show her some techniques and help her affix some yao guai claws to her own power fist [Unstoppable Force].

ED-E: The little robot is a huge novelty in the Zion Canyon, and ED-E hams it up for every curious individual that approaches it in the Dead Horses camp and the Narrows. The courier can't help but smile with every quizzical beep, bounce and zoom around the members of the tribes, but they keep the robot closer in Zion to protect against White Legs storm drums and tomahawks. ED-E enjoys spotting trail markings for Follows-Chalk and tracking animals with Waking Cloud. The robot doesn't understand who Daniel is, but knows from reading his body language that he is sad. Not as sad as the man in Angel Cave, though.

Rex: As soon as Rex sets foot in the Zion Canyon, he hears danger on the wind and warns the courier. The caravan is therefore on edge before the inevitable attack, and less likely to perish in the ensuing battle. Like ED-E, Rex doesn't know who Joshua Graham is, but he knows he doesn't trust him: He smells like a wildfire, inside and out. Neither the Dead Horses nor the Sorrows keep dogs, and some members of the tribe are actively afraid of Rex, associating him with the mongrels that run ahead of White Legs raiding parties. The Sorrows are more forgiving, and Rex shows them their trust is well-placed by allowing them to pet him and inspect his mechanical parts when he lies before the campfires to rest at the courier's feet.

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imonthinice · 3 years

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The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 22/?

Word Count: 1.8k

Author's Note: Y/N - Your name, A/N - Any name (Your best friend's name)

We're back, we're in full swing, we've hit like 50 followers, we've hit 500 notes. We're thriving.

Also! Fun fact but I can't actually watch Young Justice season 3 (and 4) or Titans :/ They're on DC Universe, which is only available in America. (If you can't catch on, I'm not from America lol)

Warnings: Swearing, Description of Injury, Kidnapping, Police/ Justice System, Manipulation attempts, Gaslighting, Violence, No beta bitch we die like Jason Todd.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20) (Part 21) (Part 22)

The days became longer and kept bothering Y/N. She was losing grip on reality. Aria would come in occasionally and feed her. Give her water. Let her use the bathroom. She was stuck. She wanted to knock off that stupid fucking bird plague doctor mask and, look her pathetic sister in her eyes. And let Aria know that she knew, she knew who it was.

But she was backed into a corner. And the mask was not going to come off anytime. Boy, oh boy, she wanted it to fall. She wanted it to slip so she could boot it into the walls she had become accustomed to. She wanted it to fall and shatter.

Aria came into the room like normal, to be greeted by Y/N not even looking her in the eyes.

"Come here, love," Aria said.

"Go to Hell."

"I need to use you for a "Proof of Life" video. So I can use you for ransom. Come here."

"No."

"Come here. Now," Aria said, voice getting more hoarse and pissed off with Y/N and her actions.

"No."

"Come. Here. Now!" She screeched.

"No!"

She felt Aria's claws grab her wrists and dig in, she could feel the blood seeping through the claws from her wrists. Aria pushed her into the wall, still gripping her wrists and letting the blood flow down Y/N's arms.

"Listen here, you fucking bitch," Aria said, dropping her voice a few octaves, to seem intimidating. "I want that money. If you don't cooperate, I'll kill you."

Y/N whimpered but spat at her sister, "You'll fucking die trying."

Aria wrestled Y/N into her seat and handcuffed her to it. She then set up the video camera.

"And, recording. Talk."

"I fucking hate you."

"You should."

"Go to fucking Hell."

"The date is February 14th. Here," she shoved a newspaper into the view of the camera, Y/N didn't even notice Aria bring it in. She saw the article on the back of her kidnapping. She knew people were still talking.

"Here is the date. On a newspaper. This video will be released today. If I don't get the money within a week, I'll kill her. Along with the Waynes."

Y/N gulped. This just got so much more real than she was expecting.

Aria left the room, with Y/N still handcuffed to the chair. She took in the room she had become used to. She had spent a week in captivity, expecting the vigilantes of Gotham to come and get them, but they didn't. She was confused as to why-

Wait a damn minute, she thought. Are you- Wait- Wait- Wait- Wait. Oh my god? The family is in captivity, the vigilantes haven't come for us yet, are- she paused. Are they the vigilantes? There's no way, they can't be- Can they? They can- Can't they, huh? Fuck. We're- We're not getting out anytime soon. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This is a God damn pickle we've gotten into. Aria must know what I think, the family- she paused, almost as if she didn't believe what she was thinking. That they're the Gotham vigilantes. She must- Fuck!

I don't care that they didn't tell me- she thought like someone could read her thoughts. She figured that someone might be able to. She knew that Martian Manhunter had those abilities. she figured that Miss Martian, who she didn't see often, likely shared those abilities.

I care that we might be fucked.

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

Before she knew it, that exact day, she figured, February 14th? The door was broken down by Superman. This just put the pieces together more for Y/N. Her assumptions about the Waynes being the Gotham vigilantes were just seeming more likely as time went on.

Superman uncuffed her and she thanked him before running out to where Aria was being arrested by the Gotham police. But she didn't stop, and she knocked off Aria's mask.

"Oh, hi Y/N," Aria said, nonchalantly.

"Oh, hi Y/N," Y/N mocked. "You fucking bitch!" she yelled and pushed Aria, while the police tried to detain her. She struggled and tried to attack Aria further, "Let go! I know her power of attorney is going to be her sister-"

"How do you know that?" Commissioner Gordon asked.

"Because her sister is me!" She yelled when she finally broke away from the police, trying to get closer to Aria, before Commissioner Gordon stopped her, grabbing her arms and squeezing lightly. She stared at him, dead-faced. No emotions were there, other than anger, raw, seething anger.

Aria laughed, "Oops. I guess the jig is up."

Y/N was seething, she didn't even notice the JLA and the rest of the Waynes were behind her. She was still struggling to get towards Aria, yelling and just making noise.

She was making a scene, but she didn't care. She felt betrayed.

"You fucking bitch. You absolutely pathetic piece of shit."

"Keep yelling at me, Y/N. Mom and Dad will be disappointed in you. They always are, aren't they?"

Y/N turned to Commissioner Gordon, who was still holding her in place, "You either get her out of my fucking face in 5 seconds or I'm going to hurt her. That's not a threat," she turned to Aria, "That's a fucking promise."

"We might have to detain you at this rate, Y/N."

"And I would understand that, but I'm going to hurt her."

"Ma'am, calm down." Commissioner Gordon said before waving his hand and the other police took Aria into the back of a police car. "I'm going to have to arrest you," he said, trying to show sympathy for the pain that Y/N was in.

"Then do it already," Y/N mumbled, eyes still locked on the police car her sister was in.

"Gordon?" Jason called, "I swear, I've never seen this much anger in her. I'm sure you can send her home with us."

"You better be right about that, Jason."

"I really think I am right."

Gordon looked at Y/N, which she caught in the corner of her eye. She could tell he was upset about this, he was trying to get to her, to get her to understand her anger was okay, but beating her sister wasn't.

And then Aria waved as they drove her to the station.

But she wasn't even paying attention and before she knew it, she was in Jason's arms. He was holding her while talking to the police about the attack. He had his hands wrapped around her waist while he was behind her, maximizing the ability he had to stop her should she run.

He knew what he was doing, and it was working to calm her slightly, to the point where the police were able to talk to her about her experience with the attacker they knew as Hour, or as Arianna (Last name).

Once they were done with questioning her, they spoke more to Jason, who still had her in his grasp.

She surveyed the area and noticed that Bruce was talking to Superman.

The pieces were all falling into place. She knew he had to be Batman at that moment.

And she wanted in on it.

The hopelessness she felt when Aria had her kidnapped was astronomical. She wanted to make sure no one ever felt that way again, not if she could help it. She wanted in on it all.

She thought back to Jason's stab wound, the scar still fresh. She knew it wasn't a mugging. It had to be him saving the city from peril. She realized how dumb she was for buying into that lie, but she wasn't mad at anyone in her vicinity.

She was mad- pissed- so far beyond angry at Aria.

She didn't know she could be so angry. She didn't know she had it in her to be so angry at Aria. But she was. She was so unbelievably pissed. Any mention of her name sent Y/N into seething anger, and Jason could feel her heart race in her body.

She wasn't paying attention to words anymore. She just wanted to get out of there, to go home. To her home, not Jason's. She didn't feel safe in the Wayne Manor anymore.

No one could blame her when she told the police to drive her to her house, not the Wayne Manor. Jason just hugged her and asked when he could see her next. She told him in the morning. "Or," she added, "At 3 in the morning. I don't care. Just leave me alone right now."

Everyone understood. They didn't have their own sister kidnap them after all.

She got to her house and got inside, A/N immediately trying to flag her down to talk to her, but she just put up a hand and waved her off. Slinking to her room without a second thought and locking the door.

She didn't want to talk about it. The thoughts about her sister racing through her mind. The thoughts about how her boyfriend was a vigilante. How was she going to bring this up? How was she going to tell him that she knew? That she wanted in on the act? That she wanted to fight alongside him- and his family?

Before she knew it, and like clockwork, it was 3 in the morning. And Jason was knocking on her window. She assumed that he had tried to let himself into her room, but to no avail since she hadn't unlocked the door.

She went over to her window and unlocked it. She lifted it and Jason crawled in.

"I have a front door," she said.

"You didn't answer when I tried to knock on your door," he joked. "How are you holding up?"

"As well as anyone can in my situation."

"Well, everyone wishes you came home with us, so we could watch you on your first night away from-"

"From my sister?"

"I was going to say from captivity."

"So, my sister."

"Yeah, that."

"Uh-huh."

"So, anyway," Jason said, trying to get Y/N's mind off of Aria. "Did you sleep when you got here?" he asked.

"No. I was busy."

"Doing what?"

"Lost in thought. There's a lot of thoughts, not enough brain," she joked. "You probably get that part."

"I do-"

"When were you going to tell me?" she but in.

"Tell you what?" he questioned, confused.

"That you're one of the vigilantes," she answered, studying his face. He seemed taken aback by the statement and tried to avert her gaze. Oh yeah, he knows what I'm on about, she thought.

"I-"

"You know what I'm on about, Jay. You know I know so don't lie anymore."

"Y/N-"

"No. You know I know. I know you know. Don't lie anymore. I'm not even ad at the lies, you're trying to keep me safe, obviously."

"Oh."

"The truth is, babe, I want in."

"What!?"

(Oh my god? Are we going to get Red Hood action? (The answer is yes, in due time)

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thewillowbends · 3 years

Text

So I'm rewatching the first season and reading the book, and I've got Thoughts (TM)

And I've got a LOT of thoughts about what exactly Leigh Bardugo was doing here in terms of the moral and ethical statements of the narrative, so I'm putting it under the cut.

Something that's really glaring on the rewatch is just...the complete lack of compassion every character outside Aleksander has for the plight of the Grisha. The army treats treats them with reciprocal dislike, despite the fact that they couldn't even cross the Fold with the Inferni or Squallers. The tsar and tsarita treat them with condescension and disdain, clearly valuing them mainly as a utility that, historically, they've happily turned on when they felt they were growing too powerful. Baghra has just given up on trying to protect other Grisha who aren't immortal like her or Aleksander. Even Alina is guilty of othering them and has to be told off by multiple characters (Ivan, Aleksander, Baghra) to stop treating her power like a yoke instead of a responsibility and opportunity to help others.

We get this big, bad, armor-piercing line from her to Aleksander about how he doesn't care who suffers as long as he wins. Which is true to some extent, but...where is her compassion? Didn't we just spend a hefty portion of the narrative wanting to give her power away to somebody else so she can, what, be with her bestie? Meanwhile, there's, you know, an actual war going on. This isn't small stakes shit she sees going on around her. People are dying. We literally have an entire plot where we see a Grisha kidnapped, enslaved, and then sent to be put to death...who was given to the enemy by her own people!

And then we get that line from her in 1x07, only to have it followed up by her running away at the end of 1x08 for....why? Most people on the ship are dead or those that survived weren't his supporters. The people on the docks were killed, and most of them actually were traitors trying to kill Alina. Aleksander didn't lie about that. So she's running away to take the blame for some nebulous reason that's not really well explained, which is...well, what the fuck happens to the rest of the Grisha? Do we not care about how Aleksander's actions are going to reflect back on them and cause a potential backlash or something? Not to mention, nobody is on the other side to warn them that Aleksander is a threat to begin with. Even if you assumed he was dead, you'd definitely want to assume he likely had supporters back at the palace, too!

From a character writing perspective, I find it stupid that Aleksander doesn't tell her certain things because if he's such a big, bad, clever manipulator, he would absolutely be weaponizing his own pain and experiences to make her stumble in empathy. That's bad character writing to me when you're telling me somebody's an abusive villain but actually isn't using very real and effective abuser tactics. But then you also have Alina who refuses to even point out...Aleksander, I get it! I've talked to other Grisha! I see what you're going through! But this can't be the answer. You have to see this won't end well for you! Like, her own arguments make no sense to me. They're so myopic and self-involved.

One of the big things that bothers me that gets folded into Aleksander's other manipulations is this idea that he primarily associates and values her for her power, in contrast to Mal who primarily sees her for being herself. While I get the intent of that on a narrative level, in the scope of the wider story...it just literally makes no sense for Aleksander to parse those two as separate. Not when the whole reason Grisha are hunted down and killed is because they don't get the privilege of being people outside of their power. Aleksander doesn't get to be General Kirigan without also being the Darkling. Therefore, Alina doesn't get to be Sankta Alina without also being the Sun Summoner. Not a single other character gets to be relevant without being powerful.

Even on a narrative level, it makes no sense. One, it's frankly kind of sexist (when are male protagonists ever expected to be segregated from their power) and two...that's the whole reason we're telling her story! That's why she's the protagonist! She is special. She can't be separated from this unique power destiny has handed her. We don't tell stories about common, boring people; we tell stories about people who incite conflict or change. So even the mere concept to me of basing a character's identity or value around not wanting value is frankly kind of ridiculous.

There's just this strangely insidious underpinning to the story that power is inherently dangerous, even as it acknowledges that people who are NOT in power can very much suffer at the hands of those who do. So where's the moral and ethical reflection about what this means for the rest of us? What does that mean for minorities?

Think of the scene on the boat where Aleksander has Ivan kill off the nobility. The narrative wants you to see this moment as blackly humorous and awful, but stop for a moment and think about what happened there from his perspective. This is a man who spent centuries watching his people get killed and enslaved, and that isn't a false representation or manipulation from him, either. His statement is backed up both by what we see in the flashbacks and by other Grisha. Nobody created a safe haven for him and his people - he did that! He had to claw his way to the top, flatter, kill, and fuck his way through god knows how many noble houses, just to get to this moment where he could build a Little Palace. And it took him four hundred years just to get that! All while Grisha are dying!

And nobody did anything about it. Not the king, not the landholders, not even the peasantry. They were happy taking advantage of the Grisha's powers, of course, when Aleksander helped raise them up into a position of prominence, making them soldiers and enchanters. And even then, they're mocked! The army can't wait to get rid of them!

And then some noblewoman, who has enjoyed the benefits of her wealth and power, some of which were built on the backs of your people, sits there and tells you, the moment you take hold of the power everybody else has been grabbing for centuries, has the audacity to sit there and tell you that the world will hate Grisha and view him as a heretic?? When less than twenty years ago, your people were being killed right and left? When the enemy is still kidnapping and enslaving your people? When your own countrymen view you with fear and intrigue already? The audacity to sit there and frame it as a hypothetical when it's very much an actual reality still going on. Just look at the barely hidden seething rage and contempt on Barnes face when he delivers that quip about "needing to do that speech again." Motherfucker has been waiting YEARS for this moment, this revenge. And really, who can blame him...if you aren't wrapped up in the narrative wanting you to focus on just what he's doing to poor Alina.

The way the Grisha's situation is framed along with how the Darkling's descent into villainy is handled is so just incongruent to me. The pieces don't fit. You're asking me to see this man as completely irredeemable after you just showed me six episodes of Grisha being killed both for being what they are in the hopes of protecting Alina, after you showed me that Aleksander had already TRIED appealing to the protection of the crown by lending it his power, after making us see that lies and manipulation are the only way he and his mother have been able to survive as long as they have in a world that eradicated them. Where is the compassion in the narrative for that?

And okay, fine, you can do an irredeemable villain. You can do a Kilmonger-esque story with the Darkling, but that requires forcing your protagonists to empathize with the villain and change from it. But then I read ahead and...that doesn't happen?? She winds up walking away from it all at the end?? In fact, she even loses her power. And that's supposed to be a HAPPY ending? After we just saw how badly this minority was treated for how many centuries??

You know what it feels like? It feels like Leigh Bardugo read The Hunger Games, tried to replicate a Katniss, and then completely failed to understand the profound situational differences between her protagonist and that one. Katniss is a girl made extraordinary by her circumstances. She's not special herself other than the fact that she did the right thing at the right place at the right time and helped create the tipping point for a revolution that was already in the works before her. Katniss walking away from the world after makes sense because she's burned out after the war, but it also got its use from her. She helped make the revolution work; she showed up for the event while it was happening and did what she could. The situation was out of her control and power for the most part, and she still managed to rise the occasion.

Alina is NOT Katniss. She is inherently special. She is inherently powerful. She has the ability to create change and bring a new perspective that Aleksander has long given up on and which her country desperately needs. We know the world of the Hunger Games will be better because the creators of real change were always working behind the scenes behind Katniss. She was just their propaganda, their symbol. Alina is a symbol, but she is also a very real power. It's not an act of moral celebration for her to walk away from power at the end, namely because there's a whole minority class of people we still have to worry about. Putting a Grisha on the throne is no promise the country won't turn against them eventually, nor does that protect the hundreds of Grisha at the mercy of a superstitious peasantry and countries that will likely continue to invade them.

It's just...I dunno guys. It's frustrating because all the compelling elements are there in the characters and storyline, but it's like the author had a set of characters telling one story and then she had an entirely different plot in mind, and they just clash all over the place for me and become thematically inconsistent. But what really gets me is that she had seven years to think this shit over...and we're looking to get the same story all over again. Usually, it's a great thing to have an author involved in the show. This is a rare situation where I wonder if it hurts the chances of it improving.

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone spoilers #meta #long post #spoilers for the grisha trilogy too #critical analysis

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storiesforallfandoms · 4 years

Text

are you going to hurt me? ~ hannibal lecter;hannibal

word count: 2259

request?: no

description: after she finds that one of the fbi’s most trustworthy psychiatrists is actually the murderer they’re looking for, she decides to confront him about it

pairing: hannibal lector x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of murder, violence, implied smut

masterlist

From the minute he entered his office, Hannibal knew he wasn’t alone. He carried on to his desk, waiting for her to step out of the shadows, as he was almost certain he knew who was there as well.

“You’re the murderer they’re looking for.”

Hannibal turned and was unsurprised to see the FBI’s newest intern, (Y/N), standing at the railing of the floor overlooking his office. She was still in her work clothes - dress pants, a white blouse tucked into her pants, a pair of black dress shoes. She tried too hard to impress her superiors, especially Jack Crawford, but Hannibal could tell she was an intelligent woman that didn’t need to dress so well to impress them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responded, simply.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said. “The murderer, the one taking their organs, it’s not someone trying to illegally sell organs on the black market. It’s you.”

Hannibal chuckled, amused by her discovery. “Funny that it took an intern to figure that out, not one of the professionals.”

She seemed shocked that he was admitting to it, like she didn’t want him to be a murderer. “You’re...you’re admitting to it?”

“Well, there’s no reason to lie now since you’ve figured it out.”

(Y/N) felt uneasy now. She was starting to see the error of her ways. Why would she just come and confront Hannibal like this by herself? If he hadn’t confessed, she was basically risking her job on the FBI by accusing him of murder, but now that he had confessed, she was locked in a room with a murderer, and no one knew she was there.

Hannibal approached the ladder that led to the floor. (Y/N) took a step away from the railing, thinking he was about to come up after her. He stopped, noticing her hesitation.

“Humor me,” he told her, “tell me how you figured it out.”

“I heard you and Will talking,” she responded. “You were telling him about the black market and people stealing organs for it. Up until then, he hadn’t even considered that to be an option. He just thought that the murders were that of the Chesapeake Ripper, or a copycat. Or both. Then, when we were talking about it today, he started talking about black market organ selling. He was convinced that that’s what the Ripper, or the copycat Ripper, was doing. He was trying to convince us into looking into the black market to find a suspect, and everyone believed him.”

“Everyone but you.”

She nodded. “I’ve been in toxic relationships, I know what manipulation sounds like. You were manipulating him to get him off your scent, and it worked.”

She was perceptive, he was impressed. But now that she knew, a million solutions to his problem were running through Hannibal’s head. She had come alone, he could kill her right now and no one would even know she had been there. Of course, he’d have to wash down his office to rid it of any fingerprints that she may have left. But could he get away with killing another FBI intern? He had gotten lucky with Miriam Lass, maybe he wouldn’t have been so lucky with (Y/N).

He was also shocked to find that he didn’t want to kill her. Hannibal had grown fond of (Y/N) over the short few months he had known her. They had grown such a close bond that he often invited (Y/N) over for dinners, and he found himself excited when he would enter Jack’s office, or follow them to arrest a killer, and (Y/N) would be with them. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to kill (Y/N) like he had everyone else.

She began to descend the ladder, an action that her mind was screaming at her not to do, but her heart was telling her she could trust Hannibal. He wasn’t going to hurt her, not now anyways.

“I have to know,” she started, “are you...are you the Chesapeake Ripper?”

Hannibal nodded. “I am.”

“So...you killed all those people? Even the newest victims, the ones missing their organs?”

“I did.”

“There was never a copycat. It was always you.”

Hannibal nodded to confirm again.

(Y/N)’s entire body was shaking. She was standing inches from a murderer. Of course, being an intern with the FBI, this wasn’t her first time coming face to face with a murderer. But this was different, for one, she actually knew this murderer. It wasn’t some unknown face in the crowd, it was someone she considered a friend. And two, she wasn’t protected this time. No one knew she was there. He could’ve killed her and disposed of her body and no one would even think to question Dr. Hannibal Lecter for the murder.

“What happens now, (Y/N)?” Hannibal asked, approaching her again. She fought the urge to back away from him. She had to seem brave in this moment, not weak and afraid.

“I didn’t come here to turn you in,” she admitted. “I came to get the confirmation, to find out if I was right about my suspicions.”

“And now that you have?”

“I’m impressed,” she admitted. “You’ve been so close with the FBI, with Will, close enough that your cover could’ve been blown at any moment, but you’re so confident that you weren’t going to be caught.”

“Not confident enough, so it would seem.”

They were inches away from each other now, but (Y/N) suddenly didn’t feel scared of him. She wasn’t sure if he was going to hurt her or not, but it was as if she didn’t really care anymore.

“What happens now, Dr. Lecter?” she asked him, looking up into his brown eyes.

Instead of a response, Hannibal acted on impulse and wrapped his hands around her throat. The action took (Y/N) by surprise as he began to lift her off of her feet, squeezing her throat between his large hands. The air escaped from (Y/N)’s lungs quickly and she felt herself becoming lightheaded. In a moment of panic, she began to swing her legs, managing to make connection with Hannibal’s stomach. He doubled over in pain, dropping her to the floor.

(Y/N) landed with a thud and began to breathe heavily. She had mere moments before Hannibal would regain himself, and she knew she had to use that time wisely. While still gasping for air, she got to her feet and raced for the door. Just before reaching for the knob, she felt an arm being wrapped around her throat and her airways closing again. Hannibal began to drag her back into his office as she flailed her arms and legs, trying desperately to get out of his grip.

She managed to start clawing at his arm, digging her nails so deep into his arm that she managed to pierce the skin under his shirt. Hannibal exclaimed in pain, but only loosened his grip on (Y/N) slightly. It was enough for her to wriggle free. She turned to face him and swung a punch, managing to connect with his face.

Before she could make another get away, Hannibal grabbed her and shoved her back until her back collided with his desk. He shoved her so she was leaning back onto his desk and grabbed a nearby knife that he always kept for cases like this. He held the knife to her throat, the cold blade just lightly touching her skin. (Y/N) knew she should’ve been terrified, but she couldn’t bring herself to be properly scared. Instead, she looked into Hannibal’s eyes yet again, waiting to feel the blade pierce her skin.

“Are you going to kill me, Dr. Lecter?” she asked, her voice just barley a whisper.

Their faces were inches from one another and they were both panting from the fight. Hannibal had planned to press that blade to her throat and to kill her right then and there, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Above all else, he couldn’t imagine not seeing her anymore, to live with her death on his conscious, and that was a feeling that he had never had before.

Instead, he dropped the knife onto his desk and kissed (Y/N) in one swift movement. (Y/N) was caught by surprise, but it didn’t take her long to melt into the kiss. Hannibal took hold of her shoulders and pulled her so that she was sitting up on the desk instead. He placed himself between her legs, wrapping his arms around her so he could hold her as close to him as he possibly could.

(Y/N) moved her hands to start unbuttoning his blazer and his shirt, while Hannibal wasted no time in ripping her shirt open, her buttons flying off and scattering over his floor. His hands slipped under her shirt and ran over her bare skin, causing her to shiver at his touch. She pressed herself as close to him as she could as she put a hand on the back of his neck to deepen the kiss.

~~~~~~

Some time later, they were tangled together on the couch in Hannibal’s office. (Y/N) had her head resting on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat beginning to slow back to normal. She was mindlessly tracing circles on his chest with her hand, still trying to grasp what had just happened.

“You’ll have to burn this couch now,” she joked.

“I may,” Hannibal chuckled. “Or I may leave it as it is. A constant reminder of what happened on this couch, even when a patient comes and sits on it.”

(Y/N) moved her head to look at him. “That’s dirty, I like it.”

Hannibal smiled and kissed the top of her head.

“So, what happens now?” she asked him. “With me knowing your secret, and now us having slept together.”

“I trust you knowing my secret, I don’t think you are going to tell anyone, especially not Will or Jack,” he responded. “As for us sleeping together, it does cause a conflict of interest if anyone within the FBI finds out, especially Jack. We may not be allowed to work so closely together anymore as it could be argued that we’re being bias towards the other if they know we’re together.”

Hannibal’s choice of words intrigued (Y/N). She sat up slightly so that she could really look at him. “Together?”

“Maybe I’m being a little too ambitious with my phrasing,” Hannibal said.

“I’m just shocked that you’re so willing to decide we’re together after sleeping together once,” she admitted. “Most guys aren’t like that, not the ones I’ve been with anyways. They use you for sex then they’re out of your life for good.”

Hannibal at up as well to cup (Y/N)’s face with one hand. She looked into his eyes yet again. (Y/N) could get used to having those eyes looking at her with so much affection, it made her feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“I’m not like most guys,” he responded. (Y/N) tried not to chuckle at this, as it was very apparent that Hannibal was not like most people at all. “I don’t believe in having sex with someone without having some sort of affection for them.”

“Neither do I,” (Y/N) agreed. “Does that mean you have feelings for me, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal smiled. “I believe you should start calling me by my name if we’re to be intimate like this again.”

(Y/N) smiled so wide her cheeks were hurting. She couldn’t help herself as she leaned forward and began to kiss Hannibal again, lightly pushing him back on the couch so that she could straddle him again. They were so lost in one another that they almost didn’t hear the sound of Hannibal’s phone ringing, but when it continued with persistence, they realized it couldn’t be ignored.

Hannibal shifted (Y/N) so that he could carefully place her on the couch before reaching for his phone, which was in the pocket of his discarded pants on the floor.

“Hello?” There was a brief pause as whoever was on the other end spoke. (Y/N) sat up and began to kiss Hannibal’s exposed shoulders, moving slowly to his neck, in an attempt to tease him. It worked, as Hannibal moved his head to give (Y/N) more access to his neck, and she could see he was holding back a groan. “Yes, I am free. You can come over as soon as you can. See you then.”

(Y/N) pouted as Hannibal stood.

“Will is on his way here for an emergency session,” he explained. “I don’t believe it would be good for him to walk in on the two of us like this.”

(Y/N) sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I should get going.”

Hannibal offered her his blazer. "I can replace the shirt that I ruined.”

She gratefully took it and pulled it on over her exposed body. It didn’t hide everything as much as a shirt would, but she was going straight home so it wasn’t like she had to worry too much.

As Hannibal ushered her out of his office, he grabbed her arm to stop her before she left completely. (Y/N) giggled as he pulled her to him, giving her one last kiss.

“I will see you again soon,” he promised her.

She smiled and responded, “I’ll be waiting.”

i was originally going to call this imagine “are you going to kill me?” but figured tumblr wouldn’t appreciate that

#hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal lecter x reader #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkelsen imagine #mads mikkelsen x reader #hannibal #hannibal imagine #one shot #imagine

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erricdraven · 3 years

Note

i'm really intrigued by your s6 spuffy thoughts can you talk more about what you mentioned in your tags???

lol yeah i really lost my entire mind in the tags oops

but sure, i'm happy to talk more about it. it's the one hang up i have about the show that i still have yet to make peace with and honestly don't think i ever will. i really respect now as i've gotten older how characters challenge us to think from new perspectives, and buffy has always been a character that challenges me in a few specific areas. when it comes to buffy and spike, i'm immediately predisposed to empathize with spike when i comes to the way he's treated regarding his feelings because i'm very much a heart-on-my-sleeve, all in person with love myself, and so it's a really hard thing for me to consume something so personally difficult in media i enjoy. i also feel like i need to preface this by saying that at the root of all my thoughts about what their s6 arc is, i believe they are both in the wrong in certain aspects. i'm not saying that spike has done nothing wrong and buffy is the one making all the bad choices and saying all the bad things.

so, with all that said--

the best way i can think to pinpoint why i'm really bothered by buffy's part in their issues can be summed up in the scene in entropy (?) where buffy accuses spike of spying on her on the grounds that she believes that's well within his character to violate her privacy and life like that, and with all the things she lists that he does (lie, cheat, steal, manipulate), he says "i don't hurt you." that interaction really highlights how the power dynamic is really fucked up and skewed for buffy to use to take advantage of. she knows that spike loves her (and though she's really resistant to acknowledging he really does love her, she believes that he believes that he loves her) and has repeatedly acknowledged outright and acted on the fact that he wants to spare her pain in any way that he can. he wants to protect her from getting hurt and if he can't, he wants to comfort her and try to make it better. granted, sometimes his solutions aren't conducive for her, but the intention (which is really important!!) is always to help her and support her.

with this in mind, i think that is why i have such a hard time with s6 buffy. i've yet to get to a point where i can feel comfortable watching her relationship with spike in this season because of how tremendously cruel she is. i understand that she's in serious pain and she feels horrified at herself for wanting to engage in this dark twisted thing with him, but at its heart, i feel like the thing that makes it dark and twisted, given that she knows that he loves her and that sex with him means something, is that she has backed him into a corner by setting a boundary of "i can only accept this so long as it hurts us". as soon as she starts facing her feelings, she can't bear to let him in anymore. we see at the start of s6 that the dynamic between them is something very sweet and gentle and kind. spike is careful and kind and supportive of her as she tries to feel out how to live in the world again. he's understanding of her circumstances (empathizing with the pain and trauma of having to claw your way out of your grave), he kept his promise to care for dawn without any thought of reward (and continues to from then on out), she admits that when she wants to be alone, she still feels most at peace when she's alone with him, and she seeks his input and advice on how to try to figure out the things that she feels like she's way over her head about ("so what do you know about finances?").

people are fallible and characters aren't meant to be perfect, and i believe that's really how writing should be, but this is something i feel like is much more complex than just a flawed character in the throes of an extended major depressive episode. we don't really see any genuine remorse from her directed at spike for how she has treated him even when she admits her disgust with herself for how she was taking advantage of him. when we see buffy fall apart to tara in devastation at the person she's become, i feel like what we're seeing is just an overwhelming amount of self-hatred at what she sees when she looks at herself. it feels like very...self-focused shame, like people who are disgusted at the realization that someone sees and classifies them as a bad person. we recoil from that moniker because we know it's wrong, and that's what we see in buffy. she hates that she's "a bad person", but what feels really lacking for me is the self-awareness to then turn that self-focused shame into a more... i don't know, i hate to call it this, but altruistic shame at the way she has been hurting spike purposefully. taking responsibility for her cruelty i feel like should have looked like her bearing the burden of her shame about her actions, accepting the discomfort of having to humble herself and hold it and say 'yeah, this is mine.' all throughout s6 in particular, spike is consistently the bad guy in every equation when it comes to his relationship with buffy, and that has always felt wrong to me, like a huge disservice to the story and his character. is he a bad guy broadly speaking? yeah, he's more villain than hero for sure. but is he the bad guy in their relationship? i'd argue no, he's not, and we never really get catharsis for that!!

especially with spike having his soul in s7, the tumultuous and abusive dynamic of their relationship in the previous season is treated as something they can just look back at and say "oh well we can move on now and be good and okay because we're never going back there again" even though buffy never apologizes to him for what she did to him and acknowledges it was wrong by taking that responsibility. it's always framed as buffy's stance being "sex is bad and dirty, and engaging in "dark" sex with you was bad so we'll never do it again." i tried to hunt it down and couldn't find it, but @chasingfictions made an amazing post that really struck me, talking about how, while the idea of the soul being a determination of good and a lack of soul being a determination of evil is a bit too simplistic and unsatisfying in the debate of good vs evil, spike's pursuit of a soul and actually getting it all on his own so that he could be a better man to the woman he loves and the world she risks her life every day to protect is so powerful and beautiful. the fact that in the show's canon, no one that becomes soulless has ever sought out getting their soul back, and no only does he get it back, he wins it back!! he fought to have it as a step towards being better, and that intention of choosing to be better means so fucking much! and he made that choice to take an action of good without the soul in question, after having, on many occasions, acted contrary to his nature to be better.

the writing leads us to a point where we support spike's pursuit of redemption and are moved by it, but to me, i think buffy should have been driven to seek her own redemption too. without it, i personally feel a very pervasive sense that catharsis for everything they went through in s6 was never really achieved.

in conclusion (lmao)... everyone interprets text/subtext differently, and that's absolutely okay, so i'm not saying that this is the only right interpretation of things! but for me, after spending a really long time trying to reconcile this discomfort i feel with buffy's character and not being able to get there, this is where i've landed.

#whooooooooooooo this got extremely long winded i'm sorry i just have a lot of thoughts and i try not to share them and start shit lol #buffy the vampire slayer #spike #buffy summers #ramble #ask #anon #otp: he is in my heart

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whetstonefires · 4 years

Text

in the shadows

hey guess who has two thumbs and just spent 5 hours straight writing another batman AU?

Batman wasn’t a person.

He faked it very well. When the League gathered, the line of his mask against pale skin looked natural and human, a little more perfectly fitted than the Flash’s but not quite as perfect as Green Lantern’s, which was an energy projection and not a real object and thus lay against his face flawlessly, without shift or gap.

His mouth didn’t bend into many expressions and his body language wasn’t voluble, but the emotive gestures that he did make were pretty normal. The rare smile seemed honest. He had a heartbeat, perfectly steady. His shadow (almost) always matched the shape that was blocking the light.

The stories that came out of Gotham, about the Bat—those could be exaggerations, born of terror and manipulated perception. Clark, of all people, knew how much you could convince people to believe things that weren’t real, because they made a better story. Even the scraps of photography and film showing a towering thing of black fog and long fangs could have been some clever trick with projectors.

The fact that Superman couldn’t see through his suit just meant it was well made.

He’d had to pool his observations with Diana and J’onn before he’d been sure he wasn’t imagining things. But Martian Manhunter knew shapeshifting, and said the block against his mind when he tried to touch Batman’s thoughts did not feel quite human. And Superman knew what posing as human looked like. And Wonder Woman knew truth, and its absence.

Batman wasn’t human. Which wasn’t the problem, of course.

The problem was that he was pretending he was. Pretending it rigorously in a situation where there shouldn’t be any need, unless he had something worse to hide. Pretending it in a way that overlaid on a certain inhuman predatory grace began to look very dangerous indeed.

Superman could see both things in him now, watching narrow-eyed through a roof into the room where Batman bent over a child’s bed, cape swirling up larger and darker than he let it get around them. The man and the hungry creature, flipping in and out of focus, neither ever gone but superimposed, like a trick picture that was two things at once.

Knuckles ghosted over the boy’s cheek, claws turned inward, and the child sighed softly, and sunk deeper into sleep. Batman’s heart wasn’t beating, but Clark could monitor the child’s vitals easily from here.

Batman drew his hand back, and tipped his head up—looking back at Superman as though the roof was no more a barrier to his perceptions than to Clark’s. Waited a beat, as if making sure his attention had been noticed, and then passed soundlessly between the other beds to the window, slid it open, and launched himself out through it and up onto the roof.

He didn’t bother to restrain himself to even a plausible approximation of human limits, now. The arm he reached up to the edge of the roof to pivot himself up by was too long, and his shoulder rotated further than it should have been able to, and he landed with impossible soundlessness in a billow of cape that was far, far larger than any cape that only reached to his heels should have managed, and which faded out at the edges into shadow. He knew he was found out.

Superman took the obvious invitation, and sunk down to join him. It was better, sitting like this, facing the same way on the ridgepole of a two-story building. Batman hadn’t hurt that child, that he could tell. There was no need to make this a confrontation.

“I don’t understand why,” he said at last. Out of deference for sleeping children, he kept his voice soft—he would have worried about a human being able to hear it, but now he knew he didn’t have to worry about that with Batman. “Why go to so much trouble to deceive us? We haven’t kept secret what we are. Not from you.”

Alien, alien, user of alien weapon, magical princess…

Batman sighed. He spoke almost as softly as Clark had, and his voice sounded the same as ever, except for the fact that a human voice couldn’t get this quiet without falling into a whisper. “I’m not like you.” He turned.

He’d let some of the details of his human mask fall away—what must have been the exhaustively rendered texture of skin, the flakes of dry skin on chapping lips, a crease at the corner of his mouth that had suggested he scowled or smiled more, outside of his costume. There was no pretense of a jawbone, under the skin, though the jawline externally hadn’t changed. The cowl still looked like something he was wearing, but Clark knew it was not. It flexed like skin when Batman narrowed his blank white eyes and said, “I can see you know that.”

“You’ve visited that kid every day for weeks,” Clark said. “Why?”

Batman stared at him. “How long have you known?”

“Batman…”

“You’re confronting me now because you’re worried about my intentions toward Dick. He changed your mind about something. Ergo, you’ve been sitting on this for a while. How long have you known I wasn’t real?”

That was such a bizarre choice of words Clark almost skipped answering the question to chase it down, but he held himself back. This wasn’t a story, and Batman wasn’t even a hostile source so far, if it had been. “Wonder Woman, J’onn and I pooled our observations about four months ago, in April. We were pretty sure by the time we finished comparing notes.” He shrugged. “I suspected something a long time before that, but it’s hard to say when it started to be more than…a feeling.”

“A feeling,” Batman echoed. “Yes, it would start there.”

“So?” Superman prompted. He had liked Batman. He was the last person who could insist that someone hiding the truth of his own nature was reprehensible, though the sting he’d felt about it was an uncomfortable reminder of how much most of his friends would resent him, if they knew the truth. So he’d meant to let it lie, until Batman chose to trust them, or gave them a reason not to trust him. “Why have you been visiting…Dick?”

It wouldn’t be suspicious on its own—well, not very suspicious, all things considered, in context—except that Batman had changed, around the same time. Diana said his presence seemed deeper, Clark thought he seemed to be having trouble staying within the outlines of his human mask. J’onn agreed that he seemed somehow more powerful.

Batman stayed silent a long time. Eighteen heartbeats from the boy below them, slower than those of his peers because he had an athlete’s conditioning already and was more deeply asleep than most of them. At last, the being beside him confessed, “He’s carrying me.”

“What?”

“You noticed I’m stronger now,” Batman said matter-of-factly, in a way that almost managed to cover up emotion. “That’s his doing. I was…fading, when you met me. Not up to capacity. I’m not really meant to exist that way.” He glanced over at Superman again, as though evaluating his reaction, and Clark wondered if he had really needed to do that—if he really only saw out of his eyes. J’onn could make eyes anywhere he wanted some, but he needed them to see. Batman seemed somehow less constrained by biology than that.

“Is it hurting him?”

“No! No. It…shouldn’t.” Batman ghosted a sigh, voiceless, inhuman as the wind. “I don’t know that it’s good for a child to be around me. But I’m not…taking anything from him. I’m not…feeding on him, if that’s what you think.”

It was what Clark had feared. And probably anything that would eat a child would also lie about it, but Batman was his teammate and very nearly his friend. So it was reassuring to have it so firmly denied. He’d come braced for only a little and no lasting damage and he said it was fine.

“Please,” he said. “Can you explain it to me?”

“I suppose I have to.” Batman tipped his head back, to look up at the few stars that smudged themselves visible through the red blanket of light-polluted smog overhead. Clark could make out more of them, even with his ordinary visible-light vision, than a human could have. He wondered what Batman saw. “Will you tell the others for me? Your little conspiracy?”

“Not Green Lantern and Flash?”

“Hal and Barry can figure me out on their own.” That dry sense of humor was the same, even if it was bending amusement onto a mouth that could no longer pass as human.

A breath Clark suspected he didn’t need was drawn. “A different little boy made me up,” Batman said. “Bruce Wayne. You can look the story up in the newspaper archives.

“It was a little over twenty years ago, in Gotham. A mugger shot his parents in front of him.” Another slanted glance, and then he looked away again. He certainly acted like he needed his eyes to see. “It wasn’t more terrible than things that happen to a hundred other people every day, really. But he was the right kind of terrified and angry, in the right place, at the right moment…the police reports all say he tackled the mugger from behind, and got lucky that the man hit his head. But it was me. I took him down.”

He raised his face back toward the smudged stars. “I was such a small thing, then. If that vengeance had been enough—the killer taken in and sentenced, brought to justice—I would have faded away again. Things like me are summoned and dispelled that way all the time. Or he could have taken me back into himself—the danger was past, it wasn’t a chronic part of his existence, so I would have reintegrated, probably, and not hung around rising up to protect him for the rest of his life, and probably disrupting it in the process.”

That amused quirk to the horizontal slash of a mouth, again. “But it wasn’t enough. Not for him. He clung. He brooded. He wanted to protect everyone. And I grew.” Bittersweet and fond. “I grew until I really could help. Until anyone could see me, any time I liked. Until I was solid enough to get in half a dozen fights in one night without my blows starting to go right through the enemy.”

There was no way Batman was letting him know these things about how he worked, when he wasn’t holding back, by accident. They were being given.

“Where’s Bruce now?” Clark asked. Knowing it was probably a painful topic, but hoping to hear it was some rule of magic out of a storybook, that only a child had the right kind of belief to sustain a projection of this nature. That Bruce Wayne had grown up and moved on and had a career and a family, and perhaps didn’t remember that Batman was something he’d made.

Batman’s eyes closed, and vanished completely into the black of his head. He’d kept unspooling all the while he’d been talking, Clark realized, and the gouts and folds and flame-like flickers of his cape now sprawled over more than half the roof, leaving a great circle of open space around Superman himself, and a broad open route away from Batman, as though he couldn’t just go straight up if he wanted to get away. The billows of it had now collapsed in on themselves. His voice, when he spoke, was hushed and solemn, but calm. “He didn’t make it to sixteen. He died tackling a gunman who’d been holding up a corner store where he happened to be, buying junk food he wasn’t supposed to have. The cashier fumbled the register key and bent over to pick it up, and the man panicked and started shooting. Bruce saved lives, that night. But he didn’t survive. Because I wasn’t there. I was away protecting other people, like he’d asked me to.”

“I’m sorry,” Clark said. Inadequate as always, but more so, when he’d pushed for this truth and didn’t even understand enough to know how to offer comfort. He reached out to offer a comforting, boundary-respecting brief pat on the shoulder, like he might have when he had less idea what Batman was, and his hand hung still in the air, as the face Batman turned toward him was human again, so abruptly that even to his accelerated visual perceptions it looked like some sort of glitch.

“This is his face,” Batman told him, and the grief that hadn’t been in his voice before was worn on it, in the pull of the mouth and the bend of pain around the blank white eyes. He looked like he might cry. “The way he would have looked. He never…grew this far, but…”

“In memory of him, then,” Superman said, soothing, and was able to deliver the pat on the shoulder and withdraw. It sounded like Batman was in some ways the only surviving part of Bruce Wayne, and as such had every right to his appearance, but he clearly didn’t think of himself that way, and it wasn’t Clark’s place to try to alter his self-concept, or even make comment when he’d only just been introduced to it. “That seems appropriate.”

Batman shrugged. It looked very human, except for the way the cape parts of him reacted. “I knew it best.”

Had he held the memory of his…creator’s face in his head, updating it carefully to how he would have looked with every year or month that passed? That couldn’t be healthy. It also might be unavoidable, considering Batman’s origins.

“You went on protecting Gotham, afterward?”

“What else would I do?”

“And you joined us. When Starro came.” Batman nodded, as though that was only obvious. Clark supposed it was—when you were a supernatural entity created to protect human beings, why would you not answer a call to band together with other superpowered beings to save the world? “Why did you pretend?” he asked. “To be…”

“Human?” Batman asked. He snorted in derision, either at Clark’s inability to choose a word or his own deceit. “It wasn’t the first time. I talk to the police like this, sometimes. Witnesses. It reassures people, to be talking to a…person.”

That was the same reason J’onn made himself look more human, even in blatant green—it wasn’t entirely unlike why Clark kept his own life as Clark, why Superman didn’t wear a mask. “But why…” He’d gone to such lengths, to maintain the façade. Human jaw and teeth, sculpted solid to catch X-ray vision behind flesh he’d carefully made permeable to it, when even now with the image of Bruce Wayne’s face restored he wasn’t bothering. Consistent physical proportions. Always running close against the edge of normal human limits, of strength and speed and length of jump—not hanging back, but not throwing himself onto the front line either, contributing as much with tactics and analysis as actual combat. “Why try so hard to convince us?”

Batman shrugged. “I wasn’t holding back that much. I told you. I was fading. I was never meant to last. Once it turned out the team wasn’t a one-time thing, I still didn’t want to go through the whole…process of revelation.”

“But you’re doing it now.” Clark found he was grinding his teeth, because he was putting together a picture he didn’t like. “Because. Now you’re expecting to survive.” Batman had been dying. He hadn’t thought it was worth the stress of being honest with them, because he hadn’t expected to exist long enough for their relationships to matter.

Superman glanced down through the roof at the sleeping children, and one child in particular.

“I wasn’t there in time to save his parents, either,” Batman said, and Clark knew that feeling—all this power and yet you could still arrive too late, and be too little. But Batman was defined by that feeling, founded upon it almost, so it probably struck him deeper. “But I was there afterward. I protected him from the followup attacks, meant to stop him testifying about the sabotage he’d witnessed.

“And he clung to me, whenever I came…I do try to comfort them, especially when it’s children, but usually they’re at least a little bit afraid. He wasn’t. And he didn’t have anyone else to cling to. They wouldn’t let his parents’ friends in to see him more than once, and then they left town. And then, after I came to tell him that Zucco and his men were taken care of for good, when I left I felt the distance opening…I realized I was…his, now.”

There was a strange, wondering ache in the way he said it that made it easy for Clark to repress his own discomfort with the idea of anyone belonging to anyone else, and of something that looked like a grown man asserting an intimate personal bond with an unrelated child. Batman was supposed to belong to a child, it was how he’d been made, and he’d expected to die by inches in the absence of the one who’d made him, and now he suddenly wasn’t. This little orphan was the most precious thing in his world, that was plain, and to Clark at least it was equally plain that he felt a deep guilt at replacing the boy who had been his world before.

He wondered, suddenly, if Batman had ever been this honest with anyone in his existence. Had he been this open even with his Bruce, or had his need to protect led him to put on a front, and conceal every uncertainty?

The pale smudge of Batman’s face was still and remote, and his voice was nearly calm, but the darkness of his cape had spilled out over the whole roof now, and it was gently writhing. The route out for Superman, opposite Batman’s main body, had shrunk to the merest footpath. Was that there out of instinct, or a more conscious courtesy?

“You don’t have to leave that,” Superman said quietly, flipping his thumb toward the corridor of open shingle and beam. “I know you aren’t trying to trap me, and it won’t anyway.”

The path snapped shut almost instantaneously, and a little of the strain in the atmosphere faded—Batman had been holding himself back from encircling him completely only with continuous effort. Why? Did he naturally expand to fill the available space? Or was expanding in the form of the cape an expression of emotion that was uncomfortable to suppress, in the same way it was hard to sit still when you felt anxious, or hold your tongue when you got mad?

His teammate’s whole torso was turned away, now, and this too was easy to read—shame at his own inhumanity. In front of Clark, of all people. But then, Clark made it look easy, didn’t he? It even was easy for him, when it came to things like looking like he fit in.

J’onn should have been the one to come. But it disconcerted him not to be able to pick up anything Batman did not intentionally share—Clark didn’t think he’d learned to read human body language yet, beyond the most obvious things—and Batman had been known to use fire.

“It didn’t seem wise to seem to be trying to threaten you,” Batman said flatly, into the night.

“Thank you,” said Superman, because while he didn’t mind at this point, it would definitely have made him uncomfortable earlier, before Batman had made himself so vulnerable. “Could you, do you think?”

A sidelong look. “You’re less invulnerable to magic,” Batman said. “Probably.”

Something to keep in mind. The Flash was the only teammate he had now that he was reasonably sure he could take three falls out of three. Maybe they could start practicing against each other, if they could find somewhere they could risk making a mess on that scale. Sparring—he and Diana had tried it out, gingerly. If Batman wanted to stretch out his re-expanding powers in a secure environment…

“Do you have any plans, going forward?” Now that he had a future to plan for.

“I have someone who helps me,” Batman replied. “Bruce’s guardian, after his parents died. He wanted to leave Gotham, after…but he stayed. To try to help the city, in Bruce’s memory. And to keep an eye on me.” The amusement this time was bitter. “We don’t really get along. He thinks Bruce died because of me—that I made him feel invulnerable, and then didn’t protect him. He’s projecting. But I suppose that’s what I’m for.”

Clark made a face; he didn’t like the idea of people being for purposes. Even people who’d been made. This wasn’t the time to argue about it. “But he helps you?”

“He helps.” Batman glanced down, toward Dick’s bed, as though once again he could see through the roof. “I’m trying to get him to agree to take Dick in. He did a good job with Bruce, even if he doesn’t think so.”

“Will that be the best for Dick?” Clark asked, as neutrally as he could manage. He could tell Batman’s intentions were good, but he didn’t know if putting a child entirely within the influence of a supernatural being that had latched onto him, without an external line of support, was a good idea. On the other hand, putting him in the care of an adult who would know he wasn’t delusional could only help. And Clark could be the outside support, if necessary—not that he wasn’t under Batman’s influence himself, but he wasn’t within his circle of it the way this Alfred seemed to be, resentment or not. The resentment might be the most dangerous part.

What part of this train of thought Batman sensed, he couldn’t tell, as his comrade only retorted, “It can’t be worse than here!”

A group home with four beds to a room certainly wasn’t the best environment, but surely he couldn’t be here much longer. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“He doesn’t get much privacy. He agreed to meet with Alfred last time he ducked into a closet while I was there, so now Alfred’s the focus of the plan.” Batman sighed again. “He’s so brave,” he said fondly. “It worries me. I wish he were somewhere safe.”

The wild impulse rose to offer to step in, to take the role of legal guardian if this Alfred wouldn’t. Clark sat on it. He didn’t want a child, he wasn’t equipped to care for a child, CPS would be able to see that perfectly well in a single reporter in his 20s living in a one-bedroom apartment in a somewhat run-down building. He didn’t even live in the same state, and child placement was handled on a state-by-state basis so even petitioning for custody would be horrifically involved, never mind obtaining it. Also, he had a secret identity to protect.

He couldn’t always help. The hardest lesson in life, and one he had to keep relearning.

“So your plans are…to get Dick into a safe home environment.”

“And keep him alive,” Batman affirmed. Quick, and firm, and almost not obvious about what a vital goal this was to him. Keeping this child alive, the way he’d failed to keep the one before.

“Of course.” Clark nodded. If everything he’d been told was true—and he thought it was, it felt true—then there was no need for the League to intervene. Gotham was probably safer than it had ever been. “Can I meet him, sometime?” Partly to do his part as an outside support network. Partly because he was curious, to meet this child who’d been able to reach his hand into Batman’s chest and close his fingers around his heart.

Batman glanced over, and then seemed to relax. Even the endless piles of his cape seemed suddenly to behave more like ordinary fabric. “I passed, then?”

“What?” Oh. Of course he’d known. Clark had hardly been sneaky. “Yes.”

“Not that I know what you were planning to do if I hadn’t.”

Clark didn’t know either, other than get Dick away of he seemed to need it.

“All of this is off the record, of course,” Batman added. It was a testament to how distracted Superman was by Batman’s problems that it took a long second for him to realize the potential implications of that choice of words, and read in Batman’s posture and the way his cape had developed hooks of tension in some of its folds that they were entirely intentional.

“How long have you known?” he asked.

“You attended a press event in Gotham two years ago. You still feel like you, no matter how you dress.”

“Well.” Superman tried to shake the sudden tension out of his shoulders. Batman was a good detective and data analyst, that hadn’t changed with the rest of it. He’d certainly tracked down the name of the gentleman from the Planet. “I guess that’s fair. And of course it’s off the record. I won’t even tell J’onn and Diana anything but the basics without your permission.”

“Oh.” Batman clearly hadn’t expected that. “Why?”

“You have a right to your privacy.” Clark thought back over his own approach to the whole situation and said, with a gentleness born somewhat of guilt, “You are a person, after all.”

“I’m really not,” Batman said, corner of his mouth ticking up just slightly to underline the easy irony in his voice. But the great spread of cape had fallen into easier, more geometric wrinkles, and Clark was beginning to learn to trust that over what he said with his borrowed face. Though he could almost definitely lie with the cape part of himself, too, if he needed to.

“Don’t…” His tongue flickered across the back of his teeth; be brave, Kent. “Don’t talk about my friend that way, huh?”

#hoc est meum #my fic #batman #imaginary friend batman #world's finest #somewhat to my surprise #protective batman #inhuman batman #superman #people talking on roofs

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warnadudenexttime · 3 years

Text

Ok so swap aus, love them whole lot!!

Like personality swaps are interesting but the thing that gives sanders sides an edge to swap aus is the idea of the sides swapping traits!

Obvs dark side light side swaps are neat as well but that’s a whole other discussion so

Because I am a hoe for my ships ( that being moceit, analogical, Platonic/brotherly creativitwins ) let’s start off with the concept of

Logan - anxiety

Virgil - logic

Patton - deception

Janus - morality

Remus - light creativity

Roman - dark creativity

Now it’s important to note that listen you rarely see this type of swap, I’ve never seen it atleast??

It’s mostly logicality prinxiety swaps and I get the appeal they’re opposites, so it causes conflict, Same with Logince and moxiety is also a common swap

However!! I do have some ideas :D it’s not a fully fleshed out idea but still a concept!!

Commonly enough when people switch traits for the sides they honestly dont keep a lot of what that side was. For example patton is a hyper, kind hearted sad dad when anxiety he just loses that and just acts like a droopy Virgil yk yk?

So we are gonna try and preserve those personalities without making them not fit for the trait entirely, meaning we may have to exaggerate some details about them

For example:

Canonly, Patton can sometimes be manipulative so we may have to heighten that up a bit, stuff like that

So back on topic

I think we should still keep C!thomas the same, atleast in the beginning of me writing this, we work around the idea of him staying the same as canon and from there we can change him as needed

—————

Logan as anxiety

- a bit more confident as hes listened too more than logic!logan sadly enough

- I’d say hes a lot more open about his more negative emotions, while he does try and to still not show them his anger does slip out a bit much whenever he feels like his points are gonna get thomas killed, lmao insert tempest tongue falsehood joke here

- he’d have the look more that of a tired professor

- wrinkled black button up, he’d have a purple tie. Instead of just like makeup eye shadow, he’d have actual eye bags

- probably kept C!thomas up through many college and school nights for studying

- is always anxious YouTube is gonna fail and regrets not putting up more effort for Thomas to go into his chemical engineering degree

- obvs cause I’m an analogical hoe I’ll sneak this in, Logan really does like virgil as virgil too values thomas’ education and just kinda sits there while Logan angrily rants every single possibility of what could go wrong today

- “and there’s a highly probable statistic that we could end up dying participating in this activity! 75%, virgil!!”

- I think when overwhelmed with his mind racing through probabilities he’d end up messing with or loosening his tie, cleaning his glasses a lot, or chewing on the end of his sleeves

- I think he accidentally blurts out a lot of words especially when he’s trying to hold in his anger, like “THATS A BAD IDEA” then slaps his hands over his mouth and just kinda says, “apologies... I need to stop my sudden outbursts as they’re becoming a frequent problem” and hey the outbursts getting even more worse and uncontrollable could lead to Logan doing an ol duck like in AA

—————

patton as deception

- I think I myself would love a dark side who comes in sickeningly sweet but has “darker” intentions I suppose?

- I think Janus wouldn’t like Patton in the start because he knows how easily manipulated C!thomas can be and to see a seemingly innocent dad try and push some morals on you, he’s cautious

- so Patton when he first appears doesn’t hide himself like Janus did behind a disguise... well sort of?

- he comes in dressed as his outfit in the series, maybe throughout the whole time he’s redirecting the conversation in his favor so no one reveals him, which we’ve seen canon Patton do a good job of being able to distract the sides from fighting so we can say he has that ability himself as well

- maybe like Janus he can stop people from saying words he doesn’t want thomas to know, or well thomas himself doesn’t wanna know

- but instead of the obvious slams hand over mouth it’s more like, Virgil speaks up saying “Thomas, It would probably help you to know that, Patton isn’t exactly-“ and maybe either he tries to finish his sentence and can’t speak, he just lets out air instead of a noise. Or forgets what he was talking about all together, another form of misdirection?

- patton’s whole thing is he came up here, dressed in his lil innocent dad outfit, being sweet as all hell “kiddo, I heard about a certain show you messed of Joan’s? Now we don’t joan hating us do we? We love Joan to death and we wouldn’t wanna hurt them! Can you imagine the look on their face?” Which Janus just says, “are you asking him to lie? You and I both have the understanding that Joan hates being lied to.”

- patton’s like “ehhh I know, but I think saving the relationship is more important! We don’t know if telling the truth could end up hurting Joan more then just a small fib?”

- so blah blah Patton is revealed

- his cardigan is back to his cat hoodie which is the black variety, instead maybe tied around his waist? He could have fingerless gloves that kinda look like cat

- paws? Like, he’s the unlucky black cat. He doesn’t have snake makeup but maybe he has sharps canines/fangs like cats do. And maybe we could keep the polo just make it yellow? Not sure though, but I do wanna have his lil logo go from just a blue heart when first shown to a yellow one with it like, being broken with a claw mark, like someone tore through it

- and why he chose to come in blue in the first place maybe he wanted to show thomas he was similar to Janus or maybe he has a crush on Janus? 👀👀 who’s to say

- but he’s revealed and just ahHhwhaj OH NO THE CAT PUNS, “apawogies Thomas for deceiving you a bit there, I was just trying to help make sure joan is feline good in the end! I do think you should really reconsider- meow I better get on my way then ol’ creativity needs some pasta. Keep my ideas in mind kiddo!” Then leaves lmao

- and that could be a solid set up for Thomas to be like- wait is there two creativities? Yk yk

- I do have some ideas for how svs and svs redux could go but yeah

- overall Janus, not really that known for having an animal trait as much as Patton and Roman but Janus could turn into a snake for svs redux-

I’m getting a head of myself lol

- point is, lmao- Patton’s animal trait is a cat

- he’s still kind? He can be a bit more pushy then canon Patton. But his first method is always just a gentle nudge and, “oh come on kiddo, I think your father would probably agree with me on this one”

- he’s not so much for thomas’ self preservation as more so he pushes thomas to help his friends and because he wants to make sure thomas looks good enough for them so they’ll stay he ends up pushing for lying

I have some more ideas for the other sides as well but just wanted to see what some thoughts are before I keep on developing this :D

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #Janus sanders #Remus sanders #Roman sanders #Patton sanders #swap sides au

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kaizokuou-ni-naru · 3 years

Text

The Voyage So Far: Alabasta (Part Two)

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

crocodile is one of my favorite villains in one piece for a number of reasons, and one of them is because he’s such a threat, the first real one faced in the grand line and one of the toughest in all of paradise. the villains from the arcs before this, like wapol or the agents from little garden, could barely even land a hit on luffy in actual combat. so crocodile is introduced here as an absolute force of nature, a complete contrast to recent villains and a very tangible threat.

it’s an impression he very much lives up to later in the arc by crushing luffy not once but twice, which only makes luffy’s ultimate hard-won triumph feel all the better. luffy closes a huge gap over the course of alabasta in order to be able to beat crocodile, and giving us a sense of just how strong he is from the very start gives luffy clawing his way up to that level a lot more weight.

the successive reveals of luffy’s family never fail to absolutely delight me, because in any other series they would almost certainly feel contrived, but knowing luffy, it is absolutely unsurprising he just never happened to mention his relatives. nobody asked! luffy’s unique brand of honesty is one of my favorite character quirks, because he’s very straightforward and in fact can’t lie for shit, but his priorities are so completely off the wall that he winds up omitting highly relevant information completely by accident.

ace’s scene in alabasta really does impress me. oda’s said in an sbs that he knew ace’s fate from his introduction, which i find absolutely unsurprising given the intricacy of his story planning. that means he needed ace’s introduction to make him both likable and memorable enough in the space of just a couple chapters that the audience would be engaged when he became the focus of the story a couple hundred chapters on despite barely appearing at all in the intervening time, and he really succeeded.

kohza is one of my favorite minor characters in the whole series, and i think he’s a big part of why alabasta’s civil war plotline works so well and feels so real. nobody on either side of the war actually wants to fight, but everyone has been driven to such desperation that they feel they have no other choice in order to save their country; and kohza exemplifies that. he's a good person who loves his country a lot, and who genuinely likes and cares about the royal family and vivi especially, and the only option he can see to save alabasta is terrible, but there’s nothing else he can do.

it’s just fun for me to think about the fact that if crocodile was literally anything other than a very skilled logia, vivi would have ended the whole entire arc right here.

i really like civil war storylines when they’re well-done, and i think alabasta is one of the best ones i’ve seen in media. most of it is down to what i mentioned earlier, about how nobody on either side actually wants to fight but feels like they have no choice but to. nobody here is actually in the wrong except for crocodile, and so until crocodile is defeated, nothing can be fixed- which is what luffy, of all people, is the one to realize.

sanji’s mr. prince gambit is probably my single favorite part of alabasta, and i think one of the reasons i like it so much is because he basically beats crocodile at his own game. crocodile is terrifying in battle, but before anything else he’s a manipulator. he’s always working from the shadows, always deceiving people doing what he wants, and sanji manages to turn the tables on him and do the exact same back to him, twice.

also sanji looks great in glasses

smoker and tashigi both get kind of unfortunately sidelined after this saga, but they’re both really great characters in alabasta. (tashigi especially; i’ll get to her later.) much like the rebel army, they’re good people trying to do the right thing in the tangled mess of tension and politics and resentment that is alabasta- and when that means working with pirates, they’ll buckle down and do it, despite how much it might contradict their worldviews.

i love when events align in one piece so that people who don’t particularly like the strawhats wind up working with them for some common goal (as seen most prominently in impel down), and smoker and tashigi in alabasta are the first and still one of the best examples of that.

the entirety of luffy versus crocodile round one is so well done. we’re a hundred and fifty chapters in, and although luffy has struggled in fights before now and then, we get the sense he hasn’t ever really been pushed to the brink, and he’s certainly never lost.

and then he does, completely and absolutely, without ever even landing a hit on his opponent, and it hits like a punch.

oda seems to be a fan of characters just barely missing each other- the similar panel of robin and olvia running past each other from robin’s flashback comes to mind.

i’ve always liked that of all the strawhats, it’s usopp who gets the first “luffy is going to be king of the pirates” moment. they’ve all said it by the current chapters in wano (with the sole exception of robin, i believe), but usopp said it first, and that feels significant to me. he’s always been the one who feels the least secure in his place on the crew, but even so, he has so much faith in luffy.

nami’s fight with miss doublefinger is pretty silly in places and i think it gets frequently (understandably, it must be said) overshadowed by zoro’s fight with mr. 1 directly afterwards, but i really like it nonetheless. it’s nami’s first real solo fight in the whole series, and once she finds her feet she kicks ass, and i really like that. it feels like a very satisfying development for her, to stand up and risk her life in direct combat for vivi’s sake.

we’re now almost a thousand chapters in and its my firm belief that zoro versus mr. 1 is still one of the best fights in the entire series. i definitely think it’s probably zoro’s best fight- only his match with kaku compares. the narrative build over the course of the fight, from zoro struggling just to match mr. 1 (and getting shredded to pieces in the process) to cutting him down in one final stroke, is incredibly cool and satisfying to watch. it feels like a very tangible step forward for zoro in terms of ability, like a massive obstacle has been surmounted and, as he himself says, he’s now stronger for it.

its also very cool that this is, i believe, the first appearance of what is probably observation haki, though it isn’t named or recognized as such. i’m always endlessly impressed by all the little moments of internal consistency that oda manages to sprinkle into his story.

there’s barely any dialogue on these entire two pages, from crocodile dropping vivi to luffy and pell swooping in- the story is briefly told entirely through visuals- and i love that. it gives the impression of a single tense, frozen moment as vivi falls, which is then broken in spectacular fashion when luffy catches her.

i really, really like the progression that runs through all three of luffy’s fights with crocodile. the gap between them goes from being impossible, with luffy unable to even land a hit and crocodile basically toying with him; to surmountable but still huge, with luffy able to land some hits but still outclassed; to finally putting them on basically even ground. and every inch of that growth on luffy’s part is hard-fought and hard-won and well-deserved.

crocodile’s confidence in his abilities isn’t misplaced- he genuinely is that powerful. but if there’s anything we know about luffy by now, it’s that he doesn’t ever give up. it’s very fun to watch crocodile’s dismissiveness turn into disbelief turn into rage and frustration when luffy just won’t die.

luffy is, additionally, pretty clearly a better brawler than crocodile (which makes sense, crocodile is clearly used to devastating long-range attacks with his powers while luffy grew up fighting giant wildlife with his bare hands), which means that by the time of their last fight, where they’re just whaling on each other in the catacombs and crocodile is starting to get sloppy and desperate and lose control, if anything it’s luffy who has the upper hand.

zoro and sanji’s dynamic is always a favorite of mine, and one of the things i like best about them is how perfectly in sync they always manage to be when it comes to things that actually matter, despite fighting like cats and dogs pretty much every other time. i’ll never understand people who think they genuinely aren’t friends.

tashigi is really good in alabasta, okay. she essentially has her own entire character growth arc. she goes from her stance in loguetown, where she isn’t even tolerant of (fully legal!) bounty hunters, to here, where she’s forced to confront that the world isn’t nearly as black and white as she’s always believed it to be, that sometimes pirates are good and allies of the government are bad, and ultimately makes the right choice to help the strawhats even though it clearly pains and frustrates her that she can’t do anything more herself.

i’ll be forever mad that her only really significant appearance after this in punk hazard didn’t really live up to what her character deserved.

i really like how the countdown sequence is done. the tension is ratcheting up and up and up as the clock ticks down in the final seconds, panels cutting all over the city to show all the different characters, everyone who’s caught up in this conflict and everyone who’ll die if the cannon fires-

and then the clock hits zero, and we get this panel that’s just... quiet, after all the madness, as we see how vivi stopped the detonation. i think oda is very good at setting up his pages so they have a flow to them, so no matter how quickly you actually read sometimes things feel like they’re going very fast and all happening at once and then it slows down and gives the reader a chance to breathe, if only to speed up again later. i think oda is really good at pacing in general, really, both on a micro level like this and on a larger scale.

luffy’s greatest strength isn’t really his strength. he’s strong, absolutely, but that’s not really why he wins the fights he shouldn’t win. he wins because he just doesn’t fucking stay down. his fight with katakuri is probably the best example of this, because katakuri has him beat in pretty much every category except sheer endurance, and there as here, it’s that endurance that winds up getting luffy the win in the end.

i do love that it’s the rain that ends the war. not the explosion and pell’s sacrifice, not vivi’s pleading, not even luffy kicking crocodile into the stratosphere, but the rain, the thing alabasta’s been missing for too long, the thing crocodile stole, the only thing all these people are fighting over.

it’s crocodile’s symbolic defeat- at the same moment his power is broken by luffy, the stranglehold of dehydration he’s been using to foment war and rebellion is all at once gone, and he’s left with nothing at all, and alabasta can finally find peace and start to heal again.

i always love the little moments that show, usually without words, just how much the strawhats love each other, and all of them unanimously waiting until vivi is out of sight to collapse so that she won’t worry, won’t see how ragged they ran themselves for their sake, is definitely one of them.

i adore vivi’s sendoff, because while its sad she has to go, the certainty that someday they’ll meet again and that even if not they’ll always be crew manages to make this scene endlessly hopeful instead (which, i think, is also a good summary of one piece’s tone as a whole, at least in its more serious moments). luffy never says goodbye, after all, and nobody ever really leaves the strawhat pirates.

i’m really looking forward to vivi’s re-entry to the story. i really, really want to see her reunion with the strawhats.

hey look, it’s the panel my profile picture is from!

the mystery surrounding robin and her past is built up in little ways long before enies lobby, from her harsh reaction when confronted with by tashigi to her aversion to being called by her given name to this flashback, of her talking to cobra about her dream. of them, the latter is my favorite, because i think it’s probably the most sincere she is until enies lobby- which makes sense, given she thinks she’s about to die.

like many things about robin in alabasta, this gets cast in a new light by her backstory. if she dies here, so too does the entire legacy of ohara- but she’s so beaten down and hopeless that she really doesn’t see any light ahead to strive for. there’s no hope left, for her, and the whole world against her.

and then there’s luffy, who creates hope everywhere he goes, who makes her live anyways.

this is a hell of a spread to hook us very effectively right into the sky island saga. it’s a perfect reminder of just how much we still don’t know about all the endless mysteries of the grand line, and just how many adventures are still yet to be had.

#the voyage so far #arc: alabasta #one piece #opmeta #not japanese #long post

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apollos-garden · 3 years

Text

Thrall

A/N: in this, you’re an Avenger who has atmospheric / air manipulation powers. So basically you can move air, shove air, make a high/low pressure bubble, make a force field of wind, etc.

Word count: 1878

Summary: mind controlled Bucky is ordered to fight you

The metal-paneled hallway was silent as you snuck along the side. You’d successfully retrieved the element core from under heavy guard at one of HYDRA’s last bases without notice. Just a bit longer, and you’d get outside. Tony’s quinjet was as close as possible to the base without triggering the sensors, about a 3 minute run. At the end of the hallway, you saw Bucky waiting to make sure you weren’t ambushed and cornered in the narrow corridor. You quickened your steps, eager to get away from the flickering fluorescent lights and eerie echo. Suddenly, the speakers in the ceiling came on with a crackle.

Was that... Russian? “Желание. Ржавый...” You slowed in confusion, but Bucky’s eyes widened in horror before you could register the pattern. “No!” he shouted, plugging his ears in a desperate attempt to override the code, but the volume was deafening. “...Возвращение на Родину. Один...” In a last-ditch attempt to interrupt the sequence being read out, you sent a bolt of high pressure air hurtling towards the nearest speaker, crumpling it, but the others lining the hallway were more than loud enough to compensate. “Товарный вагон.” Silence resumed for a moment before Bucky straightened. “Я готов отвечать.” Ready to comply.

Your heart sank. “Bucky, pl-.” You were cut off by the voice in the ceiling. “Dispatch subject in possession of element core and return it to the base center. Do not damage the core.” Bucky’s eyes locked onto you, and he raised his gun. Panicking, you threw up a force field. It held off the first spray of bullets, but in a confined and stuffy area like this, it wouldn’t last for long. You needed to get outside. The door was in your line of sight, directly behind Bucky. That was the problem. Strengthening the field as much as possible, you slowly began advancing towards him.

As you got closer, the bullets’ ricochet paths started veering dangerously close to Bucky. Realizing this, he positioned the gun back across his shoulders and swapped to his knife. Bucky kicked the force field right in the middle, and although the winds spun his foot off, it wavered, weakened from the bullets. After absorbing another kick and two punches from his metal arm, the rushing air finally flickered down. You were completely unprotected. You had a knife in your belt and some explosive beads in a satchel, but even as you reached for the blade you knew you wouldn’t be able to hurt him.

Bucky jabbed with the knife at your stomach and you sent a focused burst of air hurtling towards the blade, averting it at the last second. Your mind raced, trying to come up with any strategy to get to the door. Narrowly dodging an elbow to the face, you saw your window. Shoving him to the side with a gust of wind, you launched yourself past him, diving onto the hard floor. Rolling, you made a mad dash for the door. You heard a whooshing noise and your left calf erupted in pain, his knife clattering to the ground. Stumbling, you reached for the door handle when you heard the characteristic click of a gun cocking.

You threw up a force field behind you, blocking a stream of bullets. You reached blindly for the door handle behind you, tugging it open. As you turned, a bullet ricocheted past the wall of wind and ripped into your right side as you almost fell outside, slamming the door behind you. Shaking, you reached for your radio. “Tony, Bucky got triggered and is trying to get the core back. I can’t hold him back for long. I need you to pick me up.” Not waiting for a response, you ran to a nearby tree, crouching behind it just as Bucky burst through the door. If you got the chance to form a low-pressure partial vacuum around his head, you might be able to make him pass out from hypoxia. You held out your hands, hiding them as best you could in the brush around the tree, and began to form the vacuum. Focused on tracking the blood drops you left in the muddy grass, Bucky didn’t notice the faint blurry film cast over his vision.

The sound of the rain pattering on leaves masked your heavy breathing. Your vision was also starting to blur, but from blood loss and exhaustion. The bubble had sealed, and oxygen levels should have fallen enough to be noticeable. And noticed it was. Bucky clawed at the bubble, but since it was just air, there was nothing to punch through. Unfortunately, he realized that he needed to find you before his air ran out at the same time that the blood trail ended right in front of you. Your eyes locked.

You formed your third force field just in time to block a kick that would have hit you square in the nose. It was stronger now, with the storm and free air, but you weren’t sure how long you could hold it and maintain the vacuum. Time to try something different. Hooking your foot around Bucky’s ankle, you took advantage of his air-deprived dizziness to flip him onto the ground, slamming his head onto a tree root. Summoning a concentrated force field around both his wrists, you kept both hands pinned to the ground. He strained against it and your head pounded with how much force you needed to exert to keep him there. Blood trickled from your nose. This could last for 10 seconds, tops.

Your head snapped up as blasters started firing from the rooftop of the base at the approach of Tony’s quinjet. By this time, Bucky definitely should have passed out. You turned your gaze back to Bucky just to see his metal arm rip through its confine, and then the other one. With alarm, you saw no sign of the bubble you had put in place. It must have fizzled out when you had to focus so much power on keeping Bucky restrained. You raised your hands to cast yet another force field to hold until the quinjet landed, but they shook badly and all you managed was a feeble puff. Bucky unslung his gun from his shoulders and you dive away, but a round of bullets rip into the air and one lodges into your bicep. You look up to the quinjet to see Hawkeye on the hatch shoot an arrow into Bucky’s leg. The last thing you see before your vision fades to black is Bucky crumpling to the ground next to you and Cap leaping from the quinjet.

________________________________

You slowly open your eyes. Your head feels pleasantly fuzzy, almost warm. As you open your eyes, some of that fogginess morphs into nausea. You’re in the quinjet. It’s quiet, the only noise the whir of the turbines and the splashing of rain on the roof and windows. Taking a deep breath, you push up onto your elbows. Your abs and arm burn, but thankfully the painkillers flowing down the IV line in your wrist numb most of the pain. “Woah, sit back down!” came a voice from behind you. You turn your head to see Natasha. “Oh. Hey, Nat.”

“Lie. Back. Down.” Geez, okay. You settle back onto the medical cot. Natasha dragged her chair over to you. “How’re you feeling?” You smirked. “Actually, pretty okay. This is some heavy stuff. Maybe I should get shot more often.” Natasha just raises an eyebrow at you. The memory of what happened gradually returns as you shake free from the analgesic mental fog. “Um, how’s Bucky? I saw him get nailed by Hawkeye.” Nat sighs. “Well, he’s fine physically. That was a hollow arrow filled with a fast-acting sedative, just to get him out of Winter Soldier mode. Mentally... well, he’s outside. Do you want to talk to him?”

You nodded, biting your lip in concern. Natasha got up and dipped around the door, saying something. Once she was gone, you sat up, leaning against the wall for support. After a moment, Bucky’s head peeked around the door. He didn’t seem like he was going to move. “Hey, Bucky. You can come in, you know.” Slowly, he walked in, stopping near the door. He hugged himself with one arm, holding onto the bicep of his metal arm. He didn’t make eye contact. You tracked his gaze, eyes fixed on the bandages wrapped around your waist and arm. “Don’t worry about those. Bruce used some of his cell matrix regeneration support bandages. I’ve read about them in journals. Bullet wounds don’t even scar over if you get one on fast enough.” Bucky nodded. “Could you maybe come here? I would move but I’m tethered.” You motioned to your wrist. Reluctantly, he walked over and sat where Nat had been.

Bucky still wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Hey. It’s okay. You couldn’t do anything, and I don’t blame you for it.” At that, his eyes snapped up to meet yours. His eyes were red. “Why didn’t you stop me?,” he asked hoarsely. “If Tony had got there any slower, I would have killed you.” You sighed. “I knew if I tried to really hit you, I would have pulled my punches. So then I wouldn’t have made any real attack and I would be close enough for you to really mess me up. Just holding you down and blocking was the only way for me to get out alive. Anyway, we both made it out.”

“It was this close to only one of us making it out!,” Bucky exclaimed. “I don’t get it. You almost died! Because of me!” His shoulders sagged and you could hear his voice crack. “I thought I lost you.” Bucky looked back up at you, blinking back tears. Some managed to escape and trail down his cheeks. Your own eyes stung seeing Bucky like this. “I’m right here, Bucky. I’m alive and so are you.” You pulled his head forward to kiss his forehead, then wrapped your arms around his neck. “It’s okay.” Bucky let himself be moved without resistance, but his hands wavered before settling on either side of the cot, not wanting to further hurt you. Silently, you lower one hand and intertwine your fingers with his, resting in your lap.

Eventually, Bucky’s back stopped shuddering with sobs and his breathing evened out. You wiped away residual tears with the back of your hand, gently tugging him next to you on the cot. The combined effect of keeping yourself upright with damaged ab muscles and the steady flow of the painkillers was beginning to take a toll on you, and you leaned a little into Bucky’s side. His brows furrowed in concern. He remained still for a moment before cautiously guiding your head into his lap. “Sorry, I guess these drugs are pretty strong,” you mumbled. “ ’S okay,” Bucky replied, running his fingers through your hair.

After about thirty seconds, you were already dead asleep. Bucky tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Your pulse was slow but strong and he could just barely feel the beat on his thigh where your neck rested. You both stayed like that, still and safe, until the quinjet landed.

#bucky barnes #bucky fluff #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky angst #bucky x reader #bucky barns x y/n #james barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #hurt/comfort #h/c #bucky barnes h/c #avengers fluff #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier imagine #tws #winter soldier angst

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anjuschiffer · 3 years

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Amira Wayne - Chapter 19

There’s no way I’m going to keep dragging out this chapter... so here’s the next chapter! Enjoy :3

Chapter 19: Discovery

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan @vixen-uchiha @nathleigh

Tag: @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95 @greatcatblaze @promiswords @fantasiame @corabeth11 @anonymously-odd @alexandriamw @officiallydarkgeek @galla02006 @maleive07

Special thanks to @m3owww for helping me with translations!

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

The dreaded school bell rang, signaling everyone that school was over.

Despite Christmas being right around the corner, no one was in the Christmas spirit. After all, how could they after what happened?

“Adrien, Sabrina.” Miss Bustier brought to attention, watching as the two glared at Lila as she walked out the classroom with a few of the girls of the class.

Lila shrunk into herself, a single tear making its way into her eye as she felt Adrien’s eyes burn at the back of her head.

“Yes, Mlle Bustier?” Adrien asked once he saw Lila out of vision, noticing that Nino was waiting for him right outside the classroom. Ever since that day, the trio of friends traveled in a pack, leaving no one by themselves.

“I was wondering if you could take some classwork and some break work to Chloe, seeing as the two of you are close friends.” Bustier handed a few papers to Adrien, Adrien gently placing them inside his bag. “And Sabrina. How is Marinette?” She dared to ask after handing Sabrina a large manila envelope.

With Chloé not being in school, Sabrina had to step up as Vice President and do the Class President’s job of dropping off homework to those who missed class.

Mlle Bustier didn’t expect for Sabrina to scowl, an expression she never saw on the girl ever since she first started teaching her seven years ago.

“Mlle Bustier, shouldn’t you have already made a home visit by now? Actually, in this type of situation, you should’ve done a home visit the day after the incident. But you didn’t. It’s been two week since then.” Sabrina recalled, taking the manila envelope and walking out of the class, waiting next to Nino.

Adrien didn’t miss the way their teacher shrunk into herself, before attempting to bounce back up.

“I’ll try and make a visit later on today. Ever since the incident, the school-“

“Sabrina has a point, Mlle Bustier. With all due respect, I think you should’ve already visited Marinette and have checked for yourself how she’s doing. After all, that’s part of your job.” Adrien bluntly stated. “And a piece of advice? I know you’re trying to act as if all of this isn’t bothering you, but I suggest you stop acting as if nothing happened. Yes, the akuma happened two week ago, but everyone is still recovering from it.

After all, those memories don’t disappear no matter how long ago it happened. So if you would excuse me, I have some dear friends to visit.”

—

It’s been two weeks since the Banshee incident...that’s 14 days since both Marinette and Chloé haven’t been at school...and 14 days without a single akuma attack, the longest period of rest the team had ever had since given their miraculouses.

When Chat Noir raced to initiate Plan B with Ryuuko and Osprey, they were halted due to someone else beating them to the Eiffel Tower.

A guy their age had been the one to get rid of the akuma that had been controlling Marinette and not only that. He had also used Ladybird’s power to reverse the aftermath of the battle and bring back Marinette.

While from a distance he could easily be mistaken for Ladybird, up front, you could tell it wasn’t her.

Said one-time vigilante cradled Marinette in his arms, something that broke Chat upon seeing how shaken she was about the whole thing.

Usually all of those affected by Hawkmoth’s manipulation wouldn’t remember a single thing about their akumatization...but Chat knew…

Something caused her to remember every single detail.

“Who-” Chat Noir started, only for the ‘new’ Ladybug to cut him off.

“Ladybird was the one who told me to finish the job for her. She too had been affected by Banshee’s powers before she was even able to transform. She also told me to relay you a message. Do not worry about her identity being exposed, for she was wearing a mask before giving me her miraculous.” The guy didn’t take off the miraculous, making Chat wonder what exactly was going on.

Where was Ladybird? “Ladybird?” Crap, he said that outloud. “Don’t worry too much about her. She’ll be back the next time the Ladybug miraculous is in use.” Lifting Marinette with ease, Chat wondered if that was because of the magic or because he was able to easily do so himself. “Meanwhile, I’ll take her home. Want to lead the way, or?”

“I’ll lead.” Chat solemnly said. “Just make sure you don’t drop her.”

“Roger that.”

After dropping Marinette to her home, Chat never saw that guy again. Not like he had all the time to mull over him.

He had to ensure Chloe and Lila’s safety as well, although he didn’t want to do so for the latter.

He first met up with Gris, who had moved Lila inside the Montparnasse Tower. While she wasn’t psychically hurt, mentally, she was greatly injured.

Chat explained to her of the next step they were going to take next, explaining how she will have to go to mandatory therapy sessions to ensure her well-being, how he will be escorting her to each one personally so that she doesn’t try and worm herself out of them when she said she didn’t need it.

“You may think we’re only doing this out of duty, which you’re not wrong, but it is also something Ladybird herself wanted to incorporate in Paris. Something about the lack of a rehab system in Paris.” Chat answered when Lila asked why he was bothering to make sure she was fine. “Also something about preventing a second ‘G.’”

After setting up the next therapy sessions with Lila, Chat and Gris headed over to where Ryuuko and Carapace were dealing with Chloe’s rattled behavior.

“She’s inconsolable.” Ryuuko said when Chat asked why Carapace had a shield around him and Chloe. “She tried to run off multiple times, but we always managed to keep her contained.”

“Let me get someone who can help us.” Chat left the group, dropping his transformation in a safe area before returning as Adrien. “Chloe!”

At the call of her name, Chloe stopped clawing her way from the force field Carapace had placed up, looking over to Adrien.

She threw herself at him and started to cry into his shoulder, crying how she saw her parents abandon her, how her friends also abandoned her. How she witnessed her best friend’s deaths, Adrien not noticing the way the team stiffed upon hearing their civilian names being said.

Before spiraling into more crying, Chloé mentioned being a failure of a friend, as she couldn’t stop Marinette from becoming an akuma.

Adrien didn’t once let go of Chloe, telling the team his gratitude for helping her.

He guided her to her home, wondering where things were going to play out now that the team took the largest blow yet in their fight against Hawkmoth.

But for now, he knew he had to stay by Chloe’s side.

---

As Sabrina sat on a kitchen stool, she scrunched up the manila envelope in her hand as her thoughts went back to what caused Marinette to lash out the way she did and caused her to turn into Banshee.

If only Lila didn’t lie about knowing him. If she didn’t lie about him, then her friends wouldn’t be-

“-Sabrina. Sabrina dear, are you alright?” Sabine asked, worried.

“Mlle Cheng! I’m sorry! I got lost in my thoughts and-”

“It’s alright. I’m guessing that’s for Marinette?” Sabine gestured towards the envelope in her hand.

“Yes. They’re homework assignments and a few notes from Mlle Bustier.” Sabrina said, handing them over to Sabine. “Oh! Here are my notes for her. She’d probably find these more useful than-”

A scream pierced the kitchen air, Sabrina watching as Selina appeared out of nowhere and rushed up the stairs with two other women right behind her, Sabine quickly grabbing her phone and dialing a number. “Mlle Cheng, what is going-”

“I’m sorry about this Sabrina, but you’ll have to leave. Now.”

Without another word, Sabrina nodded, grabbing her bag and started to head downstairs when she spotted M.Wayne go upstairs, two others right behind him…

Was that Oliver Queen?!

Sabrina watched as the trio walked right into the Dupain-Cheng home, wondering what M.Wayne, M.Queen and the other man were doing there.

What is going on?

Selina sat on the chaise lounge, Amira letting out shuddering breaths as she laid against her chest.

When Selina had heard Amira’s screams, she felt her heart stop for the umpteenth time that day.

Ever since that day, ever since the day of the appearance of Banshee, Amira had restless nights, recurring nightmares throughout the day and refusing to see anyone except for Selina and her two therapists.

“Poor pumpkin.” Harley sympathized, draping a blanket over Amira and Selina. “She shouldn’t have to go through all this. She’s just a kid.”

“To think you’re stupid boyfriend-” Ivy started, making sure that the daisies scattered around the room were doing all right...until Harley jabbed Ivy at her side.

“Pammy,” she gestured to a silent Selina, “sure, Brucie had some fault to this, but it wasn’t-”

“I know, I know.” Ivy sighed, spraying some water on the daisies. “The tiny magically butterfly-”

“Listen, I didn’t convince Bruce to let you two out of Arkham so that the two of you would shit on the man I’m about to marry and what’s he done.” Selina sighed. “I’m sorry, Ivy. It’s just- Bruce could’ve prevented all this if-”

“Of course he could’ve! If he weren’t such an idiot!” Ivy growled. “Selina, seriously? What do you see in-”

“Pammy, Pammy! Remember? Magical butterflies? Get mad and they’ll come for ya.” Harley reminded Ivy, placing her hands on Ivy’s shoulders. “How about we take a stroll and enjoy the sun a bit, eh? After all Brucie did promise us that he’d-”

“Alright. But just until I calm down, alright? And then back to our hotel, okay? Not fond of the fact of being mind controlled by a stupid butterfly man. Haven’t been there and don’t plan on-”

“Then we better get going Red!” Harley grinned, guiding Ivy to the hatch before stopping to turn to Selina. “Selina. Everything is going to be alright. and if you need us to talk some sense into that boy of yours, Ivy and I have your back.”

With that, the two were gone, leaving Selina alone.

Selina pushed a few strands away from Amira's face, placing them behind her ear. Because Amira always kept a straight face and would directly tell you her opinions, that led many to think she was mature for her age. But they were wrong about that.

She was still a child…

A creak at the floor snapped Selina from her thoughts, watching as Bruce peaked into the room.

“How is she doing?” Bruce asked, eyeing the bean bag and bringing it close to where Selina was. He tucked away a loose hair strand from Amira’s face, watching as she flinched from his touch.

He watched as his daughter turned away from him and snuggled closer against Selina.

“Not any better since that day. Even Harley is having trouble getting through to her. Doesn’t help that Amira knows her background with the Joker. Doesn’t trust Harley one bit.” Selina looked over at Bruce before breaking the silence. “You can’t keep in doing this to her Bruce.”

“Selina, she’s my child. My daughter. My one and only daughter.” Bruce reasoned.

“Bruce. She’s 13. Turning 14 in half a year. She’s not the tiny girl who-“

“I know.” Bruce quietly said, dropping onto the bean bag. “I know Selina, but even so, I can’t help but keep treating her as one.” Bruce places his hand over hers. “You’ve seen first hand the cruelty of Gotham. No one is safe from it, not even Batman. Bruce Wayne? He’s been a target countless times.

I’ve been held at gunpoint, kidnapped, taken as a hostage, mugged so many times I’ve lost count. To top it off, I’ve been stabbed once when Amira was just a toddler and on the brink of death.

Can you imagine what would happen if word got out that I have a daughter?”

“You’re worrying too much Bruce. And if you’re worried about her safety, you can just-“

“I should’ve worded that better. What would happen if word got out that I have a biological daughter?”

Selina remained quiet. “The media and people alike swarmed Dick when word got out I adopted him years ago. It’s only gotten worse for him now that he’s 18. Families sending invitations to dinner, some asking for some meetings to see me over how WE should merge with theirs...Dick even gets gifts sent to his apartment, which thankfully he tells the delivery man to always send back or use it for themselves. Marriage is the last thing that should be in his mind.

Right now he’s worried about Slade who made an appearance again at Gotham. We aren’t truly sure why he is here, but perhaps he’s back to trying to “claim” Dick as his successor. He’s been at it the moment he found out we got rid of the Court’s eyes on Dick.”

Selina didn’t know what to say, after all, she was there when it happened.

“When word got out that Jason has also been adopted, do you know how many attempted kidnaps were stopped? How many people who he trusted before stabbed him in the back to try and get some ransom off a planned kidnapping?

And then there’s Tim. There’s rumors already floating of how he will be the newest addition to the family. The walls have ears and I’ve already heard the upper ring of idiots planning on a way to get a hold of Tim.

Not only will Tim be part of Wayne Manor, but he is also still a Drake. Can you imagine the golddigger's imagination growing wild at the thought of Tim having both family’s wealth once he’s older?”

Bruce dug his face into his hands. “Selina, these are happening to my kids, my kids who aren’t biologically mine. So what awaits for the one who is biologically mine? Will it be just as terrifying as the dangers my other kids face, or will it be worse?

I don't want her to be thrown into that kind of life. Not her. I just...I just want her to be able to live her life as a proper child. Without the limelight, without the multiple targets that would arise to her back when-”

“So you believe that keeping her hidden was the best thing to do.” Selina concluded.

“She’s safe inside.”

“But is she happy?” Selina watched as Bruce tensed up at those words. “Bruce, look at her.” He did. “Do you call this happiness?

She took upon a mantle so that she can get your attention, your acknowledgement of her existence. Why? Why does she have to prove this to you? Her father? A father who claims that he adores and loves her to pieces? Do you want to know why?”

Bruce remained silent. “Your love for her caused you to deprive her of the same love you claim to have on her. Your ambition to keep her safe caused you to stray from her, causing her to stay at a large mansion occupied with two people: herself and Alfred.

How was she supposed to see your love for her when you spent the entire day at work and then dived into vigilantism in the night?”

Selina carefully slipped Amira off her, allowing herself to sit properly on the chaise lounge. “You made things worse once when you dismissed her approaches to you, dismissing her from joining training, letting her-”

“I let her join-”

“You let her train when you realized she was opening up to her brothers, not before then. I get it, you wanted them to get along, but not letting her join from the get go wasn’t the decision you should’ve made. You should have-”

“She wasn’t ready.”

“How would you know that before even letting her have a go at it? She already knew the basics-”

“Knowing the basics won’t do you much and you know that Selina, better than anyone else. She didn’t have Dick’s flexibility and precision, Jason’s strength and quick thinking. She only knew the basics and that’s it. If I had allowed her-

“Mu’quin?” Amira groggily asked, turning to look at Bruce and Selina with glassy eyes. She missed the gaped mouth from her father and Selina’s wide eyes.

When did she know Mandarin? “Mu’quin?” Amira asked again once she pulled herself closer to Selina, laying her head on her lap. “Ma’ma, don’t...go.” Amira slurred as she went back to sleep, never seeing the look on Selina’s face.

Bruce watched as Selina fought back tears, her hand placed over her mouth as she let out a shuddering breath. She kept blinking in hopes of getting rid of the tears, but her efforts were in vain.

Tears slid down Selina’s face as she stroked Amira’s hair, watching as she comfortably rested.

Bruce continued to watch the interaction between Selina and his daughter, happy to see how close the two have gotten despite the short time spent with one another…

“Selina.” Bruce looked at his soon-to-be-wife, holding her hand in his own. “I’ve made a decision. I’m staying in Paris.”

—

“It got quiet.” Oliver obviously stated. “ Think-”

“I don’t even want to know about what happened in there.” Barry cut off, running a hand through his hair.

“Everything good?” Oliver asked, noticing Barry’s unusual quietness. “Another meta-”

“Ever since the incident, Wally hasn’t been...himself.” Barry confessed. “He’s refused to take time off missions, constantly finding something to do. When it isn’t that, he’s always here, staying by -”

The apartment door cracked open, causing Barry to shut his mouth and for Oliver to turn to see who just entered.

“Well, speak of the devil.” Oliver muttered. “Wally, what brings you here?”

“I came to visit a friend, although the question stands. What brings you to Paris?”

“He’s here with me.” Bruce informed, Wally snapping his head to the man. “I asked him-“

Wally uppercutted Bruce the moment he stepped off the stairs that led to Amira’s bedroom. Bruce stumbles back as the pain spreads around his face.

“It’s all your fault!” Wally screamed, about to punch him again, only for Barry to hold him back. “It’s all your fault that Amira is like this!”

“Woah, Wally, calm-” Barry tried to speak, only to turn to Oliver for help. With a nod, Oliver began to search for a tranquilizer on him.

“Calm down?” Wally screamed. “Barry, he’s the reason why Amira got akumatized!” Wally snarled, trying to pry himself from Barry’s grasp. “If only he had let Amira say goodbye to her brother, to give Jason a proper goodbye! If only! But you didn’t.” A dry laugh escaped him. “No, instead, you sent her here, with her bottled up emotions...here! An ocean away from her family, her friends! People who cared about her!”

Bruce remained silent, Oliver watching the revelation with wide eyes. “Did you know how worried I was about her when I heard she was no longer a moment away but now an ocean away? Amira, being sent away like she was some kind of- some kind of, ARGH!” Wally yelled, not noticing how Barry had already let go of him.

Instead, Barry let him empty out his heart. After all, he needed it, just like how Bruce needed to listen to the consequences of his actions. “That day she was brought to HQ against her will, when she connected the fact that Kid Flash was me, she threw herself at me. At first I thought it was because we hadn’t seen each other in a while, that she was relieved to see me. But no, it was more than that.

She cried. And let me tell you something, she rarely cries.” Wally told Bruce, feeling his fists starting to hurt. “She always has a stoic face on, always having her guard up in public in case others want to try and make a fool of her. A mechanism she always has on to fool everyone, even herself.

So can you imagine the feeling I felt when I saw her crying not only in front of me, but also in front of Superman? In a place she wasn’t familiar with?”

Oliver watched as Bruce shrunk into himself a bit. “She was hurting Bruce. Not only because of Jason’s death, not only because she didn’t have someone to lean on, but because of you.

You keep pushing her away, telling her ‘no’ to anything she could come up with to try and stay by your side. How do I know this? Because when we were younger, Dick always told me how he felt guilty for being the one to worsen your relationship with her. He always blamed himself for everything wrong that went between you and her.” Bruce’s eyes widened. “Didn’t know, did you, Great Detective?

If you didn’t know that about Dick, then what about Amira? While you believed to have been protecting her by pushing her away from anything related to vigilantism, she ended up misinterpreting your good intentions. Every time you told her ‘no,’ do you know how she saw it? What she ended up thinking in her mind?

That being your blood child wasn’t enough to get your love. That she had to do something to prove herself worthy of your attention, even a crumb. So if anyone’s to blame for the current situation, it’s you.”

Wally let out a huff, feeling his chest thousands of times lighter. “If only you gave her the love she deserves, the life she was meant to live, then none of this would’ve happened. Hope you’re glad with the way things turned out.” Wally huffed, grabbing his bags. “When I come back tomorrow, I better not see your face unless it’s an apology to Amira.”

A laugh escaped him. “Then again, it would take more than an apology to fix this bullshit.”

With that, Wally left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Oliver and Barry didn’t budge, instead, the two men stood there, not knowing what to do when they saw their friend with a hung head.

“Hey, Bruce, you-”

“First Harley, then Selina and now Wally.” Bruce listed. “How was I the only one-”

“Love is blind.” Oliver spoke, finally finding the energy to approach Bruce. “Even parental. All you can do now is move forward.”

Bruce could only nod.

“However, this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook Bruce.” Oliver crossed his arms. “How the hell did you manage to hide your daughter’s existence for the past…” Oliver trailed.

“13 years,” Barry filled in, “she’s turning 14 in July.”

—

Amira let out a sigh the moment she woke up, rolling to her side, away from the afternoon light…

She quickly picked up her phone, noticing that it was already the next day. She placed it back down, wondering how she slept through most of the day. Then again, it was silent in the apartment for once…

Silence...she probably alone...or so she thought.

“Amira.” She flinched, sitting up to prevent another disadvantage. “Amira, how are you?” Slowly, Amira turned her attention to her father. She looked away, hating that tears started to pool in her eyes. “Amira.”

When was the last time she ever heard her name spoken so softly by her father?

“You were right, you know.” She whispered, sitting up. “As you always are. After all, you are the greatest detective in Gotham...and possibly the world, because yes, I know of the countless times you’ve helped the Justice League solve a case they were stumped on. It’s all Wally would talk about sometimes.”

“Amira.” Bruce was about to get closer, but stood by the bed when he watched her curl into herself, her body tensing. “I...I was actually...wrong.” That caught her attention, Bruce watching her loosen her body a bit.

“You? Wrong? Since when?”

“All this time, I thought I could keep you safe if I kept you hidden from the world and yet, it still managed to find you. Or rather, you managed to find it.” Amira watched as her father finally decided to sit at the edge of her bed, the mattress sinking under him. “You managed to prove me wrong, not only once, but multiple times.

The first time was when you accepted Jason into the family. Then when you finally pushed aside your grudge and accepted Dick into the family. When you accepted him as Robin. Then after his death, you managed to accept his death and move on from it. To be honest, I envied how easily it looked.”

“Even though it wasn’t. I’m still trying to move from it, even now.” Amira added meekly.

“Then when you came to Paris and continued to move forward. You took up a mantle without a doubt and went with it. You’ve saved countless lives, protected an entire city...all without me. Without my help or intervention.”

Bruce finally decided to sit down once he saw the opportunity. “You see Amira, I never thought you were ready to become a vigilante, to fight against the cruelty of the world, to live in it and yet...you proved me wrong. You’ve shown me that you were already ready to live in this society riddled with obstacles. You showed me that you were capable of adjusting to whatever was thrown your way...of acting accordingly to society.

You’ve shown me that you’re no longer the tiny, defenseless infant brought to our home all those years ago. You’re no longer the waddling toddler who had to be spoon fed and changed, having to be supervised 24/7 or else you would fall and earn a new scrape. You’re no longer the girl who struggled to reach the edge of the Batcomputer’s chair nor the girl who couldn’t swing a proper hit.” Bruce wiped away a tear that slid down Amira’s face. “You’re now my pride and joy, a young lady who can easily defend those around-”

“I can’t!” Amira confessed, wondering if her father’s hand had always been this warm...this caring. She pushed it away. “You’re wrong! I can’t defend myself, I can’t defend those-”

“Yes…yes, you can…” Bruce tried to assure, but it made Amira panic even more. “You have a team, don’t you? A wonderful team at that.”

“Didn’t you see what happened to me? I allowed myself to get akumatized. I-I failed.”

“Amira, you didn’t, you couldn’t-”

“I knew what Hawkmoth was capable of and yet I allowed myself to-”

“Amira,” Bruce called to attention. “This wasn’t your fault.” That shuts her up.

“It wasn’t?” She scoffed. “Who let their emotions get the best of them? Who let themselves get a lie get under her skin? Who let themselves get akumatized so that they could get revenge on that little-I am the leader!

I should’ve known better than to let him take advantage of me! But what did I do?

I let him.

I let him use me, manipulate me, manipulate my emotions, my anger to his benefit. I let him get the better of me and he got what he wanted. He got the strongest akuma he had ever wanted.

He destroyed my team’s confidence, our strength.” Bruce watched as his daughter stayed quiet, looking down at her hands with disgust. “All it took was one slip up...and that’s probably why you’ve been here all this time, isn’t it? You stayed so that you could take me back to Gotham, isn’t that right?”

Bruce remained silent. “Well, isn’t it?”

“No.” Bruce didn’t miss a moment. “After seeing how well you’ve been handling this situation, of how proud I am of you finding your suspect on your own, I’ve decided to stay. I’m going to help you take down Hawkmoth, Amira.

Even if it’s the last thing you want from me.”

Amira watched as her father left, watching as she was left alone once again.

Tikki flew out from her hiding spot, quickly pressing herself against Amira’s face.

“Are you okay?” Tikki asked. Amira didn’t respond. “Amira, we need to talk.”

“That we do.” Amira looked at Tikki with glazed eyes. “Tikki. Spots on.” Heading to her skylight, Amira hesitated to open it.

How will the Parisians react to seeing Ladybird again?

That didn’t matter. After all, this will be the last time any of them will see her.

—

A knock came from the door, Chloé not budging from her place in her bed. Then her phone buzzed, but it went ignored.

She was surrounded by post-it notes and papers, Ladybird’s pictures mixed with class notes and online articles trying to find who it was behind the black mask.

She kept sitting as the door opened, Chloé not lifting her eyes once, listening as footsteps approached her.

“So, what did Mlle Bustier say this time?” Chloé asked, picking up an article that analyzed Ladybird’s appearance based on people who’ve seen her after she would detransform. They only got one of the details right. She did indeed have green eyes.

“What she said last time: an excuse for not coming. Now I see how easily it was for you to push her around.” Adrien yelped when Chloé threw a pillow at him. “Hey! I’m only the-“

“I’m not like that anymore.” Chloé muttered, jotting down something on her phone. “I’ve changed.” She hated it when people said she ‘hasn’t changed in the slightest,’ that she was still the same old Chloe.

“I know.”

“I’m changing. And for the better!” She quickly added afterwards, remembering her last therapy session she had just two days ago. Gris had dropped her off, but Chat stubbornly made it his duty to wait for her and drop her off. She thanked him when he dropped her off and bid her a good night.

“I know.” The two friends sat in silence, Adrien watching as Chloé kept lifting papers and setting them down. A vast difference to the Chloe who didn’t move a muscle a day after the akuma attack. The Chloe who would wake up nightmare after nightmare, begging those around her to come back. “When do you plan on visiting-“

“I...I don’t know.” Chloé breathlessly said, Adrien regretting asking her when he saw her hands shake. It would always happen no matter where she was. As long as Chloe remembered the events of that attack, it would happen without question. “Every...every time I gather the courage to see her, I see her.” Adrien watched as Chloe’s eyes began to cloud. “I see Marinette, I see her glaring at me, looking at me in disgust. Just like how my mother would look at me whenever I would...I would try to get her attention.”

Chloé trailed off, shrinking into herself. “She would then pick me apart, telling me every visible flaw she could see before turning around and leaving me. Just like-“

“But you know she would-“

“I know she would never! But seeing that, seeing her walk away from me so easily, without turning back, without shedding a single tear,” Chloé let out a sniffle. “It hurt. And what’s even worse, Sabrina and you would follow her. You guys would walk away from me and leave me.

You guys left me...without a second thought...”

“Chloé, you know we would never do-“ Adrien said with a hug.

“I know.” Chloé sunk further into the gesture. “I know you guys wouldn’t. But I can’t help but-“

“It will never happen.” Adrien promised. “We won’t allow that to happen. Ever.” Chloé would only him as Adrien rubbed circles on her back, the two continuing to sit in silence. “You know…” a hum. “What if we threw a Christmas party?”

“A Christmas party?” Chloe asked for clarification, already planning for it. “That...that would be...nice.”

“Exactly!” Adrien smiled, now holding Chloe’s hands. “It can just be us! And of course, Nino, Sabrina and Marinette! Just us and that's it. A party amongst friends!” He watched as Chloe’s lips turned upwards. She was on board. “So? What you think?”

“Let’s do it.” Chloe said with a smile, getting off from her bed. “I could use the change of pace.”

“Okay then! Want to make the invitations or plan out the-”

“Why would we need invi-” Chloe started, only to stare at Adrien with wide eyes. “No way.” Adrien simply grinned.

Once Adrien had left, telling Chloe his plan, Chloe started to clean up her bed, throwing discarded plans into her trash bin while she took a pile of post-it notes to another part of her room. Or more specifically, her closet.

She picked up a control, the back panel of her wardrobe opened up, exposing an all-points bulletin, photos of Ladybird scattered around the wall, red threads crossing each other. Notes and pieces of news articles were firmly placed alongside the photos, a few of them crossed out or labeled ‘debunked’.

Chloe placed a photo of Bruce Wayne near the index card where the name ‘Amira’ was written. Unlike the other photo Chloe had of Bruce, this one showed him entering the Dupain-Cheng Bakery. It was from earlier today. And unlike the other photo Chloe got from the media, this photo was taken by Sabrina.

Whether this was the first time he’s been there or not, one question remained.

“Why exactly are you here, Bruce Wayne? Are you the reason why Ladybird has not been appearing for the past two weeks?”

Days went by when Adrien decided to visit Marinette again, surprised to see the Dupain-Cheng residency filled to the brim with...strangers.

“Adrien. What brings you here?” Selina snapped him from his trance, not blaming the kid for gaping at the sight of the apartment.

Dick came unannounced to visit Amira for the upmteenth time that week, this time bringing Kor’i and Roy along. They were busy chatting with a disinterested Amira. Bruce was trying to scold Dick for it, to let Amira settle for the evening, but with Wally just a few feet away, it wasn’t exactly easy. Barry, Oliver and Dinah were chatting away with Ivy and Harley, the adults not giving a care in the world about releasing information about their other ‘job.’

“I came by to see Marinette.” Adrien quietly said, his eyes catching how Marinette perked at the sound of her name and how Wally turned to him as well. “But it seems like now’s a bad time. I could-”

“Nonsense, come in. Ignore the others. Marinette could use an excuse right about now.” Selina pulled him in, closing the door behind him. Adrien watched as Marinette weaved her way towards Adrien, Wally right behind her. He watched as the trio they left behind either smirked or smiled.

“Adrien. You literally texted me just an hour ago.” Marinette brought up. “You could’ve-”

“Are you doing anything for Christmas?” Adrien asked, earning a tilt of a head from Marinette and quirked brows from Wally before his eyes studied him. Adrien felt a shiver down his spine. “I just wanted to invite you to a Christmas party, of course! It’s just going to be us and a few friends! Your friend could come as well, if he wants to!” Adrien quickly added.

Ever since he met Wally, something about him threw Adrien off. At first, he thought it was because he was Marinette’s friend from the States. Wally himself had said he was on Winter Break and decided to spend it with Marinette so that they could catch up...until the attack happened. So Adrien brushed his worry as just a concerned friend thing. But ever since Bruce came into the picture, Wally had gone...aggressive.

“I…” Marinette started, looking over to Selina. “Can I think over it?” Marinette asked, Adrien noticing Wally gave Marinette’s hand a squeeze. “If that isn’t too much to ask.” Adrien smiled.

“You got two days to think about it. Use all the time you need!” Adrien chirped, waving goodbye to everyone before leaving the apartment.

“Are you sure about this Amira?” Wally asked her, Amira noticing his concern. “You don’t have to force yourself to-”

“I’m not forcing myself.” Amira confessed. “I...I do need time to think about it though. I don’t want to make any mistakes while choosing their gifts.”

“You’re getting one for me too, right?” Dick asked, Amira turning to see her brother by her side.

“I’m not going to if you continue to pester me about it.” That earned a dramatic gasp from Dick.

“My own sister!”

While Wally smiled at seeing Amira starting to act like herself again, he couldn’t help but continue to stay on high alert.

Ever since the akuma attack, something has been off and he didn’t know why.

Seems like only time will tell.

Two days came sooner than wanted, Amira standing outside the bakery bundled up with Wally by her side, the snow welcoming them.

While her father didn’t want her to go, nonetheless with Wally, Selina managed to convince Bruce to go back to Gotham, telling him that Gotham was never uneventful during Christmas Eve nor the day after. Begrudgingly, Bruce went, dragging Dick, Ivy and Harley back with him.

Selina assured Amira that she had nothing to worry about, to go to the party and have fun.

“Are you sure you want me to go ahead?” Wally asked, managing to maintain the stack of gifts in his arms balanced. “I can just zoom there, drop off the gifts and then walk you-”

“Wally. I’m going to be okay.” Amira assured him. “I just want to walk there by myself. Think about a few things before facing...everyone.” Wally’s mouth formed a thin line.

“Amira, you don’t-”

“I’m not forcing myself.” She cut him off. “I do want to see my friends again...after all, it’s been almost three week since I’ve seen any of them.” Wally sighed in defeat, bouncing the gifts before taking a step forward.

“Fine. But seriously. If you end up not wanting to go, just call me or text me. I’ll be here in a heartbeat and keep you company back home.”

“I know you would.” She watched as Wally began to walk away. “Wally.” He stopped, watching as Amira skipped towards him.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you, for always being by my side.” Amira said with a smile, placing a knitted hat on him. “An early Christmas gift...for you.”

Feeling the tips of his ear begin to burn, Wally turned away from her.

“Thanks...I’ll see you there, okay?”

“Yup.” Amira watched as Wally walked towards the Agreste manor, letting her smile drop.

She walked towards the park nearby, listening as her foot crunched the snow beneath her. She continued to walk, going as far as reaching the carousel in the middle of the park. The carousel was perfectly still, it’s lights lowly dimmed, allowing Amira to see the untouched snow surrounding it. She looked behind herself to see that the only tracks in the snow were her own...so then...why was she still able to hear the snow crunch?

“Amira.” Amira regretted not keeping a weapon on her, cursing herself for going soft. “Amira.” The voice said again, Amira picking the voice coming from her right. But no one was there, not even a pair of footsteps. But this voice...it sounded the same as the time she was- “Amira.”

Swiveling so that she was now facing the path that led to the park entrance, Amira locked eyes with a woman she swore she never saw before...and yet…

She seemed familiar. Amira felt like she had seen this woman before, an odd memory flashing before her eyes as she remembered having once seen this woman. But where?

“Why do you know my name?” Amira asked, her mind running through different plans in her head on a way to escape and tell Wally or Selina about her dilemma.

“It’s been so long, Amira.” The woman said, approaching Amira, not making a sound as she made footprints in the snow. How Amira hated that the woman ignored her question, but it intrigued her to know that they did indeed meet once before. But then the questions still remained. Who was she? And how did she know her name? “The last time we saw each other, you were just a child, an infant. Barely able to walk, even babble.”

Amira watched as the woman got closer to her, now circling her. “You were such a quiet baby, never fussed about anything.” Amira watched as the woman placed her hands on either side of her face, her brown eyes analyzing her. “Now look at you, all grown up. Just how many milestones have I missed?”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

“I thought you would’ve already had your answer by now.” The woman said, letting go of Amira only to pull her into a tight hug. “I’m your mother, Amira. My name is Talia Al Ghul...and I’m your mu’quin.”

Just as Amira was about to ask if she was Talia, she felt herself limp and soon, she saw black.

Wally stood at the entrance of the Agreste manor, tapping his foot as he checked his phone for the umpteenth time. Something was wrong.

“What’s taking her so long? It’s literally just a few blocks from-”

“Is Mlle Dupain-Cheng still not here?” It took everything in Wally to not immediately turn around and glare at the man. While the man did take the time to greet him, there was no way Wally was going to buy his act, especially when Gabriel looked like he had seen death and just got back.

“I’m going to go look for her.” Wally muttered, quickly putting back his coat and hat and going out to look for Amira.

Going back to where they saw each other just minutes ago, Wally noticed that her footsteps lead straight to the park, deciding to follow them. But when he got to the end and noticed that the footprints didn’t continue to anywhere, Wally panicked. Using Speedforce, he quickly zoomed around the park, looking for any trace of Amira, but found none.

“Where did you go?” Wally asked no one, feeling his head begin to hurt, finding it harder to breathe. His head began to ring and then it happened. He saw Amira reaching out for him before being dragged away.

It was happening again…

He couldn’t protect Amira… he failed her yet again.

A scream pierced that Christmas Eve’s cold air, the scream carrying out to Christmas Day itself.

What a wonderful gift to start Christmas Day.

#maribat #amira wayne

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morgana-ren · 3 years

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Empty

Another small short for Shigaraki this time. I’m sure it had a point originally. Yandere Shigaraki and his captive darling and him being a real dick about proving that you’re better off at his side under his protection than you are on your own in the cruel, cruel world. After all, better the devil you know that the devil you don’t.

Warnings: Kidnapping, allusions to death, rotting corpses and rot (indiscernible animal), noncon, captivity, Shig being fuckin’ mean as usual, purple prose again, whump I guess? (In my sister’s words “It’s sad. Is it supposed to be this sad?”)

Rating: Definitely E on this one.

You can tell a lot about someone by their eyes.

Eyes are how we see the world, but in equal capacity, it’s also how the world sees us. Someone’s eyes, unlike their mouths, don’t have the same capability to lie. They can be a tell-all when we’re reluctant or can express the things we don’t have the courage to say. The things you can learn can be overwhelming. Sometimes you see too much. Sometimes not enough.

And when you looked into his eyes, it was like there was nothing inside them. Nothing at all.

His eyes were beautiful, even if you couldn’t see any of your own humanity mirrored back at you in your reflection. Stark red and violent, an open wound bleeding contempt for the waking world and everyone in it.

It hurts you more than you care to admit to know that you’re included in the group he believes to be the scum beneath his ruby red shoes.

Even as he watches you now through narrow lids with a casual sense of detachment, every bone in your body longs to see something in those eyes other than carefully concealed disgust. Something. Anything. Some shining light of pride or care or even just simple recognition that you aren’t just a parasite that clings to him for some sick sense of purpose, even if he is the one who has bound you here.

But you know that’s impossible. Even if he wanted to. Even if he had the capability.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what it would be like if he did.

The closest you will ever get is that he allows you to ride his coattails alongside the dirt and mud, slowly shrinking in the darkness of his shadow as you follow behind him and stare resentfully as he eclipses the sun and all the light it brings. It’s impossible to bloom without nurture and care but somehow, like a weed, you’ve found a way to stay alive in an environment that wholly starves you and deprives you of love and affection. He makes you whole. He makes you real.

He makes you sick.

Worms and maggots crawl across a dead something or other, blood matted fur giving next to no indication of what the small mammal might have been when it was living. Small pieces of bone are visible through the rotting muscle tissue, mangled limbs sitting limply beside the body. It’s a tableau of death he wants you to witness; decay that makes your still living flesh crawl.

“That’s what happens,” he states matter of factly, pale, thin finger pointing at the carcass as the other squeezes the side of your waist tight enough to make you seize. “When you die. You rot in the ground and no one will remember or care.”

The sick crawls up your stomach, bile resting uneasily at the low of your throat. You don’t want to look anymore, but you know if you try to look away, he’ll make you look again. There’s still tender bruises on your skin from the last time you tried to defy him, and you know what happens if you make him angry. Your tears mean nothing to him and you swear you see the ghost of a smile twitch on his lips as he watches your eyes well up.

He’s not giving you a simple organic chemistry lesson, of that you’re completely certain. He wants you to know the power he holds, wants you to understand that if he so chose, he could easily expedite the process of your own fragile form’s decay.

He didn't used to be like this. He used to be Tenko. Used to have a soul.

But he sold that soul the day his daddy took a step too far and then overtook the devils throne and used the contract to wipe his hands clean of the blood. Tenko doesn’t exist. He’s made sure you understand that. Any mention of the boy he used to be is enough to get his fingers twitching and ready on your throat.

He watches as you cry with an expression that’s equal parts elated and aroused, not bothering to conceal it from you any further. Desperately, you shove down your sorrow and keep your back straight against him; your pain is an aphrodisiac for him. Wipe the tears from your eyes and cast them bitterly to the floor. Swallow the hiccups and sobs that bubble in your gut and keep a trembling straight face despite your every instinct longing to curl at his feet and hide your face in the dirt.

It’s far too late.

Anytime you concede to the power he wields, it re-energizes him, and you’re his favorite little power source. He’s learned to tune you like a fiddle until you play whatever song he desires and he’ll dance with you until your feet bleed and your body crumples. He’ll step on the arch of your back and use you as a pedestal to reach the greatness he knows he’s destined for and punish you if you falter under his weight.

It’s a mock symbiosis you live in, neither wholly at peace but each one needing the other. You’ve tried to leave, tried to run. He finds you, dragging you back to him kicking and screaming and clawing at the ground. With a gnarled hand twisted through your hair, he tells you how pretty you are, puckers your ruddy cheeks with his nails and kisses you deeply as the tears stream down your face.

‘Don’t kid yourself. You couldn’t survive without me, idiot. Where would you go? Who would take you after I have?’

You hate it, you despise him, but he’s right. Who could ever accept you after you’ve allowed him to have you time and time again? Where in the darkness could you hide that he wouldn’t find you? Even if you did find someone who would care for you after your body had been tainted by his touch, Tomura wouldn’t stand for it. He’d find you as he had time and time again, seek out the source of your light and snuff it out.

“Don’t you care about me?” He’d say, leading you away with hands still stained red. “Don’t you want me to be happy?”

And when you start to cry again, he’d simply wipe them away with a filthy thumb, smearing the grime across your cheek.

“Don’t worry. I forgive you. But don’t do it again.”

Long have you given up your silly dreams of freedom, but still he likes to drive the nail further, either out of necessity or malevolence. So he drags you far from home into places you could never find on your own to show you the pitfalls of life without him. Cold and shaking, you’ll follow wherever he leads you because when he asks you nicely to come, there is no other choice. He’ll take you on a personally guided tour of the horrors of the world, horrors he orchestrates just for you and watch gleefully as your vision tunnels and your view of life becomes even darker and more damning until it’s as cynical and deprived as his own and you cling to him for safety.

Only when your eyes clouded and your outlook bleak will he pull you into the dirt, touching you in places that contrast starkly against the misery you feel and coaxing a bliss from you that makes you bend to him all over again. He’ll kiss you softly as he pushes your face harder against the floor, letting the leaves and the muck tangle in your hair, forcing you to face the maggot ridden corpse not far from your entwined bodies. In this moment, he offers you only two choices: Pleasure or pain? Him or death.

Sometimes you wonder how long it will take before you finally shove him off and opt to let him touch you for the last time, placing five fingers down instead of four and watching as you rejoin the Earth as newly formed ash. And that’s if he decides to be merciful. You doubt he’d give up his favorite plaything so easily.

But apparently you haven’t reached your breaking point yet, because you let his fingers wander lower, arching into his touch and keening against his bony shoulder as it digs into your own. Quickly enough, your clothing is cast aside and he marvels in your flesh like it’s the first time all over again. He leaves you bared before him, vulnerable and quaking beneath his cage of limbs. Brand new bruising patterns over the old in a myriad of colors as his hands grip just a little too tightly for comfort wherever he can reach. He holds you callously down, as if you could run even if given the option, and soon his pants are pulled down just enough over his hips to allow him to violate you the way pleases him most.

He pushes inside of you, stealing your bodily warmth for his own. It’s the closest he comes to removing the mask that is his personality now. His mouth slacks and his eyes close and you can forget, if only for a moment, that the man who has chosen you is incapable of loving you, and equally incapable of letting you go. When you can no longer see your reflection in his apathetic eyes, it’s easier to stomach that you’ll be stuck in the suffocating purgatory of his desire until you perish.

It becomes easier to play pretend that he actually cares.

He goes through the motions and hits all your sweet spots, but you know this isn’t for you. It’s for him. He prides himself on being able to feel whatever it is he wants you to feel, and even though you know damn well he’s manipulating you, it’s almost impossible not to take the tenderness when he offers it. Though you are fully aware he is conditioning you to favor him and his cruelty over the world and its cruelty, you are beginning to relent. You can only struggle against the tide for so long before you have to acknowledge that you will never make it back to shore.

So you’ll allow his kisses, sometimes even returning them when you lose yourself enough in the moment. You won’t hold back the noises he wants you to make because the ones he will coerce from you if you do will be less kind. You’ll lock your ankles around his waist and follow his rhythm because he will get what he wants, one way or another.

No matter how uncomfortable, no matter how filthy, you’ll allow him your body because it’s easier when he asks rather than when he takes. It’s better to try and fool yourself into believing that his are the gentle hands of a lover rather than a captor. You’ll revel in the one simple time you are allowed to mark him, and that’s when your nails dig into his skin, pulling him closer. You’ll croon into him and say his name in a manner that’s genuine, because in the moment, it is.

You’d give anything for him to love you. Not to own you, but to love you. Maybe then, just maybe, you could find contentment in your place in his world.

There may come a day when he no longer wants you. There may come a day when the indifference in his eyes might seem a gift in comparison to boredom or irritation. On that day, you might find yourself wishing that you had been a little more convincing in your act, or perhaps that you had been a little less difficult. Maybe if you had scooted closer instead of running away, he wouldn’t have tired of you.

Or arguably worse, perhaps he’ll never tire of you at all. Perhaps he’ll keep you caged until your wings have lost the ability to fly entirely and even when offered the chance, you’ll cower at his side. Perhaps he already has.

Chances are that you’ll never know, because when he’s finished and your thighs are slick from his completion, he’ll lead you back home and you’ll follow despite there being no tangible leash that pulls you along. You’ll lie in his bed and eat his food and find false comfort in his arms even as your mind screams to the wind for freedom and you pray for some deus ex machina to set you free.

But even as he sleeps soundly and those empty red eyes aren’t focused on you, you can hear his voice in your head.

‘What would you do without me? Where would you go? Who else could love you?’

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s better to accept your fate with a sense of dignity than to fight against him and drown.

Maybe this is where you’re meant to be.

#Shigaraki x Reader #tw rl decay #tw noncon #please see warnings for more #yandere shigaraki #smut but saddish lmao #nsft

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feelingfredly · 3 years

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The Hunting of the Snark... I Mean Spark

Part 1 of What I Tell You Three Times Is True

Peter listened as the water stopped and various cabinets in his bathroom were opened and closed and waited for his guest to reappear. Stiles, scrubbed red from the shower, walked into the room rubbing viciously at his hair with a towel. The fragrance of borrowed shampoo clung to him even more tightly than the damp fabric of Peter’s bathrobe and seeing the young man like that, covered head to toe in Peter’s things, in Peter’s scent, caused his wolf to lift its head and rumble in satisfaction, even if the reason the boy was in his den was less than optimal.

“Three times, Peter.” Frustration sharpened Stiles’s voice, pulling the man’s attention back from his wolf’s wanderings. “You know what that means.”

Peter knew. One is an incident, two is a coincidence, three's a pattern, and four is enough for a warrant. Not that they could get a warrant, even if they did end up with a fourth victim. It didn’t matter to Stiles, though. He, like his father, was a cop at heart—protect and serve was etched in their bones. Usually, Stiles also had a streak of ruthless practicality that balanced that idealism out, but this time was different. Peter hoped it didn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

“Proving the pattern to the rest of the pack is going to be… difficult.”

Amber eyes rolled and Peter smothered a smile. It still surprised him how much pleasure Stiles’s snark generated in him. Like calling to like.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Stiles flung his towel at the hamper and missed. From four feet away. Peter shook his head. How the boy had survived this long in a world full of predators was truly a mystery. “Lydia will believe me. Probably. And Danny. But…”

“But they’re not wolves.” Peter nodded and leaned back in his chair. “They aren’t the ones who’re going to want to believe it’s possible in the first place.”

Stiles walked to the corner of the desk that dominated the office and propped one hip on it, everything about his posture telegraphing his irritation with the situation.

“Scott’s going to think I’m crazy—literally—and he’ll suspect anything coming from you because you’re clearly still trying to manipulate him.” His lip curled a fraction and Peter wasn’t sure if it was the beginning of a smile or a snarl. “That means we’re going to have to go at the problem sideways, again, because as much as I’d like to say he wouldn’t go there again, I’m sure you’re with me on the Never Going Back to Eichen bandwagon.”

Peter gave his own eyeroll at that. “Our True Alpha does have a limited repertoire of responses, and you’re right, Eichen House is not on my list of spa retreat destinations. My question for you is simply: since we know he won’t listen to reason, why bother trying to convince him? It isn’t as if the people Hengstrom is using aren’t willing. If Scott wants to throw in with the crazy mage, why not let him?”

Stiles shifted his weight, swinging a lean leg absently. “I guess it’s the lying that gets me, because I don’t believe he doesn’t know exactly what his miracle cure does. You can’t wield that kind of magic if you don’t understand it intimately. That leaves two options,” he held up one long finger. “One, he’s leaving details out because he doesn’t think they’re important—which would be stupidly shortsighted—or two,” he held up a second finger, “he knows the details are important and he’s not telling people on purpose, which leads to another whole line of questions about why he’s keeping them secret and what he’s getting out of the de-wolfing process that’s so important that he doesn’t want to risk scaring his victims away.”

Peter nodded. When the mage arrived, he’d introduced himself to the local Alpha and had bemoaned the fact that Deaton wasn’t currently in residence because he wanted to share his new skill with the druid. Invoking the emissary’s name worked like magic—all puns intended—and the True Alpha had warmly welcomed the man to the territory and had immediately begun questioning him about this new and wonderful spellwork he’d invented. Hengstrom had been hesitant to speak of it, saying he didn’t want to step on Deaton’s toes—but Scott reacted the way he always did when there was something new and shiny that he wanted: he poked and prodded and wheedled and insisted until the mage caved and laid out the framework of what he called his “life’s achievement.”

It was delicate work and Peter had been impressed with Hengstrom’s ability to play the young Alpha right up until he uttered the phrase “werewolf curse.” McCall’s spine had stiffened and red crawled up his neck as he ducked his head and looked away, shame and self-loathing oozing from every pore. Every wolf in the room stiffened, feeling the negativity of their leader through the pack bonds, and Peter was no different. His gums itched and his fingers ached, claws and fangs closer to the surface than they should be, and he knew his wolf was feeling threatened in a way that born wolves weren’t supposed to feel.

The mage promised Scott, and any other bitten wolves that were interested, the chance to be human again, and he knew immediately what the True Alpha’s reaction was going to be. Hell, anyone with a braincell that had known the boy for more than two seconds knew what he was going to do. He never even paused to think how giving up his wolf would affect the rest of the pack. No, McCall was consistent—he wanted what he wanted and screw anyone that might get in the way of him getting it.

He did, at least, ask a few questions and the mage passed his minimalist lie detector test—Yes, he’d performed the rite dozens of times. The rite had 100% efficacy. All the people he helped went back to their human lives with nary a trace of wolf left in them. Here’s an oddly convenient list; call them if you want to.—And then the idiot didn’t think, didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate for a minute, he simply reached out and swept the mage into the biggest hug Beacon Hills had ever seen, and then had run off to tell Kira the good news.

Stiles and Peter watched the interview silently, doubt clear on both of their faces, but once their Alpha had made his approval clear, Stiles shook the man’s hand briefly, took the list of “cured” that was proffered, and directed the mage to the hotel in town that the pack had an arrangement with.

Then Stiles went to work.

It took the Spark six hours to contact most of the people on the list, but there were a few he hadn’t been able to get through to. Finally, one number that had been calling incessantly—his magic nagging at him that it was important—picked up and the tearful woman on the other end informed him that yes, her husband, Oscar, had undergone Hengstrom’s procedure and had been thrilled with the results. Unfortunately, he’d died a few months later. They hadn’t been able to determine a cause of death—he simply didn’t wake up one morning. It was possible that the procedure had been hard on his heart or something, but no one could really say. She was sorry she couldn’t be more help.

After another six hours he’d found two more people who’d had their wolves removed who had mysteriously fallen ill afterwards. One was currently in a coma, and the other had been committed to a mental institution after having attempted to kill his family, the whole time screaming for them to kill him, please kill him. That he couldn’t stop it. It wouldn’t let him.

That report reminded Stiles too much of his possession by the Nogitsune; he and Peter were on a plane the next morning. Three hours and several Jedi mind tricks after landing, they’d gotten to visit the last victim… and the minor demon that was squatting in his soul. Peter had struggled with seeing the man strapped to his bed, flashbacks of his own time imprisoned in a similar bed with nothing free to move but his head setting his teeth on edge, and Stiles… well, the Spark had his own fight to fight. His spark hovered just beneath his skin, setting the boy almost aglow, and while his wolf was used to the temptation, the demon was immediately overwhelmed with hunger.

The body on the bed strained and lurched against its bindings as they listened to it rave about how Stiles was perfect, how the fire under his skin was nice but the darkness around his heart was beautiful and infinite and vicious, how he had a demon-shaped hole in his soul that just cried out to be filled. Stiles waited as every word left a wound behind, and Peter could smell the blood on him as he bit his lips to remain silent. Finally, the demon released its host deciding that it was worth giving up the body it had for the chance of controlling the power of a Spark. Peter sucked in a breath, terrified that they wouldn’t make it out of the hospital without a demonic stowaway, but then his impossible, incredible boy burned the creature out of existence in the flash of an eye before it could jump bodies. He listened as Stiles’s breath caught on a silent sob in his throat, and Peter ached to gather the bowstring-taut Spark into his arms and tell him that yes he was perfect, that the demon had no idea how beautiful his darkness truly was because he used it to defend the ones he loved, that if there was a hole in his soul Peter would crawl into it and fill it and wrap him up in protective arms, keeping him close, and safe, and his… but he knew that all it would take would be one uninvited touch and Stiles would shatter, so he kept his hands to himself, and bided his time.

A moment later the victim woke from his possession in grateful tears, but when Stiles explained that he couldn’t repair the holes in the man’s spirit that had allowed the demon to take up residence in the first place, he insisted they leave him in the hospital, that it was where he wanted to stay, where he needed to stay. He’d do anything to protect his family from going through that nightmare again.

Stiles told him that evening that he suspected the man wouldn’t be around long enough to regret that decision; his life force was already leaking out through the holes in his aura. Listening to the Spark whimper in his sleep as he thrashed on the hotel bed that night, Peter knew Stiles would regret the decision enough for the both of them.

One good thing came out of the whole nightmare. After explaining what had happened to her husband, the last victim’s wife was more than willing to answer their questions, and she was much more expansive than the mage. She told them that Hengstrom only pursued weres that had been changed within the past five years, claiming that anyone that had been a werewolf longer than that wouldn’t ever be able to truly erase the behaviors they’d learned. He’d asked other questions—where her husband fit in the pack hierarchy, how he’d been turned, whether his wife was a wolf—before agreeing to remove her husband’s wolf, but that the one thing that seemed most important to him was whether they were going leave the territory after the procedure. He implied that continuing contact with the members of the pack would hinder her husband’s healing process. He said that her husband’s scent would change, and the other wolves wouldn’t be able to trust him anymore and that it would be safer for everyone if they cut ties completely, but he’d also said that any exposure to the supernatural would make it harder for her husband to transition back to his human life. She hadn’t questioned it at the time, but it had made the whole situation more difficult when he’d started showing signs of deterioration because she didn’t have the pack as a support system and since they didn’t have their emissary available to ask for advice.

Oh, and their emissary hadn’t been around when Hengstrom had arrived, either.

Stiles had looked at Peter at that point and quirked an eyebrow, an entire conversation in the tiny movement. Who knew they would ever actually be sorry that Alan Deaton wasn’t around?

Stiles stopped swinging his leg suddenly. “Did Scott ever mention that Kira was a kitsune?”

Peter thought back over the conversation he’d witnessed and shook his head. “No. Hengstrom asked if he was mated to another wolf and Scott said no, but that was as far as it went. Why?”

He paused and raised his eyes to the Spark’s as the penny dropped. Oh. Ohhh.

Scott was going to have a problem. Kira wasn’t a wolf, but she was a kitsune but more importantly—she was pack. The only thing McCall valued more than his own vaunted humanity was his mate, and after the youngest Argent died, he’d become even more protective of the little fox.

Stiles grinned, sharp and vulpine, clearly ready to hunt. “I think we need to have a little chat with our Alpha’s mate.”

Peter grinned back letting his own fangs drop a fraction and resting a heavy hand on Stiles’s knee. “You know, sweetheart, I think you’re right.”

***

Kira wasn’t alone when they got there, but it could have been worse. Ms. Yukimura wasn’t a fan of Stiles’s—she still saw too much of Void in him to ever be comfortable—but she would listen more than Scott would, so Peter considered it a win.

“And you destroyed the demon? You’re positive?” She lifted a delicate hand and poured another cup of tea. If Peter hadn’t been watching so closely, he’d have missed the fractional tightening of muscles in her fingers.

“As positive as I can be,” Stiles replied. “I know it isn’t in Peter, and I know it wasn’t in Mr. Anderson when we left him. If you’d be so kind as to make sure I haven’t brought him along with me, I would be… grateful.”

It cost the boy something to make the request, but when the older woman’s eyes settled on him and she nodded once, the silent stress that had been hiding in his spine melted away and Peter could almost feel a sigh of relief pass over him.

“There is nothing… new in your aura, Spark,” she said with a dip of her head, and Peter had to fight back a growl at the cautionary phrasing and silent implication that there was something extra in his aura already, but that was a fight for another day. “The demon must, then, have truly been vanquished. Your skill has grown. I congratulate you.”

Stiles forced himself to dip his head in acceptance. His skills had grown through necessity, and so much of that necessity could be laid at this woman’s feet. It was amazing that he was even able to stay in the same room. Peter wasn’t sure he could have.

“I am simply sorry that I wasn’t able to do more for Mr. Anderson. As I said, the procedure that Hengstrom subjected him to has left his spirit shredded. He will die; it’s just a matter of how long it will take.”

Kira twisted her hands in her lap. “You’re sure? There isn’t anything else that could’ve caused the damage?”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m sorry, Kira, but you know I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure. I know how much this means to Scotty, and yeah, him giving up his wolf would throw the pack into chaos, but we’ve dealt with chaos before and survived. I wouldn’t take this chance away from him on a hunch. The problem is that because of the chaos we’ve been through,” he threw a hard glance at the elder kitsune, “Scott doesn’t trust my judgment. He thinks I’m paranoid.” He let out a bark of laughter. “He isn’t wrong. But neither am I about this.”

Kira pushed her hair behind her ear and sighed. “I believe you. I was talking to mom before you came about how something about this just felt off. Hearing you explain what you’ve found just makes that feeling stronger.”

Peter sat back and crossed his legs. “So, how do we make your husband listen to the truth?”

Kira quirked a lip and tilted her chin to one side, her inner fox clear and sharp. “The way I see it, the only way he’s going to believe it is if it comes from Hengstrom himself.”

Stiles’s whole body stilled, his normal state of constant movement frozen. “I like where you’re going with this, but it’s going to be tricky.”

Kira looked at her mother and they both smiled their trickster-kitsune smiles. “Leave that to us.”

***

In the end, it was surprisingly simple. Painful, but simple.

“You should let him try this on Peter, first.” Stiles said, innocence personified.

Scott perked up. “On Peter? But he wouldn’t want to…” he swallowed what he’d been intending to say and turned to look at the mage. “Could you actually do that? Take the wolf from a born wolf?”

Hagen Hengstrom looked as Swedish as his name sounded. Tall, blond, buff—he didn’t look like any of the mages Peter had ever met, but then Stiles himself didn’t look like them, either. His blue eyes were pale and clear and there was something old and cold in them that Peter didn’t want to be close to, but he was bait, so, he stepped forward.

Hengstrom shook his head, one fist tightening minutely. “No. Definitely not. There is nothing in him that isn’t infiltrated with wolf. He’d go mad without it.”

Stiles snorted. “Like we’d be able to tell the difference.”

Scott looked surprised that he would say such a thing, but then laughed. “I suppose you’re right. Not much to compare it to as far as sanity goes.”

Peter forced himself not to snarl at the boy and let Stiles go on.

“I mean, if the procedure is 100% effective…” he left the sentence hanging, and the mage stepped right into it.

“It is 100% effective,” he insisted, “it’s just that his wolf is so embedded in him that it would rip his soul to pull it out.”

Stiles tilted his head and raised an innocent eyebrow. “Rip his soul? That doesn’t sound good.”

Kira shifted closer to Scott and put an arm around his waist. “No. No it doesn’t.”

Scott looked down at his wife and frowned. “You said before that it didn’t hurt.”

Hengstrom froze and then shook his head. “That isn’t what…”

Scott frowned harder. “You said you’d performed this rite dozens of times.”

Hengstrom nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! I’ve done this dozens—hundreds—of times. It does exactly what I’ve promised.”

Stiles made a non-committal sound. “But actually, all you said was that it removed the wolf and the people went back to being human after. You didn’t say anything about whether they were healthy and happy, did you?”

Kira tugged on Scott’s shirt. “Did he?”

Scott shrugged. “I don’t actually remember. I was so excited by what he was telling me that I don’t think I asked.” He turned back to the mage who looked decidedly paler under his golden tan. “What happens to the people after you take their wolves? Are they healthy? Can they… have families? Does it mess with any of that?”

The mage frowned and took his time before answering. “I don’t stay in touch with all of the people I’ve helped, so I don’t know exactly how they all are. But I can assure you the rite did exactly what it was supposed to do, and they were all completely human afterwards.”

Stiles made another noise. “I’m sure it’s fine, Kira,” he waved his hand between Hengstrom and Scott, “I mean, if there was a problem I’m sure Deaton could fix it, and the pack would be here to…”

Hengstrom lurched forward, hand up. “Um, that’s not…” he swallowed, “I mean, I’m certain that Druid Deaton is very skilled, but this magic is specialized, and he wouldn’t be familiar with the process. It’s best if the blessed can accept the return of their human status completely, make a clean break with their previous packs and limit their exposure to the supernatural. As humans they’re so much more susceptible to injury and you wouldn’t want to endanger your family that way unnecessarily, would you? You and your wife would be able to move on, have children, start your own veterinary practice without all of this hanging over your head.”

Scott’s frown had deepened to the point that Peter thought he could get a playing card to stick in the crease between his eyebrows.

“My wife is supernatural.” He hugged Kira tighter to him and Hengstrom frowned.

“But you said you weren’t mated to another werewolf!”

Kira looked at him, adorable confusion on her face. “He’s not. I’m a kitsune. I’m surprised you couldn’t feel my magic. Dr. Deaton says it’s unmistakable. Plus… I’m pack.”

Hengstrom looked bewildered, wondering how things had gotten so out of hand.

At that point Liam stepped forward, his back stiff and eyes slitted. “It seems to me that there’s more to this rite than you initially let on. So, tell me just one thing: If Scott lets you take his wolf, what will happen to his Alpha spark?”

Peter forced his face to stillness. Finally, someone was asking the right questions.

The mage frowned. “I’m not sure. I’ve never removed the wolf from an Alpha before.”

The whole pack took a step towards Scott, suddenly sensing the threat to their Alpha.

“You don’t know?” Liam sounded strangled and he turned to look at Scott. “You mean you didn’t ask? You were just going to let him take your wolf and leave us all omegas?”

Scott deflated a little. “I just figured it would go to the next person in line in the pack. Maybe you. Maybe,” he frowned, “maybe Peter. I mean, he’s been an Alpha before. Not a good one, but still.”

Liam was livid. “You were just joking about him being crazy, Scott! Plus, you’re a fucking True Alpha! It isn’t like it’s got a line to revert to. Maybe it just disappears into the ether it came from, and then what would happen?”

The mage was slowly stepping away from the angry young wolf, trying not to draw attention to himself, but Peter’s Spark was having none of it.

“All politics aside, the thing I worry most about is what would happen to Scott’s soul if you ripped the True Alpha spark out of it. I mean, think about it Scotty. The only reason you’re an Alpha at all is because of your soul---it’s got to be tangled up tightly in there. If there is, what did you call it? Tearing? When you remove the wolf? What? Does it leave holes in his soul or something? Mess with his aura? Is that why he shouldn’t be around supernatural stuff afterwards, because something could get in through those holes?”

Kira took her cue like a professional, one dainty hand flying to her mouth as she gasped in fear for her beloved. “Oh my God, that can’t be, right? Nothing could get into his soul, could it?”

Hengstrom knew he was trapped. A room full of wolves would hear if he lied. “It’s… possible. But, in a world of magic anything is possible.”

Kira moved to stand in front of her husband. “I’d think you’d have led with that fact. As a matter of fact, the fact that you didn’t makes me wonder what else you don’t tell people about your precious rite.”

Mason gave a side-long look to the man. “Makes me wonder what he gets out of it.”

Peter allowed himself a smirk. Mason certainly had potential. He would have to spend a little more time with the boy. The True Alpha needed someone who could see through false altruism that didn’t have a history with him. It would be much easier to get him to listen, then.

A rumble from the back of the room drew his attention. Ah. Reinforcements.

Alan Deaton swept into the room with all the gravitas of an opening night diva, every eye upon him, and he glided to a stop beside his wide-eyed protégé.

“Remind me never to accept an invitation to a conclave I am unfamiliar with, Scott. It always seems to lead to trouble,” he said, dark eyes resting on the now surrounded mage.

Peter wondered if that meant that the druid had been lured away somehow, but that could be sussed out later. Right now, he wanted to know what the man intended to do with the interloper.

Deaton was a terrible emissary, but he wasn’t a bad magic user and when Peter saw his eyes widen and a rim of green flash in them, he couldn’t help but wish he, too, could see things with druid’s sight.

Whatever it was, it didn’t make the man happy.

“Scott?” The druid didn’t look away from Hengstrom. “Have you allowed your guest access to you or any others in the pack?”

Scott shook his head, a little sheepishly. “No. We were about to get to that. Lucky for me, Kira was here. She seemed to know right away that something was weird.” He hugged his wife tightly, and the little fox met Peter’s eyes and smiled. Leave it to her, indeed. It was a good reminder never to get on the woman’s bad side. He looked at Stiles and they shared an incredulous look that quickly devolved into twin smiles of satisfaction. Working together like this behind the scenes was often frustrating, but the connection it built between the two of them wasn’t something Peter was ever going to willingly give up.

“I believe Mage Hengstrom and I have some things to discuss. I’d appreciate it if a few of your pack members would escort him over to my offices. Then, I think you all could do with a quick check up. Just to make sure that there isn’t anything… missing.” His voice softened. “Or extra.”

A noisy exodus followed, leaving Stiles and Peter alone. Together. Again.

“She’s impressive,” Peter nodded his head in the direction of Kira’s disappearing back. “I don’t know what she sees in him.”

Stiles laughed then, only a little bitterly. “She sees what I once saw in him. A bottomless well of faith and singlemindedness that sometimes,” he sighed as he watched everyone leave, “sometimes feels like devotion. I hope she never loses it.”

Peter looked at the Spark and wished with all his heart that he could erase the heartache that Scott McCall’s fickleness had caused. Since he can’t, though, he will make do with replacing fake devotion with constancy, and human fickleness with a loyalty that the wolf-kings of old would bow down to.

“Since Alan has the mage under control, what do you say to a milkshake? My treat.”

Stiles smiled then, weak but sincere. “And curly fries?”

Peter wrapped his arm around the Spark and guided him towards the door. “Of course, sweetheart. What kind of man do you take me for?”

Stiles’s smile got a little more mischievous and Peter rolled his eyes. “Don’t answer that.”

The smile brightened even more. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Zombiewolf.”

And well, if the boy’s heart stuttered on the lie Peter wasn’t going to call him out for it.

***

Peter listened to the water falling in his shower and the one monopolizing it. Again.

“Three times, Peter!” Stiles was ranting. “I told him. I told him after the first time. I told him again after the second time, but this is three times.” The water stopped and the glass door opened with a tiny squeak. Peter imagined what Stiles looked like, skin red from the heat of the shower and his own frustration, and wished that just once the boy was flushed and rosy in his shower for a better reason than Scott fucking McCall’s incompetence.

Peter lounged on his bed, legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, and waited with calculated patience. It didn’t take long.

Stiles stomped in wrapped in Peter’s robe, a wave of scented steam swirling around him and a prickle of agitated magic washed through the room causing the fine hair on Peter’s arms to stand. The Spark was actually angry this time.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Stiles stomped into Peter’s closet, opening and shutting drawers more violently than necessary, looking for something to wear. Peter didn’t mind. His wolf loved seeing the boy in his clothes, and if he’d bought a few things that ran a little smaller just for the Spark to “steal” well, his tailor didn’t need to know.

“Can’t do what anymore, dear heart,” he asked, aiming for calm. He watched the shadows move on the floor as the boy stripped just around the corner from him. It was a good thing the Spark couldn’t hear his heart. He’d probably run out of the apartment faster than he ran from the troll earlier.

Peter was always the scariest monster when it came down to it.

“I can’t keep trying to save his ass and having him ignore me. I can’t keep manipulating things from stage left hoping that it works out and that nobody fucking dies.” He stomped out of the closet, a pair of Peter’s jeans slung low on his hips and a V-neck that was a size too large falling off one shoulder. He tossed his towel at the hamper. He missed. Again. At least some things never changed.

“Mason almost died tonight, Peter,” Stiles flopped, all long legs and arms like a puppet with its strings cut, on the end of the bed. “If Liam hadn’t doubled back for him, he wouldn’t have had a chance. And it could have all been avoided if Scott had just listened to me.”

Peter rumbled sympathetically. Stiles needed comfort, not fuel for the Scott McCall Is A Terrible Friend fire.

The Spark sighed and dropped back onto the bed, exhaustion finally catching up with him. He’d gotten better in the years since Peter bit Scott. He was stronger. Had more stamina. Had magic to reinforce his bat when he swung it, and potions to help him heal faster when he didn’t manage to get through a fight unscathed… but he was still human, and he was tired.

“You did what you could, sweetheart,” Peter tried to console, but it was hard. He’d love to point out every flaw, every shortcoming, every insult and betrayal, but his boy was smart. He already knew all those things; pointing them out would just hurt. “It’s Scott. It isn’t like he’s finally going to learn a lesson from all of this. Deaton will support him no matter what, and until either he or Kira force him to change, he won’t.”

Stiles didn’t say anything for a long time. If his breathing hadn’t stayed the same Peter would have thought he’d fallen asleep.

“Scott won’t change, so it’s up to me.” The words were soft, but very final sounding.

“What’s up to you? Do you have a plan for forcing him to change?”

Short curls shook in a negative. “I can’t change him, but I can change me.”

Peter’s wolf growled in the back of his mind at the thought of Stiles changing. He was perfect. He shouldn’t have to change because his packmate—his so called Alpha—wasn’t worth his teeth.

“And how do you intend to change? More Spark studies?”

Stiles rolled onto his side and gave Peter an assessing look. “I got a call from a pack outside of Las Vegas last week.”

Peter stiffened and curled his fingers so that Stiles wouldn’t see his popped claws. NO. He couldn’t leave. Peter wouldn’t have it. He’d…

“Calm down, Zombiewolf,” Stiles said, sitting the rest of the way up and smirking a little. “It wasn’t like that. They aren’t looking for a new packmate, they just need a little help.”

Peter felt the panic drain away, and a new kind of caution take its place. Trust his boy to read him so well. He’d have to be more careful.

“What kind of help?”

“Seems they have themselves an aqrabuamelu.” Stiles watched him for recognition, and Peter couldn’t help feeling satisfaction when the Spark looked proud that he nodded.

“Scorpion man. Not native to the area… how’d it get to Nevada?”

Stiles shrugged carelessly, the V-neck hanging even lower to expose the shadow of a collarbone. If Peter didn’t know better, he’d think the Spark was teasing him. “What happens in Vegas rarely stays in Vegas, dude. I don’t know for sure, but I’d bet someone brought the fucker in for some sort of supernatural freak show and it got away from them.” He grinned, looking all of ten years old and full of mischief. “Like the alligators in the sewers where someone flushes an overgrown pet.”

Peter shook his head. The boy was a menace. “I’m assuming they don’t know how to handle the creature?”

“Got it in one. They’ve heard about our successes in driving off weird monsters and were wondering if we could help. I thought about telling Scott and seeing if he wanted to curry some favor with a relatively close pack, but…”

Peter watched and waited. Then he prompted. “But…?”

“But… I was thinking maybe I’d go out there and take care of it for them. Maybe negotiate a non-treaty kind of fee for assistance. Like a contract hit without the Mob, I mean, Pack involvement.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. As long as McCall didn’t get his knickers in a knot over Stiles killing things again. That problem didn’t seem to be that much of a factor in Stiles’s calculations, though.

“McCall won’t like it. He’s made it clear how he feels about this kind of extermination.” There was no judgment in his tone, but Peter couldn’t let him commit to something like this without being sure he knew what he was getting into.

“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. Not after yesterday.” Stiles’s scent soured under the cucumber-citrus bodywash.

“Yesterday?”

The Spark flopped back onto the bed again, this time more hopeless than boneless. “Yeah. When I was trying to convince Scott about my plan for the trolls, he said it again.”

Fuck. That idiot.

“You know he doesn’t mean it.” Peter tried to soothe, but he was just a little too angry on Stiles’s behalf for it to be truly soothing.

“Oh, he meant it. And I know he meant it because of this.” A long arm shot up from the bed and the Spark shook the thin black leather band dangling from it. “I made it last new moon. A charm bracelet to beat all charm bracelets. Take that, Pandora!” There was an almost hysterical edge to his tone. “The emissary of the Parker pack taught me how to make it. She uses one to allow her to stand on equal footing with her wolves—she can scent them and listen to their hearts with it, even though she’s human.”

Peter couldn’t stop the rising of his eyebrows as he stared at the innocent looking thing. Stiles had been able to hear his heart. To read his scent. His brain spun in denial. For a month.

Stiles hadn’t said anything, though, so he would do the same. Maybe he could salvage things.

“So, you listened to his heart when the two of you were planning?” He tried to steer the conversation back onto slightly less terrifying ground.

“You mean when he told me, again, that I shouldn’t worry about planning because I wasn’t pack?” Pain was threaded through Stiles’s words, but under it there was a clear note of just being done with it all. “Yep. And Scott’s heart was clear as day---not a flutter to be heard. He truly believes I’m not pack, and if the Alpha says I’m not pack, then I’m not pack. That means, among other things, that that self-same Alpha can’t tell me what to do. As a best friend Scott could still do that, but he hasn’t been a friend, not to mention a best friend, in a long time I think.”

Peter didn’t argue. The brat had been many things over the past few years, but a good friend was rarely on that list, and even more rarely as far as it applied to Stiles.

“I don’t believe McCall will see it that way,” Peter poked at the argument gingerly, trying to see where Stiles was going with this. “Is that why you’re telling me? Do you want me to cover for you while you’re away?”

He couldn’t help feeling a little hurt by the idea that Stiles would be moving on without him, but he knows that getting out of Beacon Hills even for a little while would only do the boy good. As long as he intended to come back.

“No,” Stiles shook his head and levered himself up and off the bed, whiskey brown eyes fixed on his in the lamplight. “I want you to come with me. I mean… how often are you going to get a chance to face off with an aqrabuamelu? Plus, Vegas. Who wouldn’t want to go to Vegas?”

Peter’s wolf sneered. Who wouldn’t want to surround themselves with perfumed, alcohol soaked, despair ridden people in buildings full of too-bright lights, and bells and whistles shrieking twenty-four hours a day?

“Sounds like just what the doctor ordered.” He found himself saying, even knowing that the Spark would hear the lie. “When do we leave?”

Stiles grinned—a wide, true thing that made Peter’s chest tighten. “Well, first we need to swing by Home Depot. I need to buy a fuckton of diatomaceous earth.”

***

They stood in the Vegas packhouse, a wolf and a Spark, covered in diatomaceous earth and blood.

“I cannot thank you enough for everything you’ve done, Spark Stilinski,” the Alpha would have bowed if there had been an ounce less steel in her spine, Peter was sure. As it was, she dipped her head in thanks and held out a leather satchel full of goods. “I know you hadn’t expected to walk into a hostage situation, and because of that I’ve added a few,” she made a vague gesture to the bag, “items to our payment agreement. My niece’s life is priceless to me; I only hope that this is satisfactory recompense.”

Stiles took the bag and shrugged it over his shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that, Alpha Garcia, but your generosity is appreciated. I’m just glad that Peter and I were able to help.”

The Alpha looked at Peter and he forced himself to stillness. A Beta this far from his Alpha, without his Alpha’s approval… well let’s just say he didn’t want to get into the matter if he didn’t have to. I appeared that today was going to be a good day, though, as Alpha Garcia just nodded to him as well.

“The two of you fight well together,” she said, “I can see how it works.” She looked between the two guests, filthy and tired, and bowed deeply. “Your sister would be happy to see you so settled, Beta Hale. May your moons be ever bright.”

Peter felt his breath catch and chanced a glance at Stiles, but the Spark’s expression didn’t change except for a tiny arch of an eyebrow, almost challenging him to respond to the Alpha’s blessing. His wolf, though… his wolf wanted to howl and preen that the Alpha thought Stiles was his mate and would bless such a union so publicly. It made the blood in his veins rush and his heart pound, and then, then, Stiles smiled, soft and fond, and he knew the little monster had let the Alpha believe they were mates from the beginning. Had wanted her to see them that way. Had wanted all of them to see them that way.

Had wanted him that way.

Peter was many things, but a fool was not on the list. He gave Stiles one piercing look before turning back and bowing to the Alpha, grasping this last best chance at happiness with both his clawed hands. “May your days be ever joyful. My sister spoke highly of you and your pack. Your blessing means more than I can say. Thank you.”

He let the truth of his words ring clear and watched, fascinated, as Stiles’s skin pinked in pleasure. Oh, how he looked forward to exploring how far down that blush went.

“Yes, Alpha Garcia,” the Spark said, not meeting Peter’s gaze. “Thank you. But, if you don’t mind, my…” he stumbled over his words and the blush deepened when he accidentally made eye-contact, “Peter and I need to get all of this stuff off before it begins eating through our skin the way it did the aqrabuamelu’s. Spells can be made to be specific, but potions can’t really differentiate between types of skin.”

He sounded sheepish and young and it must have appealed to the Alpha’s protective instincts because she immediately acquiesced and sent them back to their hotel to rest and lick their wounds with a smile and an open invitation to visit whenever they were in the area. It was, in Peter’s not so humble estimation, the best possible outcome.

***

Stiles wandered out of the bathroom wrapped in an acre of terrycloth and a haze of Peter’s shower gel. Again. The boy had made a break for the bathroom claiming dibs on the first shower as soon as they’d arrived, and Peter had been impatiently waiting his turn alternately trying not to think too hard about the stuff on his skin or the naked young man in the shower. One was decidedly easier to ignore than the other.

While sitting there it occurred to him that Stiles taking over his shower and appropriating his bath products was becoming a habit he didn’t mind. As a matter of fact, he thought he could be happy smelling that particular combination of scents for the rest of his life. That was a thought for later, though. For now, he had another priority, and he pushed his way into the shower stall, determined to scrub himself raw if necessary, to get the noxious paste of blood and potion off his skin. Once he was behind the shower curtain, though, he was practically overwhelmed by Stiles’s scent. Clearly, he had been enjoying more than just getting clean, and it made Peter’s wolf whine with want. His mate was teasing him, but he’d get even soon.

It took longer than he wanted to get the hardened goo off, but he managed without causing too much secondary damage. Finally, he wrapped himself in one of the hotel robes and sauntered back into their room.

Stiles was stretched out on the bed he’d slept in the night before, eyes slitted, almost closed, and Peter could smell exhaustion on him. “Tired sweetheart?” he asked, and the boy made a grumble of acknowledgment.

“Killing giant scorpion monsters in the desert takes it out of you. Who knew?” Stiles yawned, jaw cracking. “The desert always does this to me, though. I remember being bedridden for two days after mom dragged me and dad to White Sands National Park. It made no sense—nothing but gypsum sand for miles. Not a milkshake or a curly fry in sight. I was miserable. At that point I was like, screw this dry heat/wet heat argument. How about a nice place where it never gets hot enough to melt your balls or cold enough to hurt your face? That sounds good to me.”

Peter perched on the edge of the bed and reached out to lightly touch Stiles’s knee. The skin was still slightly tacky with damp but soft under his fingers, and he didn’t think he imagined the delicate shudder than ran through the young man’s body. “I’m not particular,” he said. “I find that good company makes up for a multitude of environmental sins.”

Stiles looked at him, gaze steady. “So, you don’t have a dream destination? Chalet in the Alps? Cottage in the south of France?” He paused and licked his lips. “Red-tile roofed villa in Argentina?”

Peter stopped his exploration of Stiles’s skin. “Argentina? What ever made you think of Argentina?”

Stiles shifted, the robe slipping and baring yet more long leg. “Well, you said good company was important. I thought maybe that included, I don’t know… extended family?”

Peter’s heart stuttered at the thought. Derek and Cora. They’d been gone long enough that he’d begun to accept that he wouldn’t see them again. “I’ll admit, the idea of family has its pull, but family of choice, pack and mate, is more important.” He cupped the back of Stiles’s knee and squeezed. “I wouldn’t run off chasing rainbows when what I really want is already closer to home.”

Stiles rolled over on his side. “And what do you want, Peter?” The fact that he used Peter’s name instead of a silly nickname brought home how serious the Spark was feeling. “If you could have anything, what would you ask for?”

Peter stared down into amber eyes and gathered his courage in his claws again; facing Alpha Garcia was nothing compared to baring his soul to Stiles. “If I could have anything, I would have everything, sweetheart.” He shrugged a carefully careless shoulder, trying not to show just how vulnerable he felt. “I’d take you as my mate. I’d be an Alpha again. I’d bring Derek and Cora back and have them become pack again. We’d find our own territory—it wouldn’t have to be Beacon Hills; Hale territory stretched much farther afield than that. We’d rebuild the Hale Pack.” He dropped his gaze to his curled fingers. “Maybe adopt a couple of pups to raise. Sell our services to smaller packs to refill the coffers and regain the respect that the Hale name used to command.” He reached out and grabbed Stiles’s hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a fang-laced kiss to the knuckles there, emotions riding him too hard for him to hide them anymore. “But if all I could have was you, forever? I’d be the happiest wolf in the world. Never doubt that.”

Stiles sat up and pulled Peter into a hug. “I’m glad you weren’t upset that I let Alpha Garcia think we were together. I thought… well, I won’t go into what I thought. I’m just glad I wasn’t wrong. I mean, I could have been. You haven’t even tried to kiss me.”

Peter rumbled deep in his chest, arms snaking around Stiles’s waist. “An oversight I intend to rectify immediately, if not sooner.” He dragged his cheek along the Spark’s neck, scenting him heavily before pressing their lips together, reveling in his boy’s trembling breath and grasping fingers. “Kiss you. Touch you. Cover every inch of your skin in my scent so that any were that comes in contact with you can smell that you’re mine.”

Stiles’s groaned and leaned into him. “Want that,” he pressed hot lips along the edge of Peter’s jaw, and they both shivered, “want that so much. Want everything with you.”

Peter grinned into his skin. “Everything, hmmm? I like the sound of that.”

Stiles made a noise of frustration. “Yes, everything, but it’s going to have to wait at least a little bit longer.”

Peter made a moue of distaste, dropping another kiss on Stiles parted lips. Stopping was the last thing he wanted, but he refused to rush his mate in this. “I do not like the sound of that. But you’re probably starving. You’ve only eaten four times today.” He pulled Stiles tightly against his side, letting his hands trail under the edge of his robe one last time to tide his wolf over. He wasn’t a saint, after all. “Let’s put our clothes on—dear God I can’t believe I’m saying that. You are a terrible influence on me.—and I’ll take you out to dinner and to see a show. It is Las Vegas, after all. It would be a shame to leave without seeing a tiger or Celine Dion or something. Something that isn’t likely to attack us, anyway.”

Stiles rubbed his face into Peter’s neck, mouthing gently along the skin and nipping at it for his teasing, but there was breathless laughter in his voice when he spoke. “Yes, being attacked by Celine Dion would be terrifying. Regardless,” he said, sitting up and moving so there was a little space between them. “We at least need to go to Caesar’s Palace.”

Peter laughed, heart lighter than it had been in years. Caesar’s Palace? Why not? “Is Caesar’s Palace on your bucket list, dear heart? Or is it just the pinnacle of tourist trap kitsch and you feel the need to commune with it somehow?”

Stiles shook his head and gave him a mischievous smile. “No. It’s just that Caesar’s is where Derek and Cora are going to be staying. They should be getting into town in about, oh,” he peeked around Peter’s shoulder and glanced at the bedside clock, “two hours. Just long enough for us to make out a little before we have to go meet them. Or get some dinner. Whichever you want.”

Peter was stunned. Derek and Cora were coming to Las Vegas? And Stiles had already arranged it? What else did his Spark have planned? He looked down at the force of nature in his arms and wondered, not for the first time, how he’d managed to find such a perfect mate. He forced his words through a dry mouth. “And what if I want everything, Stiles?”

Golden eyes glowed and the mischief faded into determination. “Then you’ll have everything, Peter. I knew when I made this move what I wanted; luckily, my wish list and yours are almost identical. I know that you were waiting until I was ready before you made any sort of move, but you were never going to believe that I was unless I did something drastic, so… I did something drastic. The Alpha’s blessing was an unexpected bonus. Derek and Cora were the easy part. They know you’re not perfect, and it’s going to take a lot of work to build your relationship back to anywhere near where it needs to be, but they’re willing to give it a chance if you are.”

“And the rest?” Peter asked, almost afraid of the answer. “There’s no pack without an Alpha, and I lost my red eyes a long time ago, sweetheart.”

Long fingers combed through the scruff of his beard. “About that,” Stiles tilted his head to one side and smiled. “I got a call from an Alpha in Saskatchewan. Seems they have a rogue Alpha running around biting people without asking first, and you know what they say.”

“No, sweetheart,” Peter said, closing the space between them, thoughts flashing through his mind and hope fluttering wildly in his chest. “What do they say?”

Stiles pressed even closer. “Well, it’s like it was the garage.” He held his wrist up and shook the little black bracelet that covered his pulse point just a breath away from Peter’s fangs. “Consent is sexy.”

Peter stared at the limb, longing to bury his teeth in the tendons, and thought, not for the first time, that this boy would either be the life or death of him.

***

“Canada?” Scott sounded confused. It was sad that Peter could identify the flavor of confusion. This one was Someone is offering me something that’s too good to be true, and I want to believe them, but the last time I did I ended up with no motorbike, a pocket full of magic beans, and sleeping on the couch.

There was a reason Kira was Peter’s favorite packmate. Or… soon to be ex-packmate if all went well.

“Yes, Canada, Scott. There’s a pack in Saskatchewan that Talia had a treaty with, and they’ve reached out and asked if I could come up and help them with a training program for some of their younger wolves. They don’t have much interaction with other packs because they’re so isolated, and their Left Hand is getting old enough that he isn’t able to keep up with the young ones’, ah, enthusiasm.”

Scott grinned. “You mean you’re volunteering to move to the Great White North and let a bunch of teenagers beat up on you?”

Peter sneered a little. “It isn’t like I don’t have experience with it.” He gave the teenagers that surrounded them a significant look. “And they don’t have anyone else to turn to. I didn’t think you’d mind if I took a little… time away. In the name of pack inter-relations.”

Scott waved a hand. “No. No, of course not. Take all the time you need.” He looked at Liam and grinned. “In Canada. I’ll let Deaton know that you’ll pass our good wishes on to the Alpha there. Hey, maybe we can even get some sort of treaty out of it.”

Peter simply stared. “Perfect. I’ll have their emissary contact Alan after I arrive. In the meantime, since I’m not going to be in residence, but since I intend to keep the property in my portfolio the pack should continue to use the loft as a base. I know it is hard on Kira to try to host everyone at your apartment.” He gave the kitsune a half-smile and she nodded back, grateful of his consideration. He almost felt guilty for all the listening devices he’d hidden around the loft over the past week.

Almost.

With Scott McCall and Alan Deaton in charge, it paid to keep a close eye on things.

“Alpha McKittrick is expecting me by the beginning of next week. Will that be a problem?”

McCall looked like Christmas, New Year’s and his birthday had all come at once. “Not at all. Not at all. Next week sounds great, doesn’t it, gang?”

The gaggle of teenagers made approving noises, even if Mason and Kira shared a look that held more understanding than Peter was comfortable with. It didn’t matter. As long as they kept their thoughts to themselves for a couple of weeks, everything should go as planned.

He’d braced himself for questions when he returned from Nevada, but no one had even missed him. He didn’t know whether it was better or worse that McCall hadn’t realized that Stiles had been gone as well, but he’d take the oversight it if it meant that his mate had less confrontation to deal with, even if it meant having to face the unpleasant fact that his former best friend had completely left him behind.

Peter couldn’t wait until the truth came out and McCall realized what he’d thrown away. He’d be a laughingstock amongst the packs, no matter what his pet druid told him, and he’d known men like this True Alpha before. Looking the fool was the one thing they couldn’t abide. It would eat him alive, and Peter looked forward to watching the feast.

He cast a look around and realized that the next time he saw these faces it would be with an Alpha Mate Spark and red eyes. As far as he was concerned, it couldn’t come fast enough.

***

Alpha power scoured through him, blasting away at his control and consciousness, and he howled in pain and confusion as his soul was re-written.

“Hell of a power-up, huh, Zombiewolf?” Stiles was there by him, hands warm against his wrists, magic washing over him like warm ocean waves, voice soothing and comforting the terrified animal in his mind, and Peter nodded to show he was there and aware even if speech was impossible around the mouthful of fangs he was sporting.

“You’ve got this,” his mate sounded so confident, so calm, “you’re stronger than you were last time. Better. You’re going to be an amazing Alpha. My Alpha, Peter. My mate. Just hang on a little longer for me, okay?”

Peter could feel Derek and Cora running over the snow-covered ground. They’d stayed out of the fight on his order; he wouldn’t have been able to focus if he’d been worried about their safety, too. Stiles had also stayed back, but his skills worked from a distance, and his added magic made the fight much less painful than it would have otherwise been.

He remembered what the Las Vegas Alpha had said, that they fought well together. It was true. They did everything well together. As Alpha mates they would be amazing together.

A rumble started low in his belly at the thought, hungry and wanting, and he breathed in Stiles’s scent—ozone and petrichor, the camphor of ancient forests, the sweet notes of apple and woodsmoke, and over it all Peter’s own god-damned shower gel—and he managed to put hid fangs away, his desire to keep his mate safe stronger than the wolf’s yearning to rip and tear and wallow in the meat of battle.

“You with me, Peter?” Long fingers stroked up his arms, and Peter nodded. Stiles let out a satisfied hum. “Told you. Told you you’d be perfect like this. Powerful. Beautiful. Perfect Alpha. Just perfect.”

And it felt perfect—like he always it imagined it would after he watched Talia become Alpha. Like it should have felt when he took the spark from Laura.—red tingeing the edges of golden pack bonds between him and Derek and Cora. He could sense their emotions now, their hunger for a strong pack, their hope that he’ll become the Alpha they need as well as the family they want. And Stiles? Even without the bond in place yet, his wolf knows his mate. He could pick that heartbeat out of a thousand. Could scent him from a mile away. Already his in so many ways.

“Think you can stand up now?” Stiles asks and Peter realizes they were still crouched in the snow where he’d fallen after killing the rogue, legs knocked out from under him by the strength of the Alpha spark.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said, pushing to his feet and pulling the younger man up with him. “If I needed to, I think I could almost fly.”

Stiles snorted and gave his chest a thump. “Riding that high, are we?” Derek and Cora were standing just beyond arms reach sharing a smile and for once Peter didn’t feel like he was being laughed at. No. His pack was laughing with him, joyous in the moment, and he shook his head and let them laugh.

“It feels,” Peter tried to find the perfect words and couldn’t, but he needed to explain somehow. “Good. Right. Last time it didn’t feel like this, but now it’s like a shoe that was too tight finally stretched and now fits.”

Derek nodded. “That’s what happened when I was Alpha. It was like the Alpha power didn’t fit. I thought at the time it was just because I hadn’t been trained for it, but I think it’s more than that. I think the person has to fit the Alpha-power instead of the other way around. Whether that’s from birth or growth or whatever: you can’t fake it and have it work right. This,” he waved a hand at Peter and looked at Cora for confirmation. “This feels right.”

Cora leaned into her big brother and Peter could see relief in every line of her body, as if she’d finally been allowed to stand down from a perpetual state of alertness. “It does. It hasn’t felt like this in a long time. Not since…” her voice faded, and Derek hugged her hard. “Not since mom.”

Stiles had been silent during this exchange, allowing the remaining Hales their moment of healing, but he wasn’t one to be quiet for long. “Awesome. Glad to hear it. Couldn’t be happier about it, and am looking forward to talking about it more, but as the token human I need to say something.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be, dear one? Have you some hidden wisdom concerning the nature of the Alpha spark?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, but I do have some wisdom concerning the care and keeping of pack humans. The instruction manual says that humans aren’t meant to be kept out in the snow this long, and that means that if you three wolfy space-heaters don’t get me inside soon, I’m going to be a Spark-cicle.”

Peter barked out a laugh and swung his mate-to-be up in a bridal carry, pulling him against his chest and letting him bury his face in the heat of his neck. “Well, there are too many things that I’d miss if they froze and fell off, so I suppose we should head back to the cars. I, at least,” he wrinkles his nose and then rubs it into Stiles’s hair, “need to change. I don’t think the hotel will let me in looking like a serial killer.”

Stiles smirked into his skin. “I’m sure hunting is a thing around here. You could always say that Bambi fought back---if your wolfy pride could stand it.”

His wolf chuffed at the insult. A deer got the better of an Alpha werewolf? Never. Peter sniffed dismissively. “I’d rather walk up to the reception desk naked.”

He didn’t tell the Spark that his murmured I wouldn’t mind wasn’t quiet enough to not be heard, but the peal of laughter from his niece and nephew made it clear. At least Stiles’s ears were warm after that.

***

Later that evening they lay together bundled up in blankets in front of an unlit fireplace. Stiles had lined every shelf in the cabin with battery powered candles and had brought out a pair of enchanted logs that he placed on the andirons. They radiated heat without flame, and Peter had to fight back tears in the face of his Spark’s sensitivity. Maybe it was the new Alpha power making him overly emotional. Maybe it was just Stiles.

It was probably just Stiles.

“Feeling okay, Z?” Stiles rolled in his arms and looked at him with concern. Apparently, he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he thought. “Not having Alpha blowback or anything, are you?”

Peter tightened his hold and shook his head, trying to find his voice. “No. I was just thinking about how I never thought I’d get this.”

His boy nodded and settled back down. “You’d probably written the whole Alpha thing off. I’m glad it worked out, though. Thanks for going through with it. I know it’s hard.”

Peter shook his head again. “That’s not it. Honestly, the Alpha spark has been the easiest part of all of this. I’d always believed that I’d manage to get my Alphahood back someday. It’s…”

A cold nose pressed against the side of his neck and Peter could feel him nod more than see it. “Having Derek and Cora back. Family. Pack. I get it.”

That just made the wolf growl and grumble in the back of his mind, because clearly he didn’t get it. He didn’t get it at all. “No, Stiles, that isn’t what I meant either. Don’t you understand yet? All these other things?” He tried to calm his voice, but his wolf was riding him to make his mate understand. “The pack, my niece and nephew, the Alpha spark---all of these are wonderful, and I wouldn’t give them up for anything now that I have them, but they would never have happened without you. You are the everything. You are my everything. I never thought I would find a mate, find my soul’s match. Hell, for more than half my life I was convinced I didn’t have a soul, and then you came along. Brighter than any flame. Stronger than any force of Nature. You crashed into my life and nothing has been the same and I am so fucking grateful.”

He pulled Stiles up so he could look into the whiskey depths he dreamed of every night. “I wouldn’t be here without you.” Stiles opened his mouth to argue, because his boy always argued, and Peter shushed him. “No. I mean it. If I hadn’t scented you in the woods. Hadn’t had you so close to me in the garage. If you hadn’t killed me and then taken me back in when I was too stubborn to stay dead. If you hadn’t found something in me to value, something you could care about…” he pressed their foreheads together. “I wouldn’t be here.”

Peter resettled them, pressed his lips against Stiles’s temple, and listened to his heart race in his chest. “I am a selfish bastard. I’ve been called a narcissist more times than I can count and until the past few years I’d have agreed with that assessment and embraced it proudly. Now, though, I know it isn’t true because I know, just as surely as I know your scent and the sound of your heart, that there is no me without you.”

Stiles laid in his arms unnaturally still. “Oh.”

That one syllable conveyed a whole conversation full of self-doubt and fear and isolation and yearning, and Peter’s wolf finally settled when a sweet cherry-blossom note of hope threaded through the Spark’s scent. “You really mean it. It isn’t just that I’m useful.”

Peter frowned and a frustrated rumble rolled through him. “You’re everything. You could sit on the couch and read comic books and demand foot rubs and curly fries every day for the rest of my life and I would thank the Moon that I had you to love and cherish and care for. You’re my mate, Stiles.”

“I just thought that since you hadn’t…” Stiles’s voice faded into an insecure mumble and Peter recognized the damage he’d done by not explaining himself earlier.

“Sweetheart, if the only thing on the table had been our relationship, I would have asked you to mate me as soon as you were legal. First, though, there was the problem of McCall, because as much as I loathe the brat, he was important to you and I wasn’t going to ask you to choose between us. If I’m honest, I was afraid if I pushed, you’d choose him, and I wasn’t willing to give up the parts of you I had for a slim chance at more. After Las Vegas, everything was different. I knew you wanted me, and I wanted you more than anything—there were full moons I had to leave Beacon Hills so I wouldn’t find you and drag you off to my bedroom to mark you, to mate you, to make you mine in ways that no were could mistake. You had a plan, though, and if that worked out, we could have everything together, and I wanted to give you that, to give you everything. I couldn’t mate you before I fought the Alpha, though.” He squeezed tighter. “If… if it hadn’t worked… If I failed to defeat the rogue, you would have suffered terribly if you had a mate bond already in place. You’re not a wolf, but as a Spark, you’d have felt all of it—all my pain—and if I’d died? Well, let’s just say I wasn’t willing to run the risk of putting you through that.”

Stiles was shaking in his arms by that point, and Peter ran a comforting hand down his spine. “The worst didn’t happen, though, and now that the threat has passed, I want you in every way I can have you.” He grasped the boy’s chin in his hand and turned his face so he could see him in the flickering candlelight. His eyes were wide and wet, his lips pink and bitten, and Peter had never seen anything more beautiful. “Can I have you, sweetheart?” He was so close they were sharing breath. “Will you be my mate? Be my everything?”

He should have been expecting it, but the Spark still managed to catch him by surprise, lunging up and flipping them in their blankets until Peter’s back was against the couch and he had a lap of warm, clinging boy. He waited for the Alpha wolf to rebel, to push back and demand submission, but all it did was rumble pleasure at his strong mate.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Stiles dropped a kiss on Peter’s open lips, chaste and sweet, and then another, this one hot and hungry, while threading his fingers through the short hair at Peter’s nape. He tugged gently and the wolf tipped his head back so his mate could lick into his jugular notch. The Spark made a low satisfied noise before pulling away and smiling, trust and happiness glowing in his eyes and magic flaring and rippling around them.

Peter remembered something his Grandfather had told him, long ago under a forgotten full moon: “Faint heart never won fair maiden.” His life had proven that to be true. If he hadn’t finally bitten the bullet, finally put himself on the line, he’d have missed this. Missed everything.

He pulled Stiles back down into another kiss and then flipped them back over, pinning his boy under him. Stiles squawked in surprise and Peter grinned. His mate was going to hate finding out he was the fair maiden in their story, but Peter had definitely come out on top this time.

Maybe next time he’d let Stiles come out on top. He was flexible.

#teen wolf #steter #spark stiles #peter hale #stiles stilinski #developing relationship #bad alpha scott mccall #getting together #first time in this sandbox #canon I don't know her

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