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criminalshminds · 3 years

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A Broken Whisper

A very, very, very late prompt from @eprcntiss, but good things happens to those who wait, right???

Prompt: “What are you doing here? It’s late.” Pairing: Hotchniss (Emily Prentiss x Aaron Hotchner) Rating: General Audiences Words: 1968 TW: Canon faked death, slight intrusive thoughts

Summary: He didn’t know why he felt the need to check up on her, but he’s glad he did. Though he never thought she’d be here. (Post Doyle)

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He couldn’t say why he had the urge to check on Emily, he just did. Something has been up with her since she came back after Doyle. Hotch has tried to be a sounding board for her, but her walls are always up that she manages to deflect any of his concern and places it back on him. But he saw her face at the take down that night. He saw the lone tear that fell down her cheek, one that she quickly wiped away before anyone could see it. Maybe that one tear led him to her apartment. He parks in a spot that looks directly up into her apartment. A spot that he has been in plenty of times before, back when things were simpler. Back when they would steal little kisses. Where she would wave at him from the window in her living room as he left to go back home to shower and change before work. Where he told her that he loves her. Back before she started to pull away. Back when things made sense.

Since her return, they haven’t spoken of the past. Actually, they haven’t really talked at all. The only words they utter to each other are work related. Well, that’s not completely true. She did utter a goodbye today. Maybe that’s why he felt the need to see her. Looking up at the window that used to hold her smiling silhouette now just holds a darkness that sends a shiver down his spine. Like he’s not supposed to be here. Like he is intruding in a life that he doesn’t belong in anymore. Taking a chancery glance around the parking lot, the first thing he notices is that her car isn’t in its designated parking spot. Second thing he notices, is that she hasn’t been home since leaving work five hours ago, if the snow piled up on the concrete has anything to say about it. Knowing that she could be literally anywhere, he huffs out a sigh before digging around his pockets for his cell phone.

“Bossman, I know I am the goddess of all wisdom, but even goddesses need their beauty sleep.” A grumble comes through the phone, definitely not the cheerful voice of Penelope Garcia that Hotch has come to know.

“Garcia, can you do me a favor?” He speaks quickly into the phone, no room or time for nonsense.

“Does it involve me coming back into the BAU?” Hotch hears some rustling noises, and only now does he realize that he is calling at almost midnight.

“No.”

“Hit me with your best shot.”

“Don’t raise any alarms unless I say so.” Hotch runs his hand over his mouth before asking his request. “Can you get me a location on Prentiss?”

She immediately shoots out of bed and races to her laptop. She skids to a stop, barely landing on her couch before frantically typing and shooting out questions. “What? Why would I – why is she? She’s not – “ Not again, not when we just got her back.

“Garcia!” He interrupts her panic raise of questions hoping to keep her head on straight.

“Right, sorry. Um, give me a minute. You sure it’s nothing?” She waits for a second, getting no response she continues to type on her laptop before it pings her location. “I got it! I sent it to you. Please bring our girl back home.”

“I will Garcia, and remember – “

“I know, I know, not a peep.” As soon as the last word left her mouth, Hotch moved the phone from his ear and immediately went to his messages. Letting out a sigh, he puts the car in reverse and makes his way down the empty streets.

His shoulders don’t sag in relief until he sees her car parked in the desolate lot. Pulling into the space next to her, he glances at silver sedan hoping he’ll be lucky to see her behind the wheel. Mentally groaning when the car is as barren as the parking lot he is in, he turns off his car and shuffles out into the chilly night. It didn’t take a genius to know that she has been here for a while, if the buildup of snow on her car was any indication. The steady stream of snow flurries coming down has covered any footprints that could potentially lead him to her. Although, none of that was necessary. For the seasoned profiler he is, he knew exactly where she went once the coordinates led him here.

Quantico National Cemetery

He stares at the sign, willing his feet to move. A staring contest that even the famous Aaron Hotchner glare can’t win. It’s not until a particularly strong gust of wind whips around him for his feet to catch up with his brain. A shiver races through his body. Either from the cold or from that sinister feeling of being alone in a graveyard at night. He silently moves through the sea of headstones, a walk that is second nature to him. One that he frequented quite often for months. He makes his way up to the tree that helped shelter the gravestone from the elements and finally sees the back of her head. He knows that she hears him coming, the crunching of the snow beneath his feet hard to miss, even past the sound of the wind. Stopping a few feet behind her, he waits a minute before speaking.

“What are you doing here? It’s late.” He’s expecting her to turn towards him, but she sits as still as a statue staring at the engraved stone. She doesn’t respond right away, making him move closer to her. He opens his mouth to ask again when he hears her soft voice reply.

“I come here to think.”

Curiosity got the better of him. “About?”

“Life.” Her soft declaration carries through the wind and wraps around him. She reaches forward in a practiced motion and brushes the fresh snow away to keep the text visible.

Emily Prentiss

October 12th 1970 – March 7th 2011

Fidelity Bravery Integrity

“It’s so precious. You never realize how special it is until it gets taken away.” He continues to stand behind her, keeping his mouth shut. This is the most open she’s been since her return and he’s not about to ruin it. “I didn’t think it’d be this strange. Basically coming back from the dead. You know I came here the first time purely out of curiosity. Taking my picture off a wall is one thing, but removing a whole grave?” She lets out a humorless chuckle.

“With a click of her finger, Garcia could get it removed.” He speaks before he could stop himself. He holds his breath hoping that he didn’t just cause her walls to build back up.

“No.” Her head tilts back towards the sky. “I need the perspective.”

Furrowing his brow, he carefully walks next to her before slowly lowering to the ground. He starts to reach for her before quickly retreating, remembering that she’s no longer his to touch. He starts to question what her fake grave can help her with before remembering something she said after a case years ago. I need to know that I can be human.

“Being reminded of your own mortality isn’t the right perspective to have.” He spoke softly even though he wanted to scream.

“Don’t you get it? It’s a reminder of how fragile life is. Logically speaking, I shouldn’t be here.” She scrunches up her eyes, a tear streaks down her face as she pounds her fist into the ground.

His hand shoots out and covers her fist that is still resting on the snow-soaked grass. His touch finally breaks her out of her trance with her eyes finally meeting his.

“But you are here. Living, breathing. Dammit Emily! Don’t you understand? You can’t move on until you finally accept that you are meant to be here. With me! With us.” He is grasping at her hand like she will disappear any second while his shoulders are shaking with the intensity of his breath. She keeps his stare for a second, before turning away back to the headstone.

“Am I?” She whispers. He lightly grasps at her chin, moving her head to face him again.

“Forever and always.” That little phrase breaks her. In a second, she leaps from her spot into his lap, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck. The reaction almost pushes him backwards into the snow, but he quickly settles himself. His hand moves and starts stroking the back of her head in a practiced movement before he gently starts rocking them consoling her quietly in her ear trying to overpower her chant of “I’m sorry.” They stay wrapped around each other until he spares a glance at his watch, telling him that it is half past one in the morning.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.” He whispers into her ear, helping her up to her feet. He feels her shiver against him as a large gust of wind almost knocks the both of them from their feet. Only now does he notice that she’s been in just a sweater this whole time.

“Jesus Em, you couldn’t have brought a jacket?” Shedding his coat, he drapes it over her shoulders before wrapping his arm around her waist guiding her to his car.

“Left it in the car. Didn’t realize how long it’s been.” She chatters out to him, leaning closer towards him for warmth. He lets out a frustrated sigh before picking up the pace, trying to get her to shelter.

He helps her into the passenger seat of his car, passing off her concerns about her car. “We’ll take care of it in the morning.”

He quickly makes his way into the driver’s seat to turn the car on. They sit in the warming car for a couple minutes in complete silence. Neither quite knowing what to say to the other. After another minute, Hotch figures it’s best to start to drive to her apartment. It’s not until they are halfway there that she finally speaks up.

“Aaron?” She says no more than a whisper.

“Hm?” He hums out, sparing her a quick glance before looking back to the empty road.

“I – I, thank you.”

His lips start to curve up into a smile and he removes one hand from the steering wheel to grasp at hers, stopping her from the continued picking of her nails. He squeezes her hand gently in response before leaving their fingers intertwined. Neither of them speak until he parks back at her apartment complex.

She starts to let go of his hand to make her exit before his voice stops her.

“Em?” With her hand still on the inside latch, she turns to face him. “I know it’s not my place anymore, but please don’t be afraid to come to me. If you’re having a bad day, let me know. You mean so much to me. I meant it when I said forever and always.”

She slowly nods her head, before leaning forward to give him an awkward hug across the center console. Pulling away, she shyly gives him a peck on the cheek before whispering. “Forever and always.”

She opens the door, and goes to leave his jacket on the seat, but he holds up a hand to stop her. “Give it to me tomorrow.”

Smiling softly, she nods before closing the door. He patiently waits until he sees the light go on in her apartment. He waits until he sees her figure standing in the window, giving him a small wave. Like before. He slowly pulls out of the parking space, smiling to himself. Yeah, things are starting to make sense again.

#prompts #prompt writing #allie writes #hotchniss fanfic #hotchniss #we love when inspiration strikes you #also love doing prompts way out of order #i apologize to the other prompts that came before this that i sidelined to write this one #very late tho #this is from my 350 celebration #which was at least 2 months ago??#sorry besties #hope you enjoy

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sk1fanfiction · 3 years

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the many faces of tom riddle, part 4

-attachment, orphanages, and yet more child psych: time to add yet another voice to the void-

FULL DISCLAIMER THAT THIS IS JUST MY OPINION OF A CHARACTER WHO DOESN’T HAVE THE STRONGEST CANON CHARACTERIZATION, AND THUS ALL THIS IS BASED ON MY CONCEPTUALIZATION.

I'm going to be super biased, because my favorite portrayal of Tom Riddle is actually Hero Fiennes-Tiffin as eleven-year-old Tom Riddle, in HBP and I get to chat about child psych in this one, sooo here we go.

First of all, I’m just so impressed that a kid could bring that much depth to such a complex character.

This is the portrayal, I feel, that brings us closest to Tom’s character. Yes, Coulson’s brought us pretty close, but by fifth year, the mask was on.

We don't really get to see Tom looking afraid very often, but it's fear that rules his life, so it's really poignant in our first (chronologically) introduction, he looks absolutely terrified.

The void being the fandom's loud opinions on a certain headmaster. I wouldn't call myself pro-Dumbledore, but I'm certainly not anti-Dumbledore, either. (Agnostic-Dumbledore??)

Since I'm not of the anti-Dumbledore persuasion, I decided to poke around in the tags and see what the arguments were, so I don't make comments out of ignorance.

Most of the tag seems to be more directed towards his treatment of Harry and Sirius, but a few people mentioned that Dumbledore should have treated Tom with ‘exceptional kindness’ and tried to ‘rehabilitate’ him.

As I said in Parts 2 and 3, I am 100% in favor of helping a traumatized kid learn to cope, and I don’t think Tom Riddle was solidly on the Path to Evil (TM) at birth, or even at eleven. Not even at fifteen.

Could unconditional love and kindness have helped Tom Riddle enough for the rise of Lord Voldemort to never happen? Possibly, but...

Yes, I'm about to drag up that Carl Jung quote, again.

“I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.”

The problem with this is that if you’re going to blame Dumbledore for this, you also have to blame every other adult in Tom’s life: his headmaster, Dippet, his Head of House, Slughorn, his ‘caretakers’ at the orphanage, Mrs. Cole and Martha, and possibly more. In fact, if we're going to blame any adult, let's blame Merope for r*ping and abusing Tom Riddle Senior, and having a kid she wasn't intending to take care of.

Furthermore, you cannot possibly hold anyone but Tom accountable for the murders he committed. (I should not have to sit here and explain why cold-blooded murder is wrong.) And if you like Tom Riddle's character, insinuating that his actions are completely at the whim of others is just a bit condescending towards him. He's not an automaton or a marionette, he's a very intelligent human being with a functioning brain, and at sixteen is fully capable of moral reasoning and critical analysis.

I've heard the theories about Dumbledore setting the Potters up to die, and I'm not going to discuss their validity right now; but he didn't put a wand in Tom's hand and force him to kill anyone. Tom did it all of his own accord.

And while yes, I have enormous sympathy for what happened to Tom as a child, at some point, he decided to murder Myrtle Warren, and that is where I lose my sympathy. Experiencing trauma does not give you the right to inflict harm on others. Yes, Tom was failed, but then, he spectacularly failed himself.

We also have no idea how Dumbledore treated Tom as a student.

In the movies, it’s Dumbledore who tells Tom he has to go back to the orphanage, but in the books, it’s Dippet. We know that Slughorn spent a lot of time around Tom at Slug Club and such, yet I don’t really see people clamoring for his head.

I regard the sentiment that Dumbledore turned Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort with a lot of skepticism.

But let's hear from the character himself -- his impression of eleven-year-old Tom Riddle.

“Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?” said Dumbledore. “No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon him, something I should have done in any case, given that he was alone and friendless, but which, already, I felt I ought to do for others’ sake as much as his."

Now, assuming that Dumbledore's telling the truth, I'm not seeing something glaringly wrong with this. No, he hasn't pigeonholed Tom as evil, yes, I'd be intrigued, too, and it's a very good idea to keep an eye on Tom, for his own sake.

“At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, “we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school."

Again, it seems like he's at least somewhat sympathetic towards Tom, and is willing to at least give him a chance.

More evidence (again, assuming Dumbledore is a reliable narrator):

Harry: “Didn’t you tell them [the other professors], sir, what he’d been like when you met him at the orphanage?” Dumbledore: “No, I did not. Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before and was resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. I chose to give him that chance.”

Now, I think Dumbledore is pretty awful with kids, but I don't think that's malicious. Yeah, it's a flaw, but perfect people don't exist, and perfect characters are dead boring. I am not saying that he definitely handled Tom's case well, I'm just saying that there's little evidence that Dumbledore, however shaken and scandalized, wrote him off as 'evil snake boy.'

It's also worth taking into account that it's 1938, and the attitudes towards mental health back then.

Why is Tom looking at Dumbledore like that, anyway? Why is he so scared? What has he possibly been threatened with or heard whispers of?

"'Professor'?" repeated Riddle. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?"

"I don't believe you," said Riddle. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course -- well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!

Tom keeps insisting he's not mad until Dumbledore finally manages to calm him down.

I'm really upset this wasn't in the movie, because it's important context. Instead we got these throwaway cutscenes of some knick-knacks relating to the Cave he's got lying around, but I just would have preferred to see him freaking out like he does in the book.

There was extreme stigma and prejudice towards mental illness.

'Lunatic asylums,' as they were called in Tom's time, were terrible places. In the 1930s and 40s, he could look forward to being 'treated' with induced convulsions, via metrazol, insulin, electroshock, and malaria injections. And if he stuck around long enough, he could even look forward to a lobotomy!

So, if you think Dumbledore was judgmental towards Tom, imagine how flat-out prejudiced whatever doctors or 'experts' Mrs. Cole might have gotten in to 'look at him' must have been!

Moving on to the next few shots, he is sitting down and hunched over as if expecting punishment or at least some kind of bad news, Dumbledore is mostly out of the frame. He’s trapped visually, by Dumbledore on one side, and a wall on the other, because he’s still very much afraid. uncomfortable, as he tells Dumbledore a secret that he fears could get him committed to an asylum (which were fucking horrible places, as I said).

It brings to the scene that miserable sense of isolation and loneliness to that has defined Tom’s entire life up to that point (and, partially due to his own bad choices, continues to define it).

And, when Dumbledore accepts it, his posture changes. he becomes more confident and more at ease, as he describes the... utilities of his magical abilities.

"All sorts," breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.

I do think Harry, our narrator, is being a tad bit judgmental here. Magic is probably the only thing that brings Tom happiness in his grey, lonely world, and when I was Tom's age and being bullied, if I had magic powers, you'd better believe that I'd (a) be bloody ecstatic about it (b) use them. And, like Tom, I can't honestly say that I can't imagine getting a bit carried-away with it. Unfortunately, we can't all be as inherently good and kindhearted as Harry.

Reading HBP again, as a 'mature' person, it almost seems like the reader is being prompted to see Tom as evil just because he's got 'weird' facial expressions.

So... uh...

Nope, let's judge Tom on his actions, not looks of 'wild happiness.'

To his great surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick. The wardrobe burst into flames. Riddle jumped to his feet; Harry could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Okay, one thing I dislike is Tom's lack of emotional affect when Dumbledore burned the wardrobe, in the books, he jumped up and started screaming, instead of looking passively (in shock, perhaps?) at the fire. Incidentally, I can't really tell if he's impressed or in shock, to be honest. I think they really tried to make Tom 'creepier' in the movie.

This is one of the incidents where Dumbledore's inability to deal with children crops up.

I think he was trying to teach Tom that magic can be dangerous, and he wouldn't like it to be used against him, but burning the wardrobe that contains everything he owns was a terrible move on Dumbledore's part. Tom already has very limited trust in other people, and now, he's not going to trust Dumbledore at all -- now, he's put Tom on the defensive/offensive for the rest of their interaction, and perhaps for the rest of their teacher-student relationship.

Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of them?"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.

But I'm not surprised Tom is 'greedy.' He's grown up in an environment where if he wants something, whether that's affection, food, money, toys, he's got to take it. There's no one looking after his needs specifically. I'm not surprised that he's a thief and a hoarder, and I don't think that counts as a moral failing necessarily, and more of a maladaptive way of seeking comfort. It would be bizarre if he came out of Wool's Orphanage a complete saint.

Additionally, I think given that the Gaunt family has a history of 'mental instability,' Tom is a sensitive child, and the trauma of growing up institutionalized and possibly being treated badly due to his magical abilities or personality disorder deeply affected him.

And there are points where it seems that Dumbledore is quick to judge Tom.

"He was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control."

"Yes, indeed; a rare ability, and one supposedly connected with the Dark Arts, although as we know, there are Parselmouths among the great and the good too. In fact, his ability to speak to serpents did not make me nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination."

"I trust that you also noticed that Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless?..."

And while this is all empirically true, these are (a) a product of Tom's harsh environment, and (b) do not necessarily make him evil. But the point remains that child psych didn't exist as a field of its own, and psychology as a proper science was in its infancy, so I'd be shocked if Dumbledore was insightful about Tom's situation.

But I've gone a ton of paragraphs without citing anything, so I've got to rectify that.

Let's talk about Harry Harlow's monkey experiments in the 1950-70s.

If you're not a fan of animal research, since I know some people are uncomfortable with it, feel free to scroll past.

Here's the TL;DR: Children need to be hugged and shown affection too, not just fed and clothed, please don't leave babies to 'cry out' and ignore their needs because it's backwards and fucking inhumane. HUG AND COMFORT AND CODDLE CHILDREN AND SPOIL THEM WITH AFFECTION!

I will put more red writing when the section is over.

This is still an interesting experiment to have in mind while we explore the whole 'no one taught Tom Riddle how to love' thing and whether or not it's actually a good argument.

Andddd let's go all the way back to the initial 1958 experiment, featured in Harlow's paper, the Nature of Love. (If you're familiar with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, him and Harlow actually collaborated for a time).

To give you an idea of our starting point, until Harlow's experiment, which happened twenty years after Dumbledore meets Tom for the first time, no one in science had really been interested in studying love and affection.

"Psychologists, at least psychologists who write textbooks, not only show no interest in the origin and development of love or affection, but they seem to be unaware of its very existence."

I'm going to link some videos of Harry Harlow showing the actual experiment, which animal rights activists would probably consider 'horrifying.' It's nothing gory or anything, but if you are particularly soft-hearted (and I do not mean that as an insult), be warned. It's mostly just baby monkeys being very upset and Harlow discussing it in a callous manner. Yes, today it would be considered unethical, but it's still incredibly important work and if you think you can handle it, I would recommend watching at least the first one to get an idea of how dramatic this effect is.

Dependency when frightened

The full experiment

The TL;DW:

This experiment was conducted with rhesus macaques; they're still used in psychology/neuroscience research when you want very human-like subjects, because they are very intelligent (unnervingly so, actually). I'd say that adult ones remind me of a three-year old child.

Harlow separated newborn monkeys from their mothers, and cared for their physical needs. They had ample nutrition, bedding, warmth, et cetera. However, the researchers noticed that the monkeys:

(a) were absolutely miserable. And not just that, but although all their physical needs were taken care of, they weren't surviving well past the first few days of life. (This has also been documented in human babies, and it's called failure to thrive and I'll talk about it a bit later).

(b) showed a strong attachment to the gauze pads used to cover the floor, and decided to investigate.

So, they decided to provide a surrogate 'mother.' Two, actually. Mother #1 was basically a heated fuzzy doll that was nice for the monkeys to cuddle with. Mother #2 was the same, but not fuzzy and made of wire. Both provided milk. The result? The monkeys spent all their time cuddling and feeding from the fuzzy 'mother.' Perhaps not surprising.

What Harlow decided next, is that one of the hallmarks being attached to your caregiver is seeking hugs and reassurance from them when frightened. So, when the monkeys were presented with something scary, they'd go straight to the cloth mother and ignore the wire one. Not only that, but when placed in an unfamiliar environment, if the cloth mother was present, the monkeys would be much calmer.

In a follow-up experiment, Harlow decided to see if there was some sort of sensitive period by introducing both 'mothers' to monkeys who had been raised in isolation for 250 days. Guess what?

The initial reaction of the monkeys to the alterations was one of extreme disturbance. All the infants screamed violently and made repeated attempts to escape the cage whenever the door was opened. They kept a maximum distance from the mother surrogates and exhibited a considerable amount of rocking and crouching behavior, indicative of emotionality.

Yikes. So, at first Harlow thought that they'd passed some kind of sensitive period for socialization. But after a day or two they calmed down and started chilling out with the cloth mother like the other monkeys did. But here's a weird thing:

That the control monkeys develop affection or love for the cloth mother when she is introduced into the cage at 250 days of age cannot be questioned. There is every reason to believe, however, that this interval of delay depresses the intensity of the affectional response below that of the infant monkeys that were surrogate-mothered from birth onward

All these things... attachment, affection, love, seeking comfort ... are mostly learned behaviours.

Over.

Orphanages, institutionalized childcare, and why affection is a need, not an extra.

His face is lit the exact same was as Coulson’s was in COS (half-light, half-dark), and I said I was going to talk about this in Part 3. I think perhaps it's intended to make Fiennes-Tiffin look more evil or menacing, but I'm going to quite deliberately misinterpret it.

Now, for some context, Dumbledore has just (kind of) burned his wardrobe, ratted out his stealing habit, and (in the books only, they really took a pair of scissors to this scene) told him he needs to go apologize and return everything and Dumbledore will know if he doesn't, and, well, Tom's not exactly a happy bugger about it.

But interestingly, in the books, this is when we start to see Tom's 'persona,' aka his mask, start to come into play. Whereas before, he was screaming, howling, and generally freaking out, here, he starts to hide his emotions -- in essence, obscure his true self under a shadow. So this scene is really the reverse of Coulson's in COS.

And perhaps I'm reading wayyy too much into this, but I can't help but notice that Coulson's hair is parted opposite to Fiennes-Tiffin's, and the opposite sides of their faces are shadowed, too.

Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, in an expressionless voice.

Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir."

Here's an article from The Atlantic on Romanian orphanages in the 1980s, when the dictator, Ceausescu, basically forced people to have as many children as possible and funnel them into institutionalized 'childcare', and it's absolutely heartbreaking.

There's not a whole lot of information out there on British orphanages in the 30s' and 40s', but given that people back then thought you just had to keep children on a strict schedule and feed them, it wouldn't have a whole lot better.

The only thing I've found is this, and it's not super promising.

The most important study informing the criteria for contemporary nosologies, was a study by Barbara Tizard and her colleagues of young children being raised in residential nurseries in London (Tizard, 1977). These nurseries had lower child to caregiver ratios than many previous studies of institutionalized children. Also, the children were raised in mixed aged groups and had adequate books and toys available. Nevertheless, caregivers were explicitly discouraged from forming attachments to the children in their care.

Here's a fairly recent paper that I think gives a good summary: Link

Here, they describe the responses to the Strange Situation test (which tests a child's attachment to their caregiver).

We found that 100% of the community sample received a score of “5,” indicating fully formed attachments, whereas only 3% of the infants living in institutions demonstrated fully formed attachments. The remaining 97% showed absent, incomplete, or odd and abnormal attachment behaviors.

Bowlby and Ainsworth, who did the initial study, thought that children would always attach to their caregivers, regardless of neglect or abuse. But some infants don't attach (discussed along with RAD in Part 2).

Here's a really good review paper on attachment disorders in currently or formerly institutionalized children : Link

Core features of RAD in young children include the absence of focused attachment behaviors directed towards a preferred caregiver, failure to seek and respond to comforting when distressed, reduced social and emotional reciprocity, and disturbances of emotion regulation, including reduced positive affect and unexplained fearfulness or irritability.

Which all sounds a lot like Tom in this scene. The paper also discusses neurological effects, like atypical EEG power distribution (aka brain waves), which can correlate with 'indiscriminate' behavior and poor inhibitory control; which makes sense for a kid who, oh, I don't know, hung another kid's rabbit because they were angry.

Furthermore...

...those children with more prolonged institutional rearing showed reduced amygdala discrimination and more indiscriminate behavior.

This again, makes a ton of sense for Tom's psychological profile, because the amygdala (which is part of the limbic system, which regulates emotions) plays a major role in fear, anger, anxiety, and aggression, especially with respect to learning, motivation and memory.

So, I agree completely that Tom needed a lot of help, especially given the fact that he spent eleven years in an orphanage (longer than the Bucharest study I was referring to), and Dumbledore wasn't exactly understanding of his situation, and probably didn't realise what a dramatic effect the orphanage had on Tom, and given the way he talks to Tom, probably treated him as if he were a kid who grew up in a healthy environment.

In case you are still unconvinced that hugging is that important, there's a famous 1944 study conducted on 40 newborn human infants to see what would happen if their physical needs (fed, bathed, diapers changed) were provided for with no affection. The study had to be stopped because half the babies died after four months. Affection leads to the production of hormones and boosts the immune system, which increases survival, and that is why we hug children and babies should not be in orphanages. They are supposed to be hugged, all the time. I can't find the citation right now, I'll add it later if I find it.

But I think it's vastly unrealistic to say that Dumbledore, who grew up during the Victorian Era, would have any grasp of this and I don't think he was actively malicious towards Tom.

Was Tom Riddle failed by institutional childcare? Absolutely.

Were the adults in his life oblivious to his situation? Probably.

Do the shitty things that happened to Tom excuse the murders he committed, and are they anyone's fault but his own? No. At the end of the day, Tom made all the wrong choices.

And, for what it's worth, I think (film) Dumbledore (although he expresses the same sentiment in more words in the books) wishes he could go back in time and have helped Tom.

"Draco. Years ago, I knew a boy, who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you."

#tom riddle #the many faces of #tom marvolo riddle #character analysis #character study #albus dumbledore

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michaels-blackhat · 3 years

Note

thoughts on evil Forrest 😈

We are going to start out by apologizing. This is very very late. I’m sure when you sent this ask, you meant it to be in the same joking tone that I approach all of my other propaganda posts. Sadly, this is actually going to be a deep dive into a few Evil Forrest related things, including the moment I feel they changed directions, the perfect wasted build-up, and the implications of the change/how it then negatively impacted the story. As I’m sure you already know, by being on my blog at all, I don’t think the story was good to begin with, so we are going to focus on the weird hoops they made themselves jump through to make that story still work. Additionally, I am only going to mention once, right now, how much of a waste it was to not have Forrest ‘fall for his mark’ and complete one of my absolute favorite tropes. Honestly, I think “because I want it” is a completely valid reason to like Evil Forrest. But, the question was “Thoughts on Evil Forrest” and these thoughts have been developing for over a year and a half. So, I apologize in advance.

The majority of this is under a cut, with highlights in the abstract. If no one wants to read this, I understand completely. Go ahead, skip it.

Note: it pains me greatly to not actually have full sources for this essay. Just know that in my heart I am using proper APA citations, I just absolutely do not feel like digging through tweets to find sources to properly cite.

Abstract:

Previous research indicates that Roswell New Mexico has a history of repeating excuses to explain mid-season changes to plots. This essay explores how those excuses are not only loads of crap, but how they hinder the show’s ability to tell a coherent story, misuse the multiple-plot structure to enhance the themes being explored, and lead to decisions that mean the show continuously goes over budget. This also means that characters are not used to their full potential and has led to what some fans consider to be “out of character” behaviors. While these behaviors are not universally agreed on, evidence can be shown that these behaviors directly contradict emotionally important character arc/plot points in the show.

The author of this paper acknowledges that the show took some strides to mend this problem. However, once again no consensus could be found on whether Forrest was a low-level member of Deep Sky and thus just allowed to fuck off on a bus, or his job was recruitment because he did a piss poor job of making Alex not join.

The concept of Evil Forrest has been with the fandom as early as New York Comic Con (NYCC) in 2019, when it was revealed that Alex had a new “blue-haired love interest”. Speculation abounded within the fandom, with some people, including the author, going ��yeah, he’s evil” while others rejoiced in the concept of Alex having a loving partner. Speculation increased as fans discussed Tyler Blackburn’s seeming disinterest in his new love interest, prompting some once again to scream “EVIL” at the top of their lungs to anyone who would listen. Very little was revealed, beyond the fact that the new character would show up somewhere around episode 3 of the second season.

Episode 2.04 aired with some commenting on how he barely interacted with Alex- prompting more evil speculation- and others excited to see the characters interact more. The character appears again in 2.06, where he invites Alex to dubious spoken word poetry (which Alex attends); 2.08, where they have a paintball date and go to The Wild Pony; 2.10, where the two are seen writing together briefly at the beginning of the episode; and 2.13, where Alex performs his song at open mic night, tells Forrest his relationship with the person in the song was long over, and they kiss. Forrest was not revealed to be evil during season 2.

Amidst the season airing, Word of God via Twitter post announced that yes, Forrest had originally been planned as a villain, though not the main villain, but it was changed as filming progressed.

The Word of God Twitter post revealed that Forrest had originally been planned as a villain, but they decided that they could not make their “blue-haired gay man” a villain. This mirrors a similar situation and excuse used the previous season, where the character of Jenna Cameron was originally planned to work with Jesse Manes against the aliens, before it was changed because they just “loved Riley [the actress] too much”. Both of these examples occurred while already filming and reflect on a larger problem with the show. Though not the topic of this essay, it is important to note that both characters are white, both in the show and by virtue of being played by white actors. The fact that they couldn’t be villains for one reason or another is not a courtesy extended to the male villains who are all the most visibly brown, and thus ‘other’, members of the cast.

This also highlights the fact that, via Twitter, it has been revealed two other times that occurrences that were reported in season 1 also occurred in season 2. During the airing of episode 1.02, it was revealed that the single best build-up of tension in the show- when Alex walks to the Airstream not saying a word to Michael after a dramatic declaration- happened because one actor was sick at the time and they had to go back and film the kisses later. At the point of airing for episode 2.08, it was revealed that one of the actors were sick and unable to film a kissing scene. Allegedly, this caused the writers to retool the entire scene and deviate from the plan to make that subplot about Coming Out. The execution of this subplot will be explored later in this essay.

The last occurrence revealed via Twitter also revealed larger issues within the show: lack of planning and poor budgeting. During the airing of season 1, Tyler Blackburn was needed for an extra episode beyond his contracted 10. A full explanation was never given, but speculation about poor planning and to fill in because Heather Hemmens had to miss one of her 10 episodes due to scheduling conflicts for another project. During the airing of season 2, yet another tweet came out saying they made a mistake and Tyler would once again be in an additional episode. No explanations beyond “a mistake” were given, though once again speculation occurred. It is the opinion of the author that this was due to changing plot points over halfway through writing, while episodes were already in production. It has been speculated by some that these changes occurred during the writing of 2.08, which was being finished/pre-production was occurring roughly around the time of NYCC 2019.

Previous Literature:

A brief look at different theories of plots and subplots

Many people have written on the subject of plotting, for novels and screen alike. The author is more familiar with film writing than tv, but a lot of the concepts carry over. Largely, the B- and C- (and D- and E-… etc) plots should reinforce the theme of the A-plot. This can be through the use of a negative example, where the antithesis of the theme is explored to reinforce the theme presented by the A plot, or through other examples of the theme, generally on a small scale.

A movie example of this would be Hidden Figures (2016), where the A-plot explores how race and gender impact the main character (Katherine Johnson) in her new job. The B-plots explore the other characters navigating the same concepts in different settings and ways- learning a new skill as to not become obsolete and breaking boundaries there (Dorothy Vaugn) and being the first black woman to complete a specific degree program and the fight it took to get there (Mary Jackson). A TV example that utilizes this concept of plot and theme is the 911 shows. Each of the rescues in a given episode will directly relate to the overall theme of the episode and the overall plot for the focus character. This example is extremely blunt. It does not use any tools to hide the connection, to the point you can often guess the outcome for that A-plot fairly quickly.

This is not the only way to explore themes within visual media. Moonlight (2016) looks at three timestamps in the life of Chiron. Each timestamp has a plot even if they feel more like individual scenes or moments rather than plots as some are more used to in films. Each time stamp deals with rejection, isolation, connection, and acceptance in different ways. So while there is no clear A-, B-, or C-Plot, each time stamp works as their own A-Plot to explore the themes in a variety of ways, particularly by starting out in a place of rejection and moving to acceptance or a place of connection to isolation.

Please note that there are many ways to write multiple plots, there are just two examples.

While there are flaws within season 1 of RNM, overall the themes stayed consistent throughout the season, mainly the theme of alienation. The theme threads through the Alien’s isolation/alienation from humanity which is particularly seen through Michael’s unwillingness to participate and Isobel’s over participation. There is Rosa’s isolation from others, how her friendship with “Isobel” ended up compounding her existing alienation from her support system due to her mental illness and coping mechanisms. We see how Max and Liz couldn’t make connections. This theme presented itself over and over in season 1. While this essay is not an exploration of the breakdown of themes in season 2, it should be noted that there were some threads that followed throughout the season. The theme of mothers/motherhood was woven throughout season 2, with some elements more effective than others. Please contact the author for additional thoughts on Helena Ortecho and revenge plots.

One of the largest problems within season 2 was the sheer number of plots jammed into the season. These plot threads often ended up hindering the effectiveness of the themes and made the coherence of the season suffer. Additionally, a lot of them were convoluted and difficult to follow.

Thesis:

Essentially, season 2 was a mess. To look at it holistically is almost an exercise in futility. Either you grow angry about the dropped plots and premises, you hand wave them off, or you fill them in for yourself. Instead, this essay proposes to look at individual elements to explain why Forrest should have stayed evil.

We first meet Forrest in 2.04 when he is introduced on the Long Family Farm, which we later learn was the location where our past alien protagonists had their final standoff. He’s introduced. He’s largely just there. The audience learns he has more of a history with Michael. In 2.06, we meet him again with his dog Buffy (note: poor Buffy has not been seen again and we miss a chunky queen). There’s mild flirting, Alex is invited to an open mic night, which he attends. For the purpose of this essay, the author’s thoughts on the poetry will not be expressed. Readers can take a guess.

It is after this point that the author speculates the Decision was made. This choice to make Forrest not evil- paired with the aforementioned ‘can’t kiss, someone’s sick’- impacted the plot. We have Alex have a scene with his father- which the author believes could have been pushed to a different episode- and then have Alex go on a date and then not kiss Forrest at the end of the night. Here, the audience sees Forrest hit Alex in the leg, allegedly not knowing he had lost his leg despite ‘looking him up’, which parallels the shot to the leg that happens to Charlie. Besides wasting this ABSOLUTELY TEXTBOOK SET UP WTF, it also takes Alex away from the main plot and then forces a new plot for him. Up to this point, Alex’s plot was discovering more about the crash and his family’s involvement. Turning Alex’s date from a setup for evil Forrest to a Coming Out story adds yet another plot thread to a packed season. It is also the author’s thought that this is where the convoluted kidnapping plot comes in. With Forrest already in 2.10 for a moment, a plot where Alex is evil has Forrest attack him for Deep Sky rather than Jesse abduct him for a piece of alien glass Alex was going to give him anyway and then for Flint to abduct Alex from Jesse. It’s messy. In a bad way. Evil Forrest would have been a cleaner set up: no taking back a piece of alien glass Alex gave to Michael in a touching moment. No double abduction. Instead, there is only Forrest, who Alex trusts, breaking that trust to take him as leverage over Michael.

Implications:

Now, Alex has two plots (Tripp & Coming Out). The Coming Out plot is largely ineffective, as they are only relevant to scenes with Forrest and have the undercurrent of there only being a certain acceptable way to be out. This could have been used for Alex to discover his comfort levels, mirroring Isobel’s self discovery, but there was not enough screen time for that. Additionally, Isobel’s coming out story was about her allowing herself the freedom to explore. Alex’s story was about the freedom to… act like this dude wanted him to. Alex’s internalized homophobia played out often in the series but it was also informed by the violence he experienced at Jesse’s hands and the literal hate crime he and his high school boyfriend experienced. With that in mind, the “kissing to piss off bigots” line comes off poorly. This is a character who experienced what a pissed off bigot could do- reluctance to kiss in public is not the same as not being out. There is more to be said on this topic, but as it is not actually the focus of the essay, it will be put on hold. To surmise: Alex’s coming out is attempted to be framed as being himself, but it is actually the conformity to someone else’s ideals. It does not work as an antithetical to Isobel’s story, as the framing indicates that the conformity/right was to be out contradicts Isobel’s theme.

Further Research:

MAKE FORREST EVIL YOU COWARDS

Author Acknowledgements:

The author of this paper acknowledges that the show took some strides to mend this problem. However, once again no consensus could be found on whether Forrest was a low-level member of Deep Sky and thus just allowed to fuck off on a bus, or his job was recruitement because he did a piss poor job of making Alex not join.

#anti forrest long #i guess #evil forrest propaganda #I asked and no one said don't post it so...#here it is #I started writing this roughly 7 months ago

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lyallblacklupin · 3 years

Text

Now that all is over.

TW: Implied Sexual Assault/Nightmares.

Voldemort is killed with all aspects which is how the Second Wizarding War has ended. Fortunately, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin have survived. They have a godson to look forward to make up for the lost times, the world is serene and ill-free, and especially, they have each other. Life cannot have been any sweeter. However, one miserable night, Sirius jerks out of the worst nightmare he has ever seen in his life. He is screaming and looking anywhere for help but Remus Lupin, who has been sleeping beside him. Will Remus be able to calm him down without having to touch him, or even come close to him?

There are a lot of things Remus Lupin should be thinking right now, which included his indecisiveness for accepting the job Dumbledore has offered him again, now that the story of Voldemort had ended once and for all. Also, the fact that he needs to move out from Grimmauld Place for the sake of his-boyfriend? Fiancé? Lover? He doesn’t understands what they are, but he knows that they are certainly not teenagers anymore. They had endured wars, losses and especially, ducked down from their own deaths, together. They finally have another chance to live, and this time it is without the fear. The fear that had been looming like their shadows since they can remember. This was THE chance.

However, as Remus exchanges the bill with the cash the red-headed girl is giving him for the Oscar Wilde’s poetry—which becomes a good distraction because the girl looks timid and strongly reminds him of Lily Evans picking up poetry from the Hogwarts for him, then she would smile at him with a teasing glint in her emerald eyes when it was Wilde’s queer poetry—he is stuck with his brain flickering the image of what happened today morning at half past five when Sirius jolted out of his sleep, running away from nothing but Remus.

“Sirius, honey—“

“NOOOOO!” Sirius’ eyes were screwed shut and he was pulling his hair like a madman, squirming in the most corner of their bedroom, with his knees glued to his chest as he quivered violently. Remus didn’t know what to do because this was something that he had never experienced in their togetherness. Sirius did have the tendency of having frequent nightmares even in Hogwarts, but never once he had pulled Remus away when he had reached and took his trembling body to tuck it against his own. He didn’t even need to ask his permission which was evidently clear that Sirius could recognize his presence without even looking him. However, this time Sirius’ wide eyes were staring him and yet he was shrieking when Remus inched forward to touch him. All of this was giving Remus only one answer: The nightmare was about Remus.

“Okay, Sirius, I’m not touching you, I’m not coming to you, see…” He steps back and sits on his bed across the very scared looking Sirius sitting on the floor. He pretended that didn’t have assume the reason behind Sirius’ behavior, looking very calm, “Did you have a nightmare, love? You can tell me, I’m not going to hurt you. I promise you, Sirius—“

His words died in his throat and suddenly something very heavy settled on his chest because Sirius is shaking his head.

“Don’t lie.” Sirius whispered and Remus thought that all of his surrounding was turning upside down. He hadn’t felt so helpless before. It had never been like this. Sirius had always been too tactile with him, no matter what. He couldn’t do anything, he was running out of ideas and strategies to deal with the situation. His mind was ringing and he started feeling nauseous as if some vial is refluxing from his stomach. His fisted the bedsheet and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to call out Sirius but he could hardly hear his own voice when a certain ringing sound is somewhere around him. He could tell nothing except the regrets and the what-ifs that were screaming in his head: What is happening to us? Are we falling again when the chance is finally here? Why now? What if Sirius had dreamt that the wolf has killed him? What if Sirius has now realized that he was bound with a monster? What if Sirius has believed that nightmare? He shouldn’t have been with me! He deserves more! Someone who is hundred times better than me! What will I do without him? And again? Weren’t those twelve years enough for us? Why isn’t the universe a little merciful on us?

And then what came out from his mouth was a sob. His body was shaking as it racked through him. He manages to breathe as he lifted up his head and there was Sirius looking at him with his tear-stained face, inching forward towards Remus’ legs by the bed. Remus wanted to throw caution to the wind and embrace him with all his strength and love, but he had to be very gentle to not make him flinch. He carefully raised his hand, not breaking his eye contact with him. Sirius nods hesitantly. It broke Remus’ heart to see the doubtful face of his lover. His fingers touched the skin of his arm, and fortunately there was no hint of discomfort in his face.

“What’s happened, Sirius? What did you see?”

Remus deliberately jerks himself out of the flashback because what Sirius explained him after that, was not failing him to shudder every time he plays that memory in his head. He realizes that he has to go to the therapist he has been seeing since a month. He likes Dr. Holly Meyer, and she knows about his relationship with Sirius. He thinks that she was the right person to talk.

His shift at the bookstore ends at quarter past two as he hurries for his appointment.

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

“Does Sirius have any past trauma related to rape or any sexual assault he has experience from his loved one?”

“Umm, no, he never mentioned.” Remus replies to Holly’s question. But he highly doubts that Sirius was never sexually molested by his family because one of the days at Hogwarts, when they were dating, he saw an angry looking bruise on Sirius’ hip which jolted him to his cores. However, Sirius never talked about it and neither Remus had the audacity to ask him who did that to him.

“Remus, have you ever done something which has terrified him? Any physical gesture or…I hope you know what I am talking about. Something that might have prompted that memory out of him, which also might have influenced him through this nightmare?”

Remus felt sudden surge of heat beneath his cheeks, and he doesn’t know how to answer. They haven’t physically interacted with each other in a while. The last time he can remember is when Sirius gained health after being in comma for five weeks when Bellatrix had hit him with a very complex curse at the Department of Mysteries. They were reunited in Grimmauld Place after the healers discharged him, both of them brimming up with emotions as they tried to express their undying love for each other. After that blissful moment, they got too busy with the approaching war, that they could only spare time for quick snogging and whispering ‘I love you’s incase if they never see each other.

“No, we haven’t…I mean didn’t-we didn’t…” He was not looking at the doctor because Remus could feel her smiling at him. “But why me? Why was it me in the dream doing those horrible things to him?

“Remus, dreams can be quite deceptive, and not to mention our mind has the power to take shapes of our fears the most terrifyingly in our dreams.”

Remus is speechless, and he is feeling something ugly erupting in his chest. He is quite precise about it. It is guilt. For not taking care of Sirius’ mental health.

“Remus?” Holly calls out very softly. Remus looks up sheepishly, despite the burning sensation creeping his neck and cheeks. “The case is quite clear here. Sirius has something in his hearts of hearts that he isn’t telling you. Something that hasn’t just left him ashamed or traumatized but also he is quite uncertain if this is something he should talk about. I assume that he is not giving it the importance to discuss this with you. And at the same time, you are not giving him the attention he wants from you. You two have been through misfortunes that has left you both listless and empty. You need to fill each other with love and happiness. Any love gestures will do. Let the other know that you are here for them in every possible way.”

Remus feels like his legs are giving out, even though he is sitting on a very comfortable armchair.

“Go, get your man. He needs you. He just doesn’t have the heart to bear loneliness. He is suppressing himself for you because he think this is what you want.”

No, this is not what I want! He makes a mental note to himself. And how could I not want Sirius? Remus knows that he is lying to himself about the war being the only reason for their lack of physical contact. He knows that there has been lack of communication which has followed the current problem, landing them here.

“I shouldn’t have left him alone in that house.” Remus mumbles.

“No, Remus, you did the right thing.” Holly retorts gently, “This is what he needed. To think straight with himself and be sane. You being there would have been too suffocating for him. Clearly, you needed someone to put sense in you. Your welcome.”

She is smiling amusingly, and Remus can’t help but agree. He is leaving when Dr. Holly calls him out and he turns to her.

“Say, Remus, what flowers does your better half loves the most?”

Roses. It is an automatic reply like he doesn’t need to think for even a second. Red Roses. Very cliché Sirius Black. Remus bites back a chuckle and tells her.

“Oh boy, Remus, you have a hopeless romantic in that house sulking alone, and what you are doing to him is brutal.” She is grinning at him, and he is quite grateful of her for not scolding him because he suddenly feels that he deserves it. He was too distant while being next to Sirius. He would much rather prefer to take responsibility for all of this, and make things right between them.

He apparates in front of Grimmauld Place 12, clutching a bouquet of fresh red roses. He grimaces when the scent fills his nostrils, and the idea of being above forty and doing such gesture is making him nervous. He enters the house, and suddenly stops in his track to find that the hallway is not dark anymore, it is kindled up by so many candles and enchanted stardust floating in mid-air, taking various beautiful colors. For a second, he thinks he is somewhere else. Maybe 11 or 13 Grimmauld Place? But then Sirius emerges with a pop, wearing an apron, his hair is neatly tied in a bun. He is also wearing black robes, and he has shaved but there are dark circles under his eyes.

“Hey!” Sirius walks towards him and he is saying a lot of things with the weak smile on his face, but Remus is staring him with utter fascination. He is suddenly feeling very young to realize that Sirius can still make him fluster with nothing but looking like that. Remus cannot let out a word from his mouth, but then he is broken out of his trance of swooning when he registers those silver orbs are widening, and then glistening. Remus feels an unexpected panic rising in his stomach because now tears are streaming down Sirius’ cheeks. And before he knows it, Sirius has crashed his lips on his. Remus cannot help but kiss him back. His damp is skin rubbing his, and they both rests their forehead against each other.

“Thank you.” Sirius whispers, pressing a kiss on his nose. Remus has forgotten that he have brought roses for the love of his life until Sirius is taking them, which is when he realizes the reason for why Sirius started crying suddenly. A weak grin appears on his lips, and Remus realize that he has never felt so happy in a longest while. “You remembered that I like roses.”

“Of course, darling.” Remus says teasingly, reaching forward to capture Sirius’ lips again, but then Sirius is laughing merrily which instantly warms Remus’ heart. Even so, he leans further and kisses him a little more earnestly. Sirius laces his arms around him, and Remus takes their height difference as a benefit to scoop him up in his arms.

“Moony…”

“Yes, love?” Remus nuzzles his nose against Sirius’ cheeks, as they stumbles in the nearby drawing room.

“I’m sorry about today.”

Suddenly, the awkwardness returns.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Remus says, “It was a bad dream, Sirius. I know that you love me, and I love you. It’s enough and we should be forever together and we should probably get married and have a new life and live in a country or something far away from everything and all and—“

Sirius is gawking at him, dumbfounded, and Remus realizes that he is rambling. He wants to slap himself right now. He might have ruined the night he is intending to make the most opportune.

“I mean…I—Sirius…” He knows that he is still scared. No matter how much the therapist has tried convincing him, he knows that no one can convince him completely, but Sirius Black. He wants to walk past the layer of no communication, and he does.

“Sirius…I can never hurt you. I can never even imagine of hurting you that way. I certainly have hurt you emotionally in the past, and maybe I still am, and if you feel like it then please talk to me, tell me if I have hurt you. But I have never hurt you physically, Sirius. I have never. It is worrying me. Have I done anything? Don’t fear, Sirius, I promise you that I am not walking unless you order me away.”

Sirius slightly shakes his head at the end of Remus’ statement. He cups his face and places a lingering and soft kiss on his forehead.

“It is you. The real you.” He whispers against his skin, and it confuses Remus. “Remus…It was not you in the dream. It was you in front of me but this…” Sirius ran his hands on the latter body, squeezing his arms with fondness swimming in his eyes, “this feeling of you, your arms, these hands and…just you... were not in the dream. It was him. The same feeling.”

“Him?” Remus knows where this is going. He already has his suspicions.

“My father.” Sirius’ reply doesn’t fail to make his eyes instinctively wide. The thought makes him shudder and Sirius slips away from his embrace, looking miserably lost.

There is one question that is still not planning on leaving his mind and he feels he needs to ask this from Sirius, no matter what the answer, and he does.

“Why still me?”

Remus expects that he will receive a very disgusting reply from Sirius, or a glare, or maybe he has completely ruin their night and Sirius will be shutting him out for good. But—

“I came face to face with my boggart the other day in the ministry.” Sirius replies, looking straight in his eyes. Remus can recall that Sirius’ boggart was his mother when they discovered in their third year’s Defense against the Dark Arts class. However, Sirius must have read his mind when he continues, “It is not my mother anymore.”

There is a brief, tensed silence between them.

“It was you.” Remus’ heart suddenly stops. He fights to keep a poker face. “You were there looking at me with disgust and…” He can see that Sirius is struggling through his words as if they are causing him physical pain. “…you were looking at me with such hate and you said you were leaving me because you were tired of me. You…you have never looked at me like that…”

Tears are spilling from his grey eyes.

“You have always looked at me with warmth and humbleness, but that image of you is not leaving my mind. It is there and it is making me believe that it is true, Remus, because I don’t deserve you. You are so worthy of love, I am not. I was never worthy of love. I drove you mad in our relationship. I betrayed you once, and then made you believe that I can betray you twice. But you…you never did anything like that. You compromised yourself for me, in every way. You dealt with me for a very long time, and I won’t blame you if you don’t want to deal with me anymore. It would hurt. So much, because for me, it’s hard to imagine my life without you after everything we’ve been through, together.”

Remus is numbly standing, just looking at Sirius’ face flooding with tears. He feels like his heart is breaking and mending, breaking and then again mending, back and forth. He wishes internally that Sirius’ words may leave his heart mended, because he knows he cannot deal with another heartbreak, another loss, or another tragedy.

“Know this,” Sirius comes close and touches his wet cheeks, which is when he realize that the tears are also silently rolling down his own face. “…that I love you, Remus. I know you can’t hurt me. You’ve never because you have a pure heart, Moony.”

This is when Remus doesn’t take anymore. He shoves Sirius in his arms and sobs in his shoulder. He feels Sirius relaxing into his embrace because he is placing feather-light kisses on Remus’ exposed neck.

“I’m so sorry. I am so sorry, Sirius.” He doesn’t know for what he is exactly asking his forgiveness, but he knows deep down inside his heart that it is for everything that has happened in their lives.

“But no,” He pulls out to face Sirius, desperately reaches his hands to intertwine with his, “I am not leaving you, not because I can’t but because I don’t want to be away from you. I can never be tired of you, Padfoot! And I can’t be surer about that. You think I compromised my comfort for you? That was not a compromise. That was my love for you. And it still is, here. I never regretted our relationship because of you. I did once because of myself because you had to deal with me, my cursed and poverty-stricken life. I am nothing compared to you, and yet you want me. How can I not love you? How can I disgust you? Or hate you? It’s something that can never exist when it comes to you. I don’t think I loved anyone like that except for you. I still want you, only you. I love you, a little too much, please believe me.”

Sirius has his forehead pressed with his, as he murmurs against his cheek, “I believe you, Remus.”

They kiss and they kiss for Merlin knows how long. Remus is suddenly yanked back into one of his favorite memories with Sirius, when they were at Hogwarts and it was their seventh year. He remembers that those days were Christmas holidays because they were fooling around in their dorm very peacefully, with no fear of James or Peter interrupting them. The both lovebirds were the only ones who didn’t leave for their homes. The erratic breathing, the electric excitement in their bodies, the eagerness to explore each other’s mouth is something Remus can distinctly recall from that day, at this very moment because it feels just the same as if they are seventeen again.

He reaches for Sirius’ robes to unbutton them when Sirius pulls back gently.

“Wait,” For a second, Remus thinks that this is not what Sirius wants before he smiles romantically, “I hope you have guessed why I am wearing an apron?”

“You cooked?” Remus gapes at him that makes the other laugh gleefully. That laugh makes his heart flutter again like happiness was bubbling out of him. Sirius nods at him.

“I thought I should make up for disrupting your morning, and I know you must have taken a lot of stress at work because of me. So I made your favorites.”

“You didn’t have to do this, love, I know cooking is not something you like to do.”

“Wrong!” Sirius gasped dramatically, “I love to cook for you! And besides, you bought these roses for me…” He picks out the bouquet, sniffing its scent, admiring the handiwork, and smiling the entire time as he brushes his fingers around the rims of each petals of the roses. Remus just stares at him like that. He could see the pink flush appearing on Sirius’ cheeks, and he thinks to himself that this is the most scenic view to look at. He suddenly recognizes that all of his exhaustion has dissipated from his body, and he is very much looking forward to the rest of their night.

“Come on, first dinner, and then we’ll see.” Sirius winks, taking him to kitchen when Remus stops him gradually.

“Tell me you are not frightened of me, are you? Be honest with me, Sirius.”

“I was never, Remus. I was frightened of being alone. My own mind was playing tricks on me. But not you, never you.”

Remus sees his eyes are promising.

“Promise me that you will talk to me, about anything like we used to. Just like the old times.”

“Just like the old times. I promise, Moony.”

Sirius’ eyes returns the glimmer, and they are shinning like they used to before war, or Azkaban. Remus feels the contentment spreading in his heart and comes to a realization that it is all he have been yearning for.

#wolfstar #Wolfstar fanfiction #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #wolfstar angst #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #remus x sirius #Sirius x Remus #post wizarding war #lovelycouple #mental health #boggart

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danny-chase · 3 years

Text

Dick Grayson Week Day 4

Prompt: Bruce hits Dick and doesn’t get away with it

Summary/Notes:

A Spyral fixit where the family finds out about Nightwing 30. Perspectives are from Tim and Jason, but Steph, Cass, and Damian make an appearance. Quotes taken from Forever Evil 7 and 8, and Nightwing 30. Tw for swearing, angst and domestic/child abuse (because canon is terrible and I can’t leave it the way it is).

Edit: I have an AO3 account now yay! Read here

“I’ll be right back.” Tim chirped as he left to pull some files out of his room. He could feel his friends’ gazes lingering on him as he left. He had to suppress an eye roll. He was fine. Your pseudo-dad/adopted-father-before-you-emancipated-yourself loses his memory and suddenly everyone thinks there’s something wrong with you. Figures. Bruce was happier this way. And maybe, one day, he’d be able to get to know him again. Maybe not as sorta-father and son. But Bruce 2.0 liked volunteering with kids, running charity events. Maybe they could be business partners, or coworkers. It wasn’t like last time. But that didn’t mean Cassie, Bart and Kon weren’t worried. No matter how many times he tried to explain, they wouldn’t listen. It was better this way. Bruce was happier without them. Without him. It stung at first sure, but he was over it. He could handle it. Even if the knot in his stomach told him otherwise.

His fingers brushed the lines on the hallway as he strode through Titan’s Tower. The halls seemed so much smaller than they used to be. Logically, he knew they were the same size. But they weren’t the same walls as when he’d first visited. And those hadn’t even been the first wall either. “We’ve had to rebuild this place like at least a million times.” Dick had told him. The knot tightened. Don’t think about it, he reprimanded himself. He’d been having a nice afternoon. It was relaxing, staying with his friends. But he couldn’t walk through the halls without feeling like a trespasser. This was Dick’s team. This was his home away from home. Who was he kidding? He was no Dick Grayson. Dick’s friends used to look to him for guidance, for advice, for help with problems, personal and business related. Tim used to look to him for guidance, advice and help. Stop thinking about him, he tried again. Forget the Crime Syndicate. Forget the funeral. Don’t stress, repress. He paused for a moment, stared aimlessly out the window, took a few deep breaths, cleared his mind and continued on his way.

Climbing the stairs, he decided it was better to use his mental faculties to go through the case he was working on. Jason had called two days ago asking about some of his old informants in Gotham, Penguin was apparently moving back onto the scene and reorganizing the structure of some of the newer gangs. Cleaning house. Informants were switching names, following their own protocols. Bruce had written some contingency in a classified file somewhere. The issue was where. The damn batcomputer had like a billion files on it. And Barbara knew the system, but was busy coordinating for the JLA and had put them on “Do not Disturb” mode for the foreseeable future. He could write a program to search for it. Stupid Bruce and his stupid files that he’d kept secret from them. “It was on a need to know basis.” He could almost here the defensiveness in Bruce’s voice if he tried hard enough. He nearly face planted as he miscalculated the number of stairs. Maybe they should just go back to their old Young Justice base. Or wait till the building inevitably explodes again and just make it better. That would be fun. Designing a Teen Titans base with slides and escalators. Bart would be thrilled. Bart could probably build it in 5 minutes. Dick wouldn’t approve, his brain felt the need to remind him. Tim nearly huffed. Well Dick is de-.

He abruptly lost his train of thought. There was noise coming from his room. Someone was sniffing, was someone crying in his room? Who was even in his room? Everyone was downstairs. Cissie and Steph were visiting in the lounge, Greta left a few days ago, the new kids were in the gym getting a feel for the equipment. The hell? His heart pounded a bit louder as he silently slunk towards his rooms. If Dick decided to haunt him from beyond the grave this was not cool. The lights flickered. Tim nearly screamed. He could feel cold sweat gathering in his palms, his heart racing, thoughts pounding in his skull. It’s just one of Bart’s pranks, no one can get in without access. He slid next to his door and pulled up the camera feed on his glove’s embedded computer. They weren’t in lockdown, but it couldn’t hurt to check. Few clicks here, few taps there and…Damian? Tim burst through the door, half relieved and fully confused.

“What are you doing here?” Tim half yelled, Damian startling on the bed as he burst into his room. Tim flicked the lights on as the gremlin crossed his arms in response. Tim shut the soundproof door, no need to bother Kon with this.

“I was given access to the tower as well.” He stated monotonously. Tim frowned; something was off. Damian didn’t just show up in his room. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the kid in weeks. Not since Bruce went all amnesiac on them. Where was he even staying. Damian shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. There were dark circles under his eyes, he was paler than usual, but flushed, his eyes bright. Had he been crying in here? “Quit gawking at me, Drake.” He spat, jolting Tim back into reality.

He almost opened his mouth to throw some insult back. Almost. He saw the kid’s lip tremble just so slightly, and he bit his tongue. The kid’s hands were shaking. “What’s up?” He replied cautiously. Keeping the demon brat in line wasn’t in his job description. But the kid had had a rough couple months. Dying, coming back to Dick being dead, Bruce losing his memory. He could help with whatever this was and-

“Grayson is alive.”

-send the kid back to Alfred, he knew the kid better than he did. He had his pets at the manor to keep him company, maybe he’d see if Jon would be willing to have a sleepover or something. Spring break was coming up soon, maybe he could take a trip out to Kansas-

“Drake!” Damian was waving a hand in front of his face. Tim blinked a few times. He hadn’t said…had he? That wasn’t right Dick was-

“Richard is alive, I can prove it.” There was desperation in the kid’s voice, water in his eyes. The trash can was filled with tissues, it had been empty when he left. His shirt was on inside out. Tim inhaled sharply. Fuck. Tim had been there. He’d done that. Denied reality. Gone on a wild fairy tale goose chase. Chased insane dreams. Sure, it had worked. But this was different. They had a body. We had a body then, his mind helpfully supplied. There was no real evidence. It had worked hadn’t it? Denying Bruce’s death out of reality? But Dick couldn’t be alive. Bruce had seen him die. Clark saw Bruce die, his brain again helpfully supplied. Tim studied Damian’s face carefully. He looked two steps away from a mental breakdown. Was that how I looked? He wasn’t exactly looking in any mirrors at the time. Dick had try to talk him back down, that was the wrong move. He’d doubled down. But Damian wasn’t him and Tim had no idea what to do. Damian stared at him, studying his face carefully. Tim could feel his palms sweating again, when had he started clenching his fists? His brain was ticking through options, tell Damian he believed him – high chance of heartbreak, low chance of kid running off and doing something stupid on his own. Try and talk him down – still some heartbreak, but can mitigate, medium to high chance of him running off. Call Alfred – should he really do that though? The kid came to him. Alfred’s busy dealing with amnesiac Bruce. Call someone else? Why did the kid come to him in the first place? Damian hated him, he wouldn’t come to him unless he was really sure, or really desperate. Does he think I can replicate what happened with Bruce? Time seemed to move like molasses. Tim swallowed. Now or never.

“I believe you.” He replied. Damian’s eyebrows furrowed, but his shoulders fell ever so slightly, and he rocked back on his heels, uncrossing his arms and leaning into a less defensive stance. Mixed results. He prayed he sounded convincing enough. If he was going this route, he had to go all the way. It didn’t matter that he’d seen the body. It didn’t matter that Bruce saw. He needed to be on Damian’s side with this one. Just like he’d needed somebody on his side back then. Even if it was a crazy side. Even if it was a leave everyone behind and run around on a whim side. Even if it doesn’t work out, at least the kid would have someone to catch him at the end. Why did it have to be the brat though?

“You do not. But you will.” Damian said solemnly, a bit of an edge to his voice. He pulled a laptop out of a bag on the floor and hopped up on the foot of Tim’s bed. Tim quietly settled next to him, careful to not touch him. He was careful. The kid didn’t appear to be looking for a fight, but you never know. Tim glanced at the laptop screen.

“DAMIAN NO WHAT THE-” He screamed. Damian nearly leapt of the bed. His face turned red.

“-tt- Grow up Drake, this is for research purposes only, that is not-” He started mumbling.

“You’re on DICK GRAYSON THIRST POST WEBSITES for RESEARCH!” Tim half screamed, attempting to lower his voice. Damian flushed harder.

“SHUT UP DRAKE!” He countered. Tim took deep breaths. Dear god, he needed to bleach his eyes after this. He did not need to know these threads existed. Fucking reddit. Humanity has gone too far. There were 20k followers. He peeked over again, the latest posts were from this morning. His mouth was dry. These people were lusting over his dead brother. It was sick, it was fucking disgusting it was-

“Wait what’s that picture?” Tim asked.

“-tt- If you would allow me to explain instead of losing your head, I can show you.” Damian grumbled. He clicked on the picture to enlarge it. “I’ve run the calculations, biometrically, the body shape is a 99.97% match.” Tim let out a low whistle. It wasn’t much to go on. You couldn’t see the figure’s face, he was turned away from the camera. Whoever took it was definitely aiming for a certain portion of the man’s body.

“Have you talked to the poster?” Tim inquired. Damian nodded.

“This subreddit is dedicated to…” Damian made a revolted looking face, “capturing casual images of Grayson in unsavory positions.” He nearly squirmed as he finished the sentence. “I was attempting to research the details of Grayson’s perceived passing and came across this website.” That was a different kind of trauma in Tim’s opinion. “The image caught my eye. He has fans in Ireland, that is where it was taken. These fans are apparently experts at picking him out.” Damian scrolled through some earlier posts to prove his point. “It is odd.” He added pointedly. Tim’s mind was racing. It was hardly evidence. It could have been anyone. But he was right. The perverts were good. They even had a few of Dick in disguise doing undercover work, none of his face of course. But Dick couldn’t be in Ireland. Tim went to the funeral. Bruce went to the funeral. Bruce saw Dick die. Bruce wouldn’t lie about something like that. He never told you about the Joker. His mind supplied. No. Bruce wouldn’t. Bruce couldn’t. He wouldn’t put them through that grief. Not after Damian. Not after all the lies. He promised he wouldn’t lie to them like that. The picture couldn’t be real. But Damian kept scrolling. There were more. In multiple countries. It couldn’t be possible. There was no way. People joked his brother’s butt was iconic but this was ridiculous.

“Drake?” Damian sounded so cautious. Tim was confused. The pictures all looked so real. So accurate. Could they be photoshopped? That could explain it.

“Did you get any of the original files?” He asked much too hastily to appear calm. A smile flicked on Damian’s face for a millisecond.

“You believe me.” Damian stated, half disbelievingly. Tim bit his lip. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t. If he did, then he didn’t believe Bruce. Damian cleared his throat. “I have already examined a few of the original photographs. Their phones were laughably easy to hack.” He looked smug for a mentally unhinged eleven-year-old. “They do not appear to be tampered with.” Tim could feel his heart thudding in his chest. Dick couldn’t be alive. It wasn’t possible. He saw the body. Bruce was in the cave for a week going over it. Not allowing anyone in. No… Fuck…

“What did you do?” He muttered under his breath. Damian looked at him inquisitively, a determination burning in his eyes. Tim hadn’t seen any of the proof himself. And he believed Bruce unquestioningly. That was the opposite of what the man had taught him. But there was still something off. He looked searchingly at Damian. “Dick wouldn’t do that to us.” He couldn’t. Dick would never do something like that. He would tell them. He wasn’t like Bruce, he was reliable. Dick didn’t keep secrets like that. He wouldn’t fake his own death and leave them to fend for themselves. Not after Damian died. After everything they’d lost, after everything he’d lost. Dick wouldn’t do that to him. Damian’s eyes flickered toward the ground, and he frowned.

“Maybe he can’t tell us.” Is all he had to offer. It seemed like a sore spot. Tim didn’t push it. It was probably driving the kid insane. Dick, galivanting across the world, not checking in, not coming back to tell them he was okay? The odds were astronomically low. Dick was a constant. He was their brother. He was a Robin. Robins don’t do that to each other. Steph did, his brain helpfully supplied. But that wasn’t Steph’s fault. Tim dug his nails into his palms. He needed to know. He needed proof. He needed to see the footage, go over the evidence. He didn’t doubt Dick, but his mind was itching. He wouldn’t be able to sleep unless he knew for sure. Hell, Damian probably couldn’t either.

“Look, here’s the plan.” Tim said, his mind racing. Damian stared at him intently. Wow the kid really was desperate if he was willing to listen to him. “I’ll tell Kon I’m taking you home, that you need some help on a case, then will slip out. Maybe, maybe someone close to the family is compromised.” He said, a bit unsure. That could explain the lie. If there was one. Please let there be one. Damian nodded, stuffing his laptop back into his backpack. Tim crossed the room and grabbed the door handle.

A barely audible “Thanks.” reached his ears as he flipped off the lights.

Jason groaned as he checked his messages. He really didn’t want to go through the batcomputer files. It would be faster if Tim did it, plus he had a lower chance of accidentally messing something up. Not that the file system wasn’t already a disaster. Touch the wrong button and you’re locked in the cave till Alfred realizes something’s wrong.

Tim had stopped responding to his messages two days ago, and well, he couldn’t wait any longer. And so, he found himself zipping through the tunnel systems that led into the cave. It was better to avoid the manner if possible. Happy Bruce wasn’t high on the list of people he wanted to see. That dude was fucking weird. It made him feel weird. It did feel good to cross amnesia off his yearly family bingo though. Now he just needed someone to trip during an interview and he’d break Cass’s winning streak. At the rate they were checking things off, maybe he should start a second batch and make it biannual. That or change the prompts. They were getting predictable.

He rolled to a stop inside the cave, and nearly rolled his eyes seeing the mess of skid marks on the floor. Seriously, tires are expensive, why his siblings couldn’t park like normal human beings was beyond him.

Someone was clacking away on the upper platform. Oh, thank God Tim was probably here, figuring it out before he could mess everything up. Cass poked her head over the railing, Jason cocked an eyebrow at her as he removed his helmet. She grinned and jumped over it, catching the fireman’s pole and sliding down. Someone was going to break an ankle doing that, could he add that to the bingo cards? Stupid non-work related injury was already on there, maybe upgrading it to stupid broken bone would suffice. Dick broke his nose outside Denny’s at 3am last year during a post mission party. Hands down one of the best nights of Jason’s life. Too bad his family members decided to die at least once a year.

“I’m about to win bingo.” Cass whispered as she brushed past his shoulder. That jolted Jason out of his bittersweet thoughts.

“Bullshit.” He growled back, bingo was his this year. She smugly wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Sorry brother.” She said sweetly, leaning her head into his shoulder. She let out a long sigh. And then Jason finally remembered that it most the squares weren’t exactly fun.

“Wait, the fuck’s going on?” Fuck, he really didn’t want to deal with this right now. Nobody could have died Dick checked that off, amnesia was gone, Gotham destroyed was gone, natural disaster was checked, Joker breaks out and does dramatic shit was gone too. But that wasn’t a good sigh, that was a ‘I’m so tired of this family sigh’, which could narrow it down a bit. Cass squeezed his shoulder.

“Family secrets.” She admitted, giving him a melancholy look. Jason groaned. This family was the fucking worst. Bruce wasn’t even really part of it right now, who the hell was keeping secrets? Damian. Had to be Damian. Little monster was just like his dad. Fuck. Dick taught the kid better than that. What kind of mess was he in?

Cass took him by the wrist and started dragging him towards the stairs. He resisted briefly as they got to the base. He needed to know. “Who’s is it?” He asked, planting his feet on the ground.

Cass bit her lip, looking extremely uncomfortable. Jason pulled back his arms and crossed them, keeping his expression as neutral as he could, but she could probably read his mood anyways.

“HA. HAHAHA HA. FUCK YOU BRUCE! TAKE THAT SHIT-COMPUTER!”

Jason nearly jumped out of his skin at Tim’s screeching from upstairs, Cass was running up the stairs, not waiting to see if he was coming. Jason sighed. It was going to be on of those days. He took a deep breath and headed up behind her.

Tim was doing a victory dance in front of the computer. Damian was crawling out from under the computer, a shit eating grin on his face. They both looked (and smelled) a mess. Definitely neither had showered in a few days, probably hadn’t slept either.

“Todd, you are just in time to witness our victory over father.” Damian greeted, formal as ever. The brat didn’t even through an insult in there. Must be in a good mood. Well that at least explained who was keeping secrets. Stupid Bruce, keeping secrets even while an amnesiac. Screw him.

“Shall we?” Tim asked, offering a hand to Damian, which shockingly the kid took. The fuck did he miss?!?

“Uh, what the fuck?” He managed to get out. There was cowl footage pulled up on the screen. Cass was pulling chairs over from the table. He tiredly took the seat she offered him.

“Waaaaiiiiiit I have popcorn!” Steph called, pounding down the stairs.

“Steph no!” Tim moaned. “This isn’t a joke!”

“What’s family drama without popcorn?” Steph sung back. Damian huffed. Cass snickered. Jason had to smirk to himself. Dark humor was the best coping mechanism in this family. “Besides you haven’t told us what this is!” She accused. Well at least Jason wasn’t the only one who didn’t know. Tim shifted guilty at the computer, his eyes darting from Damian and then back to the group. Damian responded by huffing and crossing his arms.

“Drake did not ‘want to get your hopes up’.” He began, mimicking Tim’s voice perfectly, “-tt-His concern is unfounded, my research has been impeccable, Gr-” Tim shoved a hand over Damian’s mouth. Damian looked downright murderous.

“Look we want to watch the footage beforehand it might be-” Tim squawked as Cass lunged off the table, hopped over his shoulders and hit play on the batcomputer. “Cass wait!” He got out as the video began to play. Steph grabbed Tim from behind and dragged him into a seat.

The screen showed footage from a first-person perspective, they were walking through a doorway into a large room.

“I’m tired of secrets.” Muttered Cass as she slipped in a chair next to Steph. Damian staid standing, glaring intensely at the screen, looking strangely anguished.

“Hey, kid you can…” The invitation died in his throat. The camera moved forward into the room, revealing a beaten Dick Grayson in the center, hooked to countless machines, suspended in a metal cocoon, only his face and chest peeking out.

“Oh my God.” Came a familiar voice from the screen. A growl reverberated in the cave.

“Well Batman…” Luthor materialized on the right, “…You’ve found Nightwing.” He said, stalking forward.

Something clattered on the floor. The camera was rushing forward. Voices from the cave mixed with voices on the screen.

“Why would you want to watch this!?” shrieked Steph.

“Dick? Everything’s going to be all right. I’m here.” Bruce’s gruff voice sounded oddly strained.

“Shut up Brown!” Came Damian in a high-pitched voice.

“He never showed us the evidence.” Tim’s voice squeaked. “We have to watch till the end?”

“I’m sorry I shut you out. All of you. I didn’t want you getting hurt…I’m going to get you out of this.” Came Bruce’s shaking voice. Jason could feel a lump growing in his throat. He didn’t want to see this.

“Fast-forward?” Cass suggested, her voice equally shaken. Jason could barely see the others in the cave, his eyes were glued to the screen.

“No…You need to…leave.” Came Dick’s horse whisper of a voice. “You need to go…”

Damian made an inhuman noise, which allowed Jason to tear his eyes off the screen.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Muttered Tim. “We can’t fast-forward we need to know what happened.” He forced a sense of determination into his voice. “This is why I didn’t-”

THOOM. The sound rumbled through the cave. Jason jumped out of his seat. The camera whipped around revealing the exit sealed off, with Luthor, Selina, and Bizzarro trapped inside.

“-you guys can still leave.” Tim said shakily.

BA-DEEP. Blared through the speakers. BA-DEEP.

“What is that?” Came Selina’s voice, her usual smooth and silky persona dropped. BA-DEEP.

“It’s a countdown. This isn’t just a fancy pair of handcuffs, Catwoman. It’s a bomb.” Came Lex’s gruff voice. The camera turned again showing a timer counting down from 5 minutes. Jason’s stomach painfully twisted at the reminder of another countdown in another sealed building.

“We’re staying.” He managed to get out. He might have heard noises of affirmation.

WHAM. “The door. The walls. Why can’t we break through them?” Came Luthor’s voice.

“This cell was designed to hold Doomsday, Luthor.” Came Bruce’s voice again. The camera showed him messing with the panel. BA-DEEP.

“Is the countdown monitoring his heart?” Selina asked from seemingly far away.

“Yes.” Boomed Bruce’s voice. BA-DEEP.

“Why?” Replied Selina.

“The detonator is hooked into it.” Bruce responded. Jason’s heart sunk. “He died in a death trap. There was no way out.” Bruce had told him before the funeral. BA-DEEP.

“Batman…The bomb…” Dick whispered. BA-DEEP. Jason spared another glance at Damian. There were tears beginning to form in his eyes, but he stared, glued to the screen all the same. “…It only disams…If my heart stops.” Jason could feel his chest tightening painfully. “I die…or we all die.” BA-DEEP.

“Maybe Bruce had a reason for not showing this to us.” Steph said shakily. Jason glanced over. She looked green. Her sleave and eyes were both wet. The sounds of the heart monitor echoed in the cave.

BA-DEEP. “Please…Listen to me…” Dick’s horse voice started again. Tim was muttering frantically to himself. “You still have time to get yourself out of here.” The camera was so close. Jason could see every cut on his brother’s face, could see the sweat on his brow, the blood trickling down from his nose.

BA-DEEP. “I am not leaving you, Dick. I am not abandoning you.” Bruce sounded much more confident that Jason felt. Too bad Bruce didn’t sound confident.

“You aren’t Bruce. And you never have.” Dick replied. Jason’s vision was blurring. All he wanted was some stupid computer files. He didn’t come to the cave to watch this.

BA-DEEP. “The only way we’re getting out of here is together…No…The wires…” Jason dug his fingernails into his palms. “…Every time I disconnect a relay, it fixes itself.” Jason bit his lip.

BA-DEEP. At some point those in the caves had gone silent. “Then there’s only one way to disarm this bomb, Batman.” Came Luthor’s voice. The video jolted violently and Bruce’s cry reverberated through the cave. Chaos erupted on the screen. A cacophony associated with their customary brand of violence echoed through the speakers, obscuring some of the voices.

BA-DEEP. “I’m saving our lives.” Jason made out. The screen was black. Jason glanced around the room. Everyone was tense. Damian was crying. Tim looked horrified. Cass was perfectly still, her expression blank. Steph looked one step away from throwing up in the empty popcorn bowl that lie on the ground at her feet.

BA-DEEP. The camera was moving again. “LUTHOR.” Boomed Bruce’s voice again. Jason caught a glimpse of the man pressing a hand over Dick’s face. “LUTHOR, YOU HURT HIM AND I WILL KILL YOU.” Cass let out the faintest gasp. Bruce wasn’t lying. How the hell was Luthor still alive? The heart monitor was stuttering. BA-DEEEEEP

“Nonononononononononono.” Came Tim’s voice. “It wasn’t supposed to-”

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“DICK.” Screamed Bruce. The camera rushed forward.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“NO!” Yelled Bruce and Tim at the same time. Damian had sunk to the floor.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

A fist kept pounding Luthor in the face relentlessly. “Batman, wait-” Luthor pleaded. This was not how Jason had wanted Bruce to break his code.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“YOU MURDERER!” Screeched Bruce, righteous fury echoing in his voice. The heart monitor cut off. A hand reached down to cut off Luthor’s windpipe.

“I have this…” Came Luthor’s strangled voice. He looked terrified. “Under control…Grayson…” The hand squeezed harder. “-kk-!” The man chocked. Bruce lessened up slightly. “It’s not too late, you idiot.” Spat Luthor. Bruce was apparently passed the point of listening.

“YOU MURDERED NIGHTWING.” He growled, tightening his grip once more. Luthor was going bug eyed. The man was going to actually die if Bruce pushed it much harded.

“Batman-” Came Selina’s voice.

“Luthor killed Dick, Selina.” Bruce said, his voice strangled.

“You said this lightning rod was from the future! Maybe we can use it to save him or something? I don’t know-!” She cried desperately.

A flash of light and crackle of electricity resounded through the cave. The screen went black for a moment.

Jason could hear metal clinking on the floor.

“Why are we still watching this?” Jason asked hoarsely. Tim looked at him palely.

“I need to know what happened next.” He whispered.

“If I hadn’t stopped Grayson’s heart, this ‘Murder Machine’ would have detonated and we all would have died. I had to make a choice, Batman. I made him flatline…after I forced him to swallow a cardioplegia pill.” The camera slowly tilted back up to focus on Luthor.

“A what?” Asked Steph and Selina at the same time.

“A drug that paralyzes the cardiac muscles surrounding the heart.” Replied Tim and Bruce in sync.

“Then…” Trailed off Damian. The boy looked up hopefully at the screen.

“And if this boy’s heart doesn’t get a shot of adrenaline right this very second he’s going to stay dead.” Luthor finished.

*kaff*

That small cough was the best sound Jason had heard in his entire life.

“YES!” Shouted Tim.

Damian swallowed. “As I expected.” He said shakily. No one called him out on it.

“Dick?” Came Bruce’s voice from the screen.

“Batman?” Dick’s wobbly voice whispered.

Cass tackled Steph into a bear hug, and Steph laughed widely as they clattered to the floor. Jason just sighed deeply and let his head drop into his hands in relief.

“Drake-” gasped Damian, “-get off.”

“You were right! Damian was right! Dick’s alive. HAHA Dick’s ALIVE!” Jason glanced up to see Tim squeezing the crap out of Damian who was going slightly blue in the face. There were words coming from the speakers still but they fell to the wayside in the celebration. Jason walked over and turned the volume down.

“I’m going to kill them.” Jason muttered under his breath. But he’d save that for later, for now, he just paced back to his chair and sunk into it. The cave was quiet for a few minutes, Dick and Bruce continued on whatever the fuck adventure they were on was. The rest of the video was a blur. By the end, Jason’s racing heart had settled, and the kids had stopped clinging to each other.

“But wait.” Said Steph as the video ended. “If Dick’s alive, where is he? How did you even know to look?”

Jason turned to see Tim babbling. “Well I have a few theories, we recovered more footage as well, you know? Like Damian found pictures of him all across the world so like, we don’t know for certain where he is, but like I don’t know for sure what happened, but maybe someone was compromised so like, he had to stay hidden or like…” Tim continued babbling as the next video began to play. It was once again footage from the cowl. “Bruce shut off all the camera’s in the cave for the next week, I thought he was sulking but like we were able to find some cowl footage that he deleted, and like hopefully from that we can figure out what happened and how to track him down-”

“Turn up the volume.” Demanded Cass from her seat. She was looking at the screen with an odd expression. Damian moved without hesitation. Jason’s eyes followed up to the screen. Dick was glaring into the camera his fists raised and wrapped.

“So, one more time Dick. But now there’s only one rule…You have to win.” Came Bruce’s gruff voice. The pair was in the cave. Dick lunged towards the camera. “You let the crime syndicate capture you. Let them torture you. You let them give your secrets to the world.” Bruce accused.

“Bruce man, what the fuck!” Steph yelled, masking Dick’s response.

Bruce continued “You let them turn you into a bomb. You let them kill you. Before Luthor rescued you, you let everyone WATCH YOU DIE.” He boomed.

“YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!” Jason bellowed, knocking over his chair as he stood. He walked away from the screen. Only fucking Bruce. Only fucking Bruce would blame someone for their death. Jason knew that all too well. He walked away from the screen, giving himself distance to clear his head.”

“I trained you to LIVE, and I watched you DIE!” CRACK. Jason flipped around to see Bruce elbow Dick in the face, drawing blood. Bruce’s words cut like a knife. It wasn’t Jason’s fault he died. It wasn’t Dick’s fault either. Neither Steph’s or Damian’s. Damian had unconsciously taken cover behind Tim, who was standing between Damian and the screen with an arm hovering over the kid’s shoulder.

“WHAT THE FUCK BRUCE!” Screamed Steph at the screen, she was also on her feet at this point. Only Cass’s hand prevented her from trying to fight the digital apparition. “WE DON’T JUST GO AROUND DYING WILLY NILLY, IT’S NOT MY-, IT’S NOT HIS FAULT!” Her voice shrilly echoed around the cave, drowning out the audio temporarily.

Dick was on his knees, wiping his bloody nose, looking up confused. WHACK. A powerful kick sent him flying off the platform, crashing into a costume display case. “I have a mission for you, Dick. I need you to do something that will hurt your friends. Your family.” Bruce commanded. He could hear Damian inhale sharply. Tim stopped hovering and pulled Damian tightly into his chest, rushing forward to pause the video, with the boy in tow. His hand was over the button before Cass sprung forward and grabbed his wrist. Jason had never seen Cass look this angry without the mask.

“I deserve to know.” She said with conviction, anger deep in her voice. “I deserve to know what kind of father he is.” She spat. Jason wasn’t going to touch that with a ten foot pole.

“But he shouldn’t, I mean I don’t know if, I mean I don’t know what, I mean-” Tim sputtered glancing from the screen to Damian and back again.

“I want to know the truth.” Came Damian’s tiny reply. He looked so young, he pushed away from Tim’s chest, but leaned into his side.

Cass pulled Tim’s hand back. “I fought him once.” She admitted. “I need to know.” She repeated.

Tim looked at her pleadingly. Bruce and Dick raged at each other on screen. Blood flowed from the cuts on Dick’s back. “I…I…” Tim stammered.

“We all deserve to know.” Steph piped up, leaning against the side of the computer.

“Fight like you’re alive!” Bruce yelled on the screen. CRACK. An oversized die broke on impact with the back of Dick’s head. Dick retaliated, throwing a question mark back.

The words were blurring in Jason’s head, his rage clouding his thoughts, and overtaking his senses. The rest of the world was disappearing, leaving only the screen behind. His vision tunneled. He crossed his arms as tightly as he could, willing himself to stay in place. Stay calm. His hearing cut out. But he could still read his name on his brother’s lips just before Bruce delivered an uppercut powerful enough to knock Dick off the dinosaur.

The next thing Jason knew Cass was sitting on him. People were yelling at him.

“-on’t break the screen-”

“-up I need to see-”

“-op fighting-”

Cass smiled apologetically before tapping a pressure point. Jason allowed himself to fade into the darkness.

He came to in a medical bay of the cave, with an intense desire to get out. This place was cursed. He needed out, he needed to think, he needed to process, but he needed to get out. He pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed.

“Wait.” Came a voice from behind him. He spun off the bed to see Tim, awkwardly standing on the other side of the cot. Jason edged towards the door. “We know where he is.” Tim offered. Jason glanced at Tim, and back to the door.

“Can we talk somewhere else?” He asked quietly. He didn’t want to be in the cave for this. Tim awkwardly bobbed side to side.

“Uh about that. We’re moving out.” He said quickly. Jason opened the door.

“OMGIT’SREDHOODHIMR.REDHOODSIRPLEASEDON’TKILLTIM-”

Jason slammed the door in the kid’s face. He stared at Tim, who was banging his head into the wall with a hand covering his eyes.

“Do I even want to know?” Jason asked. Tim groaned.

“I called my team to help us move out, we’re going to use the bunker for Gotham operations from now on.” Tim explained. A loud crash came from outside. The door whipped open.

“Heythegiantpennyisn’t-” The kid started. Jason growled at him. “-nevermindbyebye.” The speedster zipped away and slammed the door.

“You decided this without me?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow at Tim. Tim looked back at him sheepishly.

“You’re already out voted. Besides you really want to stay here?” He replied evenly. Jason shrugged, that was fair. He’d already tried to leave. “I know you said you don’t want to talk here, but I don’t know when I’ll get you alone again.” Jason sighed. That’s valid, he was planning on avoiding the family for a bit. “Please don’t pull a disappearing act.” Jason looked up at him.

“Why not?” He challenged.

“We don’t need Bruce to be a family.” Tim replied. It sounded rehearsed. That was also fair. “And we need each other too. We found some communications from Dick, Bruce left him stranded when he got amnesia, he’s coming back in a few days.” Jason couldn’t look Tim in the eye anymore.

“I don’t know what to do.” He said honestly, looking at Tim’s shoes. What do you say after something like this? After watching something like that. After knowing the truth.

“Neither do we, but we’ll figure it out together.” Tim offered. He looked sad, tired, his face fell before he spoke again. “He…he misses us.” He spoke softly. “On the recordings. I, I don’t think Bruce even told him about Damian.” Jason swore softly under his breath. Bruce was one fucking piece of work.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Jason said after a moment, catching Tim’s eye once more.

Tim shook his head. “The rest of the tape was mostly the same.” He said quietly. “He won.” He added as an afterthought. Jason snorted. Tim gave a warry smile. None of them ever won. Not in the ways they wanted to. Only when the prizes were more pain, more guilt, more heartbreak.

Jason leaned back against the wall. How was this the way things ended up? Was Bruce always this cruel? The man was unrecognizable to Jason. It was inexcusable. After Willis? After Cain? After Brown? Hell, even Tim’s father was emotionally abusive before he died. Why couldn’t any of them have a normal father? A stable parental relationship. It wasn’t fair. And it hurt more because he didn’t even know where it started. Bruce had been a good father to him. Had that been a lie? He’d never looked to closely at why Dick had left home, could it be that…that…? Had Jason missed something like this? Would he ever even know what he’d missed? They didn’t have as many cameras back then.

Tim had crossed the room and put a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be okay.” He said confidently. “As long as we have each other, we’ll all be okay.” Tim squeezed his shoulder gently before disappearing through the door into the chaos that used to be his childhood fantasy. When had it all gone so wrong, he had to ask himself. He hated that he knew the answer. His death was this fucking family’s original sin. But you know what, that wasn’t his fault. Even if it felt like it. Even if Bruce still blamed him. Dick didn’t look at him like a ghost, he didn’t look at him like a kid in over his head, like a regret, like a mistake. It was time for Bruce to grow the hell up and move on. Bad experiences don’t justify beating your kids. Maybe from here, they could move on. Maybe from here on, they could heal. Maybe they could start over. Maybe they could make their own new family. Bruce had abused them, lied to them, manipulated them enough. It was time to rise from the ashes like a phoenix and fly again. He wouldn’t know unless he tried. He didn’t have to give up on Gotham. But maybe it was time to give up on Bruce.

Jason swung open the door, descending into a future unknown, diverging from the circle of heartache and abuse. He had broken the cycle once before, on his own, with a new family made of friends, one of his choosing. And now he chose to break it once more, and this time he resolved not to leave his siblings behind.

#dickgraysonweek2021 #dickgraysonweek #dick grasyon #nightwing #batfamily #my writing #tw domestic abuse #tw child abuse #tw swearing

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mlwritingprompts · 3 years

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submitted prompt: We are the Marinettes of the World.

Akumatised!Marinette AU.

Zombizou AU.

A prompt made from how terrifying Marinette’s Akuma powers will be when related purely to her mentality and how she is treated by the show.

Inspired by a few prompts here that have similar set-up.

——

So, it starts with the same events of the episode: Choe acting like a spoiled brat, vandalising Marinette’s gift because she is petty and can do that, and Caline Bustier dragging Marinette instead to give her the “advice” on how to act with Chloe’s attitude, and telling her about the need to spread understanding and love and all that victim-blaming talk (AKA: be a doormat and let her step on you without any back talk).

Needless to say, Marinette is emotionally crushed at this, feeling that no matter how much she tries, only she is forced to deal with the problems that Chloe cause to her, and her heart is slowly raging at her teacher and Chloe.

Those two are not her.

Her teacher will never try to understand her or try to actually help her, and Chloe will never change.

This is the message her brain is deciphering from this situation.

And it hurts.

This is where Hawkmoth will be a little bit smarter, and heve the butterfly be hidden more carefully so none of the possible targets can escape, and the butterfly enters into Marinette’s hair-bow.

When the villain’s voice is heard inside her head, the horror invades her heart, and Caline tries to encourage her not to fall for Hawkmoth, but it is pointless, and as time goes, the emotionally tired Marinette slowly loses her will as the villain reads her emotions and he uses them and becomes more and more convincing that Marinette succumbs.

At that point, Caline had already escaped, and Tikki has no choice but to take the miraculouses and run away.

“Isn’t it better to make others feel your suffering? To make them understand you? Isn’t if satisfying to make them appreciate what you sacrifice for them?”

His voice full of temptation, and the mental battle lost already, Marinette can do nothing more than simply saying a faint “yes…”

“Then let your screaming heart unleash it’s power! Perspective Maker!”

When the purple energy fades, Marinette… is still looking the same as she does.

She goes to the class, and manages to convince them that she somehow suceeded in thrawting Hawkmoth’s Akumatisation attempt.

Naturally, the class accepts that with some difficulty, knowing that Marinette is strong enought to do that although Ms. Bustier accepts it quickly.

It’s when the break starts that things start to go badly.

Perspective Maker goes, to Caline and asks her to talk wth her in private.

Caline, being an idiot and not suspecting a thing at all from her “model student”, accepts.

When they are both alone, the Akuma looks at the expectant eyes of the teacher, and simply does one thing.

She puts her hand on Caline’s shoulder, much to her confusion, but it shocks her when the Akuma’s hand glows and Caline feels a lot of powerful and strange emotions.

Defeat, self-hate, weakness, resignation, fear, sadness.

She slowly realizes that those feelings are not hers. They are Marinette’s.

::No…::

::Oh, yes::

Caline’s internal horror was cut off by th Akuma’s voice in her head, and the teacher gets to realize another horrifying thing happening.

She is not in control of her body.

She can see, hear, smell, and taste and feel with her body, she can feel her body moving but she isn’t able to control her body at all. As if someone else was controlling her body.

::That’s right, teacher. You are no longer able to control your body, and slowly, you will no longer be able to recognize your own feelings as well, seeing that they are slowly being changed into what I was forced to experience and feel. You, and everyone who falls victim to me, will feel what I suffered, will feel how I was forced to strip away parts of myself to satisfy others just as you and the rest of the world forced me to. You will be there, a locked voice in your own body, slowly erased and modified into an unrecognizable entity who can no longer have any identity of it’s own. You are going to become one of the “Marinettes” in this world. Isn’t that awesome? I think you should be happy, seeing that “you” also will have the same power of mine. The world shall be only composed of the Marinettes. No one else should exist.::

Caline’s horrified answer did not matter to the Akuma, as she simply told Caline’s body to go and start controlling more people. And of course, Chloe also fell prey to this Akuma.

This world is going to be the world of the Marinettes now…

—–

So, how do the heroes defeat this Akuma, assuming they ever had a chance at all?

And if they did defeat it, the damage will not be easily ignored this time seeing that Akma!Marinette’s power had strong mental effect on the victims.

Does Caline wise up and actively try to be a better and fairer teacher? Or does she blame Marinette for her inability to not get Akumatised?

Does Chloe get humbled here? Or does she simply get more arrogant and cruel?

How does Marinette deal with the aftermath? Yes, she is going to be horified but will people blame her, or do they help her in this situation? Will she be blaming only herself? If so, then when will she simply stop caring and deal with the bullying in a definite way using her power as Ladybug? Not everyone is able to try for so long when they reach a certain limit after all.

Rules for the blog - send a prompt

#ml writing prompts #miraculous ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Akumatized Marinette #Marinette deserves better #submission #Show!Miraculous #Show!Marinette #Show!Adrien

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peachyteabuck · 4 years

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ceo chronicles. pt iii ~ wanda maximoff

series summary: a set of fics based off of the main au of sugar baby/mommy or daddy dynamics and ceo aus. each fic involves a separate universe wherein each character is the ceo of a different company and you’re their sugar baby. sexy times ensue.

fic summary: something goes very, very wrong at one of wanda’s business dealings. you are left to help her pick up the pieces - no matter what that means.

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

words: 2398

trigger warnings: possessive wanda, anger-fucking, collars, spreader bars, riding crop, ball gags

notes/other: this was done for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s “old hollywood” writing challenge, my prompt was “Must I always wear a low cut dress to be important?” - Jean Harlow and has been bolded within the fic!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Wanda storms into the penthouse, her stiletto heels clacking against the dark, hardwood floors.

She’s angry, furious – and whether or not it’s aimed at you doesn’t matter, your heart picks up in your chest either way.

“That two-timing sun of a bitch!” she screams, throwing her purse on the ground. Her coat follows shortly.

You watch her, eyes wide in terror, as you stand in the kitchen. She bought the place for its open floor plan and, initially, you had liked it too.

Now, though, with nothing to hide behind, you regret not going with the more closed space in SoHo.

“That motherfucker undersold me,” she screams, standing in place as she yells to no one in particular. “He told me the piece was worth one point two fucking million, and it sells for less than a hundred fucking thousand!”

Oh fuck. If you weren’t scared out of your goddamn mind before you sure are now.

There are two things in this world no one should fuck with when it comes to Wanda’s possessions:

The first is you.

Once, a man accidentally brushed against you at a gallery opening and Wanda nearly bit him – throwing red wine on his white shirt and screaming at him to leave.

Once he was out of her sight, she dragged you to the nearest bathroom, leaving a deep hickey high enough on your neck that you couldn’t hide it before making you show it off to the guests for a few more hours.

The second, is her money.

It’s not that Wanda’s not charitable, far from it; she claims millions on her taxes every year.

It’s just that she’s in charge of those things. She decides who gets what and when, she controls when her Black card is used and why. When people promise to bring her a certain amount of profit, they better fucking deliver, or else…this happens.

This meaning her getting so mad she looks like she could cause wildfires. All those earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, everything – those aren’t tectonic plates, no, they’re something much more powerful.

Wanda’s anger can move mountains, make species go extinct.

And, most important by far, it can make you shake in fear.

“That fucker, I should have known when he asked that I wear some fucking,” you can hear the venom in her voice, spitting over everything as she grabs the Stoch – the nice stuff, from the lockbox deep in the cupboard. She throws the bags of junk food – the chips you like and the cookies she loves – across the kitchen before stabbing in the code with her perfectly manicured nails. She doesn’t speak until she’s had two sips straight from the container, face wincing slightly before she sets it back on the counter. “To wear some fucking slip to the meet up, as if he needed to see me in anything at all! Ugh!” she scoffs, taking another long swig. “Must I always wear a low-cut dress to be important?”

You don’t reply, staying silent and inert as what could be the scariest thing unfolds in front of you.

Out of nowhere, she stills, taking exactly three, ten-second-in and ten-second-out breaths. It’s after that that she steps over to the large navy-blue sectional, sitting on it with her feet flat on the floor.

“Get on your fucking knees,” Wanda hisses.

You drop to the floor without hesitation, petrified.

Wanda watches you intently for a moment, jaw clenching as she moves to sit on the couch, feet flat against the floor. She pats her right hand against her right knee twice, and you immediately understand what she wants.

You fall across her knees, one arm grabbing her ankle while the other folds behind your back for her to grab – each action desperate to be obedient, to try to throw a fire blanket over the ravenous, burning thing that’s overtaken her.

There’s very little warning before she’s pulled the sundress up and bunching it into your fist, giving you little warning before leaving a slap against your ass – barely covered by the flimsy cotton underwear.

She ignores you, when you cry out, ignores you when tears begin to stream from your eyes and when blood spills from your bottom lip when it gets caught between your teeth.

It isn’t until your ass feels like it’s been branded when she lets up, inadvertently giving you a moment to breathe as she clenches her fists in front of her.

“It’s not enough!” Wanda screams, pushing you onto the floor. You fall against the wood hard, making you cry out in pain as she stomps away. “It’s not enough! Why isn’t it enough!”

Through the ringing in your ears you can hear her in the bedroom, the distinct sound of a six-bolt padlock being clicked open ricocheting in your eardrums. The only thing locked with that sort of hardware is the chest Wanda keeps all your kink-related items in, separating into layers by the degree of play.

It starts light at the top; blindfolds and a few cute collars with equally cute pet names engraved onto small heart-shaped nameplates. One of them is even diamond-encrusted, PROPERTY OF WANDA spelled out in bold print across pink faux leather. You can picture them even as your brain becomes fuzzy, can see them vividly against a distinct white velvet Wanda picked out especially.

The second layer, and the third (due to the size of the collection) are dildos, vibrators, butt plugs of more sizes and varieties than you can count. You can hear her removing those two shelves hastily, tearing through the rest of the box until she gets to the last level, the one you fear the most:

They’re rarely used, only barely broken in. A spreader bar Natasha got Wanda as a gag gift about a year ago. A riding crop Wanda bought at a kink convention awhile ago on an intoxicated whim. A thick collar meant for posture made of pure, soft leather and a solid gold latch. And, lastly, a fine leather ball gag, deep and black and beautifully handmade.

All four of them stiff and mean, just like Wanda in times like these.

She calls you into the bedroom with a shout, smiling when she hears you rushing from your felled position in the living room.

You can see the last fleeting moment of it when you cross the threshold, see that her anger has an end and this is not some permanent fixture in your still-budding relationship.

“Down,” she says simply, and you drop, sitting back on your heels.

Your hands remain palms-down on your thighs with your spine straight as one of those expensive paintings that decorate so many of the walls in the place you and her call home.

It stays that way – your spine parallel to the walls – as the collar is dangled in front of your eyes before being secured around your neck.

“Too tight?” Wanda asks, emotionless.

You shake your head as she sticks two fingers, the pads pressed into the soft skin of your neck. “Good.”

The ritual is repeated for the ball gag, the toy wrapped around your head and subsequently checked for fit.

She then instructs you to get on the bed, perpendicular to her as you lay on your back. You can’t see it – but the rustling and distinct clacking sound of metal pieces moving together can tell you she’s grabbing the very toys you’re terrified of the most.

The plain white ceiling gives you something to stare at, to fixate on as you feel the soft leather cuffs tightening before being checked. It’s almost sweet – the little ritual – if it didn’t immediately lead to your imminent torture.

You can feel her stepping back, heated eyes raking up your body slowly, surely. She watches carefully as your cunt pulses under her heated gaze, watches each muscle twitch as you anxiously await her next move.

Wanda looks at you the same way you think starving lionesses look at zebras separated from the safety of their heard. Her eyes zero in on her pulsing cunt, watching for the perfect moment to-

SMACK!

The riding crop comes down quick against your center, a sharp pain causing a fiery heat to spread up your ribs and down to your toes.

“Does that hurt, baby?” Wanda coos, twirling the end of the crop between the fingers of her nondominant hand.

You nod, trying desperately to gasp for air as drool spills out of the sides of your mouth. “Mmm,” is all you can get from behind the plastic. “Hngf.”

Wanda just laughs down at you, smacking the end light enough not to hurt but hard enough to tease you.

“Aw, my pretty little thing,” a faux pout paints itself across her face. “Such a sensitive baby.”

You whine, overwhelmed and desperate and oh so desperate to press your thighs together for any kind of pressure where you need it most. But no, of course not. Wanda wants to see you struggle, looks down at you with a smirk playing across her lips as you twist and beg, hoping she’ll find it in herself to give you mercy.

Given how the hours previous had gone, though, you doubt she’ll give you any.

“I’m going to give you one of these,” Wanda snaps the crop against your left inner thigh and smirks when you yelp. “For each hundred thousand I lost today.”

You do the mental math – whole body tensing. Nineteen. You’re about to get whipped nineteen times with a toy you haven’t broken in…

Shivers run up your spine and each muscle in your body tenses – whether in fear or anticipation, you don’t know and don’t really care to find out.

The first one comes down against the same inner thigh as before, sure to leave angry hot welts that will need constant care in the next few days. The second goes against the opposite side – skin previously untouched now screaming.

The third and forth are against your hips, fifth and sixth hitting just above your knees.

You lose count after that, mind numb as your wetness pools onto the freshly cleaned comforter. Between your racing heartbeats and the blood in your ears you assumed Wanda had finished with you, but coming to for a breath of fresh air only makes to bring the final blow – this time against your cunt.

With the gag the only sounds that reverberate off the walls come from deep in your chest, screams remnant of a horror experienced from another room. Wanda smiles as she watches you squirm as sparks of pain jump across your center and thighs.

There a few moments of silence as your panting curbs to low breaths, giving you a moment for recovery as your vision clears and the ringing in your ears stops.

It’s only then that Wanda gets up, trailing her fingertips across your sweaty skin as she walks past you.

“C’mon kitten,” she murmurs, stepping out of sight and back towards the chest of toys. “Let me make you feel good…”

Your brow furrows in confusion, pulling weakly at the restraints until you hear a plug being insert into an outlet, and the distinct sound of a long, long cord being unraveled.

The sound of the vibrator makes you groan in anticipation – ecstatic and terrified of how Wanda will use it on you. If she thinks you’ve been good, maybe she’ll be nice – get you off with it pressed against your clit with three of her fingers buried deep inside of you.

Or, if she remains unsatisfied with your performance, she could keep you just on the edge or pushing you over it until your begging meets expectations or she gets bored enough to stop.

As the head is pressed to your clit you nearly scream with relief – the soft vibrations and even softer words hitting you like droplets during the first rainstorm after dry season. It washes over you, coating your skin in delicious relief as your buck your hips and cry out.

Each word, each scream, remains muffled by the sphere in your mouth, but Wanda coos down at you nonetheless.

“Such a pretty little girl you are,” she says, watching you with the same hawkish gaze as before. It feels more reserved, though, as if she was watching over you rather than attempting to pin you down. “Such a pretty little girl for me.”

She climbs over you, then, never letting the toy leave your body as she pulls your head into her lap. Wanda looks down at you as you fall apart, watches you with eagle eyes as you cum.

As the initial waves of pleasure subside, you sigh in relief.

That is, until the head of the toy is pressed to your center once more. The next orgasm, and the one after that, and the one after that and-

They’re nearly painful as they hit you like a spray of bullet, like you’re being tased. You’re crying and doing your best to wail as you writhe around, Wanda cradling your face the entire time.

Your brain is numb when Wanda decides you had enough, whole body limb in her arms when she switches the soaked toy off.

She unties you with quick fingers, allowing you to slump against her as she takes off the rest of the restraints that litter your body.

“Rest up,” she tells you plainly as you nuzzle into her side. “I’m still pissed.”

You smile into the bare skin of her ribs, leaving a small kiss on the warm skin. Despite her tone, you can tell there’s not much behind it – fury that had settled just beneath her skin long dissipated into something she can save for the next time that man dares show his face in her presence.

There’s a pause once you stop adjusting, a heavy beat of silence that neither of you feels a need to fill. It’s a long while before either of you says anything, and even then the words are quite soft-spoken despite the two of you being the only ones in the large house.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Wanda whispers into your hair.

You give a small nod, unable to move because of the soreness attacking each of your muscles. “Yeah,” you mumble, voice equally low. “Yeah. I love you, too. Do you know that?”

Wanda smiles. “Yeah, yeah. I do.”

#roosoldhollywood #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #lukis writes stuff #writing challenge entries

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dented-nado · 3 years

Note

Blanket/cuddling with superbat if you want!

This turned into heavy angst that turned into comfort despite this being a fluff prompt I’m so sorry , but I hope the hurt/comfort pay off will be worth it.

Cold.

Batman had pushed himself through pain, refused to acknowledge how much yet another knife ripping through his suit, another bullet that would have to be dug out, really hurt. Deep down, there was a voice that screamed every time, that wanted to cry, yell, anything, but he buried it. The way the cold air whipped at his face as he fell from the tallest buildings into the city and landed in a glide. The way every new tragedy, every new loss would shake him to his core.

How much more before he broke? Even the heaviest, strongest, steel would bend under enough pressure.

What if he lost someone dear to him again?

Could he handle it? Could he go on?

He hated thinking about it.

Alone.

That kind of heavy emotion couldn’t stay buried for long. Bruce had it explained to him many times. The way he lived and treated himself was much like a dormant volcano. It may stand tall and seem like any other mountain from an outsider perspective… but inside, the pressure was building, and the longer that pressure built with no way to vent or release that energy? The more dramatic and disastrous the inevitable eruption would be.

He knew it. He had seen such an eruption happen to those closest to him. Witnessed as all the repressed trauma, both physical and mental burst out after hiding behind a mask under the surface for so long, watched it rip a person apart, disrupt their life completely.

Deep down… he knew.

He knew he wasn’t dealing with what he needed to. He knew he knew, everyone had told him. He had told himself. He knew he was pouring the wrong kind of energy into Batman that had brought him a little too close to a place he didn’t want to go. He knew… eventually, his body, his mind, wouldn’t be able to physically take it anymore.

He’d already pushed himself so far… so so far.

But he made excuses. “Gotham needs me.” “Just one more night.” “Once this one case is solved…” “Maybe when (x) is older, they need me to be strong right now…”

Lost.

Clark… Clark was… different. While he certainly hadn’t opened up very quickly… It was clear he trusted Bruce to tell him about his deepest insecurities, fears… the feelings that he had that he’d never really belong anywhere.

Bruce would listen, he always did, knowing these words were ones Clark didn’t share with just anyone. But it always baffled him in some way… because to him, Clark was not only a man he admired… loved… cherished… but a man he also wished he could be more like in a lot of ways. Because at least Clark talked about it. He had wiped tears from Clark’s eyes when he finally opened up about the life he had been ripped away from during the Black Mercy incident.

But when he tried to relate., tried to say he knew the horrific feeling of loosing a child… understood what it was like to have the life you always wanted, the acceptance, and love you always wanted… the people you wanted to be in your life teased at you, convincing you they were real only to come to the horrific conclusion that it was all a lie…. He couldn’t say it. He’d find when he wanted to speak, it felt like all of it wanted to come out of once.

And too often it came when he really didn’t want to make it about him. Or even just… he panicked at the feeling of everything being ready to come pouring out and swallowing it back down into the pit of his stomach, into the crevices of his mind to be saved for nightmares. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Clark to tell him… god, he trusted that man more than anyone, and adored him so. SO. Much. But he was terrified what might begin to spill if even one thing shook loose. He was afraid speaking even one word would make him fall apart and not know how to pick the pieces back up… or if he even could.

Help

There wasn’t anything particular different about that night. And yet… halfway through his patrol in the Batmobile, he found himself pulling over due to having trouble breathing. He felt dizzy, his mind had gone blank. He’d just fought and turned in a gunslinger hiding in an alley… it’s not as if he hadn’t done that so… so many times already… so why now?!

The fact he was starting to panic as his body and mind had reached a full on shut down only panicked him more. His hands were shaking as he tried to call Alfred, finding himself having trouble just trying to remember what the damn right button was. He’d helped design the damn thing himself and yet suddenly he couldn’t remember what was what. Finally he found it and felt his eyes grow wet.

“Alfred…” He heaved.

He knew Alfred was asking him what was wrong in alarm, but he barely heard anything, it felt like his ears were stuffed with cotton and his heart was pounding in his head.

“I… I need you to remotely … I can’t…. remember how I’m…”

I’m not okay.

He leaned against the back of the seat in relief as the Batmobile’s auto-navigation took over, he ripped off the cowl and covered his face with his hands. Despite no one able to see him, he still felt the need to cover up his expression, a mix of pure panic and despair as tears he hadn’t let out almost his whole life were bursting out like a damn breaking after a flood. He hated it. He hated feeling, he didn’t want to be this way…

The only comfort that made it through in the moment is hearing Alfred’s voice through the communicator.

“It’s going to be okay son… you’re going to be okay, you’ll be home soon.”

When he stumbled out of the Batmobile he could barely stand on his own two feet, He was starting to feel lightheaded, like he may pass out from the breathing he’d been unable to calm down despite numerous attempts.

Alfred had rushed over, grabbed his shoulders, so gently encouraged Bruce to look his guardian in the face and breathe with him.

Bruce didn’t know how long it took but he finally finally was able to start catching his breathe again, and allowed himself to be gently taken to sit down. His father figure never letting go of his hand that had ended up ungloved at some point Bruce didn’t remember.

“I-I don’t know what happened or why I-!” Bruce rambled feeling like he had to explain.

“You don’t have to talk about it right now or try and explain it. We don’t need to solve anything right now… what we need is for you to give yourself time…”

“But I left in the middle of a patrol! How could I do that? What if something happens because my own mind betrayed me?!” Bruce insisted, feeling his chest heave again.

“Your mind is not betraying you. It’s doing exactly what it’s meant to, it’s reacting to high levels of stress that you’ve tried to put aside for years and it’s trying to keep you safe. There is nothing wrong with that. There are other people out there working to help save lives, you cannot continue to do this to your detriment.” Alfred replied firmly, his own worry that had been present for years over his son’s wellbeing clearly had been boiling under the surface as well.

Bruce knew he was right… but he wished he could somehow just be better, not have to face any of this…

Alfred took a deep breathe. “Bruce. You are a stubborn, stubborn man with a good heart and so much drive… but I know you also appreciate practicality, and the kind of heroism you do is incredible, but it is not practical. You need to put yourself first. I know you know that in principle, but you have to start letting the rest of us help you make the steps you need to take. I am so proud of you… but I’m worried.”

Bruce looked down at the ground, eyes feeling heavy again. “I know… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, not at all.” Alfred soothed, giving his boy a hug. “Just… for a little while, allow me to be a parent and help you re-learn habits to take care of yourself?” He asked with a slight teasing tone.

Bruce finally managed a huff of a laugh as he hugged him back. “I guess I need a little bit of that…” He conceded.

He still hated it. But he knew… deep down the path he had been on would lead him here eventually… but this was his chance to take a new path instead, now physically knowing he couldn’t brute force himself down the old path.

He stood slowly, wiping at his face as he let go of Alfred. “Hiding in bed for a while does sound nice.” He admitted.

“I’ll bring up some hot chocolate in a while if you’d like, perhaps an extra blanket?” Alfred offered.

Bruce sniffled, face feeling gross from all the panic and crying. “I’d… like that a lot actually… thank you..” He admitted.

He began stripping out of the batsuit, ready to go upstairs to collapse for a bit before pausing.

His first thought was not to bother him, Clark had been on a outer space mission…. But well… he may have already tried to check in at hearing Bruce’s heartbeat become irregular.

Maybe… maybe just this once…

“Alfred… could.. could you also call Clark for me? If … he’s around… I… um…”

“Of course… I’ll notify him immediately.”

“Thank you Alfred.”

Bruce finally went upstairs, finding his bed and collapsing onto it, only groaning as he realized he forgot to take his shoes off and change clothing.

Warm

Bruce had drunk his hot chocolate and buried himself in a cocoon under the blankets, curling his knees up to his chest and hugging them. He’d completely pulled all of the blankets from the edge of the bed to cover himself in a sort of mini-cave. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been buried under there, alone with his thoughts when he heard familiar large footsteps enter the room and the bed dip as Clark sat beside him.

“Hey B.” Clark said so sweetly and softly

Bruce physically let out a sigh of relief at his presence. He couldn’t will himself to speak but he moved his hand and lifted the edge of the covers, unable to help a small smile as he saw Clark’s head tilting to look down at him like a giant puppy dog that had just heard a squeaky toy.

He wanted to say “I’m glad you’re here, I missed you.” But he was once again having trouble speaking, so instead he reached his hand out and slowly put it on top of Clark’s hand.

“Hi.” He said, realizing his voice sounded a little weak.

“How are you feeling?” Clark asked, taking Bruce’s hand tightly in his.

“Not good.” He mumbled honestly.

He felt Clark kiss his knuckles. Why was this man just a walking beefy bag of sugar???

“What do you need?” Clark asked quietly.

Bruce thought about it for a moment. He didn’t really know… but then…

“…get under here with me?” He mumbled, grateful Clark had super hearing because his voice was starting to go somewhere else.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Clark and his warmth wiggled under the covers with him. He was wearing a flannel shirt that Bruce had stolen quite a few times because it was unfairly soft and comforting. Clark poked the tip of Bruce’s nose with his own nose before moving up and kissing the Bat’s forehead.

Bruce then immediately put his arms around Clark and buried his head in the man’s chest. Yes… yes this was what he needed. Warmth… someone in the space he usually isolated himself in… He needed Clark by his side.

“I guess you want to know what happened.” Bruce said, voice muffled but once again feeling he had to explain himself.

“Not now… later… just relax B, you can tell me after you’ve had some time. I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

“…okay…”

Clark was now running a soothing hand up and down his back. He was so massive, could seem to other so imposing and intimidating… but really, he was so gentle… so patient, so loving…

Bruce didn’t know how he got so lucky.

“I love you so damn much…” He could have sworn he thought to himself.

Clark hugged him a little tighter. “I love you too B, Always, no matter what.”

He felt himself about to cry and have a release of pent up emotion again, but this time he didn’t try to hold back and let himself fall into what his mind was trying to tell him he needed to do. This was what he needed to allow himself space to do. It was terrifying… but it was necessary.

Clark was here, Clark was holding him, and he wasn’t going anywhere. It was warmth in every form. He wasn’t alone anymore; he didn’t have to be… it could be different.

And once again Clark had gifted him with the very thing that Superman stood for, on a deep level that caught him as he landed in this spot where he could no longer push himself into pretending he wasn’t affected.

Hope.

#batman #superman #superbat #bruce wayne #clark kent #Alfred Pennyworth #prompt fill #angst #hurt and comfort

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theanimesideblog · 3 years

Note

Okay hear me out.... Arsonist's Lullabye with Dabi and a reader who doesn't know how to use their fire quirk and he teaches them

Dabi x Fire Quirk!Gn!Reader: Arsonist’s Lullabye

TW: fire, violence, canon typical violence, dabi talks about killing someone but he doesn’t, possible manga spoiler in the second to last paragraph (?) be warned

Prompt Playlist Event

A/N: this took me FOREVER i rly went overboard ✋😔 i had to cut myself off it was getting too long

When you first started to manifest your quirk, you didn’t realize it. You sat in front of a bonfire for some local festival you couldn’t even remember at this point. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the blaze. It was beautiful. To you, that fire looked alive. It’s dancing form spoke to you, whispers and screams that told you of your power.

After that, you couldn’t look away from any flame. Even the scented candles around your home fascinated you. You swore they talked to you. You asked your mom if she heard the whispers too. She gave you a puzzled look.

[[MORE]]

Both your parents had heat related quirks. Your mother could produce fire, but only a small flame on the tip of her fingers. Your father could warm anything he touched. They dismissed you having any sort of fire power. With their weak quirks, they believed there was no way you could be powerful.

You proved them wrong when you sneezed and accidentally lit the kitchen table on fire. From there, they were constantly worried about your quirk. You promised never to use your quirk, but your parents would still fret over you.

It was enough to drive anyone mad. In fact, a part of you believed you were evil.

You ran away when you were sixteen. From there, you did odd jobs here and there to make enough money to get an awful apartment. They weren’t the most legal jobs, but you thought you were bad. What did a few more bad deeds do?

At twenty years old, you were a skilled fighter. You had to be since you had no idea how to use your quirk. Not only that, but you were intelligent enough to save your skin more than once. There was rumors that your quirk was “luck” since you always seemed a little too lucky with close calls. After years of this rumor, all your clients believed it.

~*~

You walked down an alley after blending in with the crowd long enough for the pro heroes to lose your scent. You smiled, feeling overjoyed at the weight of your backpack. You thought it was odd that someone had hired you for petty theft of a tech store, but money was money.

You pulled out your phone and called the number your client had given you. You heard another phone ring, before a burnt man walked out of the shadows. You smiled and turned off your phone.

“Finally, I get to meet my client face-to-face.” You said, taking off your backpack. “Got everything ya want here.”

“You’re pretty good at this. Your quirk is luck, right?” The burnt man asked. You winked.

“Something like that.” You said. You didn’t want to let people know you had a fire quirk, but saying you were quirkless would make you an easy target.

The burnt man opened the backpack and smiled before slinging it onto his back.

“We could use someone like you on our team.” The burnt man said.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t do teams.” You said.

“Not even if the League of Villains wanted you?” The burnt man said. Your eyes widened and your smile dropped. “The name’s Dabi. We’re recruiting more people, and you’re one of the villains we want. What do you say?”

“I’m not looking for a team. Besides, what you guys do is above my paygrade. Thanks, though.” You said, backing up slowly. Dabi smiled.

“That’s too bad. But I can’t just let you walk either.” Dabi said. He raised his hand, before fire shot out. You moved out of the fire, narrowly avoiding it.

You mentally cursed. You had to get out of here, or else you’d be killed. You had known of the League and their offers. You had hoped they wouldn’t care about someone like you, but you were wrong.

Your eyes darted around the alleyway, looking for a way out. Unfortunately, there where no ladders and Dabi blocked one of the exits. You only choice was to turn tail and leave, hoping he wouldn’t be able to chase you into the crowd.

Dabi sent another blast of fire towards you. You rolled underneath it, before running towards the entrance of the alleyway. You felt the blast of fire before you saw it. You turned out of the way at the last second, hoping to avoid his blast. Unfortunately, you turned too sharply, causing you to fall to the ground.

You looked back to see Dabi right in front of you.

“Got you now.” He said, pointing his arm at you.

You brought your arms up to cover your face in a last stitch effort. As fire shot out of his hand, fire shot out of your hands and arms. Your flames stopped his from burning you alive. The force caused Dabi to fly back.

You pushed your shock asked and got up, using this opportunity to run away. You couldn’t worry about your secret getting out. You just had to get away.

~*~

After months of constant moving, you were sure that the League wasn’t pursuing you. You settled down on the other side of Japan in a busy city. You changed your name and everything.

You had just settled down when a knock came to your door. You figured it was your shady landlady coming by to ask for rent or something. You opened up the door.

“Ms. Mera, I told you that-“ You cut yourself off when you realized it wasn’t your landlady at the door, but Dabi. You moved to shut the door, but he grabbed it before you could.

“I don’t know who Ms. Mera is, but you and I have some unfinished business. Mind if I come in.” Dabi said, pushing the door open. Not much of a question.

He placed his hand on the small of your back and lead you into your apartment. He gestured to your couch. You sat down and watched as he took at seat on your coffee table.

“How can I help you?” You said.

“You so rudely denied my offer to join the League. So, I am with a different offer in mind.” Dabi said. Your eyebrows scrunched together.

“A-Another?” You said. Dabi nodded.

“I think you’ll find this more agreeable. I’m going to train you and your fire quirk, but only if you join the League afterwards.” Dabi said. You frowned.

“And if I disagree?” You asked. Dabi lit his hand.

“I don’t think you’ll need to worry about your security deposit.” He said.

You didn’t have a lot of options. You could refuse, which would only end in fire. The only reason you got away last time was because you had a secret up your sleeve. Your other option was to accept his offer. Eventually, you could get away. Plus, you might learn some secrets that would get you witness protection.

“I accept your offer.” You said, holding your hand out. Dabi smiled, putting out his hand before shaking yours.

~*~

You and Dabi decided to meet up in an abandoned warehouse on a shady side of town. Most people would ignore any fire coming from it, which was perfect. Neither of you wanted to get caught. You met up underneath the pale moonlight in the warehouse.

“So, I figure there must be a good reason you don’t use your quirk. I really don’t care why, but I need to know if you ever have used it before.” Dabi said. You shook your head. Anytime you had used it, it was an accident or a fluke. “Can you even summon it?” He asked. You shook your head.

“God. This is going to be a lonnnnggg night.” Dabi said, before asking towards you. You stepped back from him.

“Relax. If I wanted to fry you, I would’ve.” He said. You relaxed as he came towards you. He stood behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Listen, there’s a few things I’ve learned while on this miserable rock. First, all you have is your fire. Second, don’t you ever be afraid of your demons, but always keep them on a leash. It’s good to be a little afraid of your fire so you don’t hurt the people you want to keep alive, but you shouldn’t be afraid of it. It’s yours and it will always be yours. Tame it. Show the world why they should fear you.” Dabi said. You felt a shiver run down your spine. “Now, aim straight ahead. Feel it burning in your heart and release your fire.”

You took a deep breath, trying to coax fire out of you. After a few seconds of concentration, a flame shot foward. Unfortunately, grew much bigger than you meant for it too. You started to panic. Dabi ran his hands down your arms, gripping your wrists.

“Don’t. Be. Afraid.” He growled. You tried to control the flames and your shaking breath. Much to your surprise, you were able to control the flames. Maybe it was because Dabi was here or maybe it was because someone believed you, but that was the first time in a long time you felt like you could control your quirk.

“There you go, sweet thing. Now, focus on the flames. They’re yours. Make them dance.” Dabi said. You focused on slightly expanding the fire, before making it smaller, and then bigger again. You could feel Dabi grinning against your cheek.

“See? You’re a natural.” He said. “Does it hurt?”

“No... should it?” You asked.

“It doesn’t have to, but it could. Be careful. You have to learn your limits. You won’t be able to use fire as much as I can yet. You’re basically like a child in terms of quirk control. We’ll get you better though.” Dabi said. You frowned.

“Why are you being nice? And why do you want to teach me so bad?” You asked. Dabi pulled his hands away. You stopped producing flames and turned around to face him.

“I’m not being nice. I’m teaching you so that if anything happens to me, you’ll take down heroes for me. But don’t worry, doll. I’m not going anywhere yet. Not while Endeavor is still alive.” Dabi said, smiling.

You remembered being sixteen and smelling gasoline on your clothes. You assumed it meant something bad. It didn’t help that you always thought something related to your quirk would ruin you. As Dabi’s arms wrapped around you again, you realized that this would be the thing to ruin you.

#ugh dabi 😍😍#my problematic fave LMAO #sfw #sfw oneshot #mha x reader #mha x you #mha fanfiction #tw fire #tw violence #tw canon typical violence

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tamcitrus · 4 years

Text

Plans.

pairing | Akaashi Keiji x f!reader

words | ~1800

genre | aged up characters, romance

warnings | mentions of a fight

a/n: this is for July MPE <3

Prompt: “A” has had their first kiss with “B” planned out perfectly for weeks- and they aren't going to let anything ruin those plans.

Akaashi would never understand how he ended up like this. Nevertheless, he was there every morning observing you. Not that he was there because of you -he wasn't a stalker or something-, you were an interesting addition to his routine. Every since Kuroo and Bokuto opened their own gym, Kenma and himself were around a lot. Kenma never worked out, never, even though they were there everyday. Akaashi started working out a few times a week until he finally found a light routine he could repeat everyday without feeling tired or gaining too much muscle.

Kuroo and Bokuto had a room on the left end of the gym and they never really knew what to do with it.

"I have a friend," Kenma said. "Maybe she'll be interested."

And he didn't explain any further. But you were there with Kenma next morning, you were a dancer and you were looking for a place to use to teach. That's how you entered his life, through his friends. He knew since day one he was gonna end loving you, even though he didn't admit it when you asked. Bokuto told him that too after some time: she's perfect for you Akaashi!

So, he started planning. He had to know how to confess in the perfect way, to see you smile like you smiled at him every morning when you arrived to the gym, to kiss your cheek and see you blush before kissing your lips.

He liked to see you practice. He found a spot where he could work out and see you at the same time. You looked so confident and strong, but so delicate at the same time when you danced. He liked that duality.

"If you keep drooling like this you'll have to clean the floor, Akaashi-sensei," Kuroo's voice brought him back to reality. "Are you gonna confess? It's been almost a year since y/n started working here."

"I'm planning to. And I'm not drooling," he whispered and looked aside, not to you or his friend.

"It's her birthday soon, you should ask her out before that. I know many people who'd like to date her," Tetsurou sat by his side and observed you dancing too.

"I don't see the relation between her birthday and the other things."

"People will use her birthday to give her presents and shit, someone else might confess to her," he explained as he lifted a weight. "Come on, I thought you were the smart one of the group."

Hm. Well, maybe he could accelerate his plans a little. There was also the possibility that his friend was just messing with him.

"Akaashi-kun, do you have to go to your agency today?" you were at your little studio entrance, as beautiful as before a 30 minutes dance session. Keiji nodded. "Would you mind driving me near there?"

"No, not at all, y/n-san. We can leave whenever you like," he smiled. He would've said yes even if he hadn't go there.

"I'll take a shower then and we can go?" you asked and he just nodded again. You smiled back and disappeared in the women's locker room.

"You should just get in shower with her, no need to plan anything," Kenma whispered from the desk at the entrance.

Kuroo and Bokuto laughed and he just blushed on his way to take a shower (in the men's locker room, not with you).

"Kuroo told me it's your birthday soon," he commented once you were alone in his car.

"Yeah, I'm not a fan of my birthday. I was thinking maybe we can all go out for drinks or something. Does the famous writer drink?"

"I do, sometimes," he laughed. "Do you, famous dancer, drink?"

"A lot, I must say," you laughed too and slapped his shoulder playfully. "But you can't say that to my students."

"I would never," he stopped the car on the direction you told him you needed to be. There was a guy on the door waiting. He didn't see the awful look you gave to the guy.

"Wish me luck!" you said. "See you tomorrow, sensei," you kissed his cheek and got out the car.

He tried not to look at you or the guy waiting for you. Should he confess if you already had someone in your life? Would that ruin your friendship? He tried not to think about it and just kept driving to meet with his agent.

A week later, you were all at your favorite bar, waiting for the clock to hit 12 so you could toast for your birthday. If Akaashi didn't know you already had someone, this would be the day he'd confess. He would've bought you your favorite drink and took you apart for a second so you could talk. And then he'd say "I'm in love with you" and when you'd say you felt the same -his endless mental simulations only considered this option-, he'd kiss you. But it was odd, it was almost midnight and no sign of the guy he saw that time.

"Happy birthday, y/n!" Bokuto hugged you and then Kuroo and Kenma did the same.

"Happy birthday," Akaashi smiled and you hugged him.

And then, chaos.

The guy he saw that time walked to your table, screaming. He said you could forget about anything you left at his place, how dare you dumping him, you would be nothing without him and stuff. He was clearly drunk.

"And now you're here with four guys?! You…" he was about to insult you but Kuroo walked a step closer to him.

"I would walk my way out, friend," Bokuto said standing by Kuroo's side. Both males were easily a head taller than this guy.

You were about to cry, Kenma was holding your hand. The guy was deciding if it was worth it to fight with those two guys defending you.

"Get her out of here, text us where you are when you decide a place," Kenma ordered Akaashi.

Akaashi held your hand for the first time and gave you a reassuring squeeze. You got out through the back door and walked to Akaashi's car.

"Are you ok?" he asked as he started driving. "Is there anywhere you want to go?"

"Can we go to your place?" you said.

"Yeah, of course, y/n. Text the guys where we'll be," he said.

You texted Kenma and before you knew it you were on Akaashi's couch. He offered you a glass of wine.

"Oh, thanks. Just what I need," you smiled at him.

"How are you?" he held your hand again without thinking and when he was about to let you go you held him.

"Better. It was just a scare. I don't think he would fight Tetsurou or Koutaro."

"I wouldn't fight them," he agreed. "Sorry your night got ruined. He's… that guy is a jerk."

Akaashi was about to have a mind shutdown. He had this little voice telling him this is it, this is your chance and another one saying this is not the time, she's scared and hurted right now.

"What are you thinking?" you asked and moved closer to him. Your crossed legs over the couch were touching his thighs and you put your tangled hands on his lap. He took the glass from your other hand and put it aside.

"I was… uhm, I…" even though he worked with words he couldn't seem to find them now.

"You're cute when you're flustered," you said.

"I love you," he splurged out the words. "I had a plan to say all this but now it's ruined? I must sound so selfish, I'm so sorry, you just went through an awful moment and I'm…"

His verbiage was interrupted by your hand over his mouth. He blushed in a second by the contact.

"You talk a lot when you're nervous, has someone said that to you, Akaashi?"

He blinked.

"No, no one did," he answered.

"What was your plan? Do you want to tell me?"

He explained to you the endless times he thought it through. How it always ended with your first kiss.

"So… you like me?"

"I like you, y/n. But I already said that…"

"I like you too, Akaashi. I should've said it sooner."

He smiled. He's been thinking about it for so long. Maybe he should've talk sooner too.

"This is the part where you kiss me, right? I don't mind to wait but maybe you should do it before-"

His lips were over yours before you finished your thought. You moved even closer to him and took his face between your hands. He moved apart for a second to look at you and smiled before kissing you again.

"Well, finally!" Bokuto laughed from the door.

"Happy birthday!" Kuroo laughed too and walked directly to the kitchen of his friends' apartment.

Kenma didn't say anything but his face gave away his thoughts.

"I… sorry, Bokuto has a key too, I tend to forget it," Akaashi rolled his eyes.

"We brought snacks and more alcohol," Kenma finally spoke.

"That's awesome, thanks. Are you guys ok?" you asked.

Kuroo and Bokuto gave you a thumbs up.

"He didn't even try anything after you left," the white haired guy laughed.

"You should've told us he was bugging you, y/n," Kenma said.

"I haven't talked to him or been with him in forever, I just went to grab something from his sister last week and he was there. I didn't think he'd come to find me."

"It's not your fault, don't worry," Akaashi said and kissed your cheek. "I'll get you something to eat."

The night was fun even with the bad moment and Akaashi could follow his plan in the end. You had an amazing birthday and started a new relationship, a nicer and healthier one.

"I never thought I'd be dating a famous writer," you whispered to Akaashi.

"Shut up, you're more famous that I am."

"Kenma is definitely more famous than us," you laughed.

You were getting ready to go to the opening night of a movie based on Akaashi's newest book.

"Can we just leave?" Kenma was getting impatient.

"We can't leave the bodyguards behind," you laughed.

Kenma walked to the room where both guys were getting ready.

"I can't believe you're taking longer than y/n to get ready. Just come out, no one will be looking at you!"

Akaashi laughed at his friend rage to his partners.

"How did the three ended dating? Explain it to me, please Keiji."

"It was Kuroo and Bokuto first and Kenma went to live with them and they ended being three. I don't know the specifics. I thought you did," your boyfriend said.

"Oh no, Kenma just came one day and said 'these are my boyfriends' and I was like hey I'm happy for you, do you happen to have another good looking guy for me?"

"And I did," Kenma was back, Tetsurou and Koutaro followed him close.

"You should write about them," you said. "It'll be a best seller."

"You'd have to pay for our story," Kuroo said.

"I'll think about it," Akaashi laughed.

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skepticbeliever-bookclub · 4 years

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Hi, I have really tough time recently and I need smth what can bright my day a little. Can you recommend me the fluffiest fluff you've ever read? 🥺🥺

Oh darling, we’re sorry you’re having a tough time. The call for fluff went out to the bookclub and we have gathered up several options for you. We hope these help you feel a bit better <3

(Under the cut ‘cause there’s a bunch!)

Where the Ghoul Boys & The Jackalopes Play - drunkkenobi | E, 23k, complete

“I will do no such thing,” Shane said, slapping his scarf down on his own bed. “Ryan, you have brought diseased rabbits into the place where we’re supposed to sleep tonight. And now you’re cuddling them?!”

“I’m trying to warm them up! And they’re not rabbits, they’re-,”

“Stop, don’t say it.”

“Jackalopes,” Ryan finished before looking down at them. “Aren’t you guys? With your little antlers?”

“Yes, sir.”

Or: the boys find some talking baby jackalopes and cute shenanigans ensue.

what’s the point of this again? - touchinghearts | T, 9.3k, complete

When Ryan invites Shane back for a holiday week to meet his family during a big reunion, it doesn’t even occur to Shane that it could be a big deal.

tousled and undone - abovetheruins | T, 2.3k, complete

Shane’s a good person. He does his taxes, he doesn’t litter, he uses his goddamn blinkers. He’s a decent human being.

So he’d really like to know why the universe keeps fucking him over.

It’s No Good Unless It Grows - allredpen | M, 5.9k, complete

“I mean, you’re the one who told Sean we’d be taking a nap together.”

God, his heart was hammering in his chest, and he ached to roll over, away from Shane’s scrutiny, away from that physical presence looming tall over his own bed.

Shane laughed softly, but he had inched forward, his knees bent and resting on the edge of the mattress.

“Did I?” He asked, leaning forward to place his palms on the mattress. “I guess I did. Would you believe me if I told you it was the pie madness talking?”

In which Shane leads a horse to water, but Ryan makes it drink.

Weathering Sweater Weather - MercurySkies | M, 3.6k, complete

‘The sweater fits Ryan reasonably well, looser and tighter in places where it isn’t on Shane. Shane is lengthier in the arms and chest where Ryan is... girthier and his strange choice in mental terminology leaves him thinking about what else might be girthier on Ryan. Christ it’s cold and Shane needs the blood in his extremities but not that extremity and balls deep in muddy Virginian brush screeching at the top of your lungs is not the right time to be thinking about your friend’s dick.’

Prompt fill for The Buzzfeed Creations Challenge, Cosy sweaters!

i’ll be home with you - bodhirookes | M, 6k, complete

“Why the fuck do you even like rain?” Shane blurts. “You lived in California up until two years ago. Don’t you constantly crave the heat and all that Bella-Swan-loves-Phoenix-Arizona shit?”

Ryan snorts and flings his boxers at Shane’s face. “That’s why I love the rain, dumbass. It rains, like, once a year in the part of California that I lived in, and only for a short while. I never got to see or feel rain before I moved out here.”

“I still don't really get why you like it so much, though. It’s cold and… wet.”

“Water isn’t wet.”

“I’m not starting this conversation with you again.”

Or, Ryan has a strange affinity for rainy weather. Shane has some things to say about it.

Intimacy on the Infinitesimal Scale - 19_empty_vacancies | G, 2.7k, complete

There are little things in any relationship, regardless of its form, which speak of close intimacy and trust. It lays in the small things. Whispered secrets at 3am on haunted floors and oh look, you have a new freckle and how did you even notice that man it’s tiny. Little things which can mean the world for the singular in the know

imagine me and you (i do) - loveontherocks | M, 14k, complete

Ryan works at a pet shop down the street from Shane's apartment building, and Shane finds himself constantly repeating that's he's not a dog-person.

Studies show, he's a liar.

Good Like Sunkist - MercurySkies | E, 9.7k, complete

'He’s being cock blocked by Marky Mark.'

This is Buzzfeed, there’s hardly a niche, trend or ‘relatable’ topic some frazzled video producer hasn’t jammed their shaking and sweaty hands into. An innocuous video turned practical joke bruises Shane's ego, but he gets a little more than he bargained for when he finally takes Ryan's word for it that 90's Mark Wahlberg really isn't his type.

lightning in a bottle - LexTheMoose | G, 1.8k, complete

Love is slow-dancing on the balcony of a house party at 11 PM.

Coffee - Fraudgara | T, 2.6k, complete

Word Prompt: Coffee / Genre Prompt: Fluff / "Sometimes Shane taps a set of fingers against his hip to get him to move; there’s no time for words when you’re clocking eight orders every five minutes between 7 and 10 A.M even if the touch lingers and Ryan feels the touch burn until the end of his shift."

Have You Tried Turning It Off and On Again? - MercurySkies | T, 5.3k, complete

Well no one’s perfect, he thinks as he stands upright wires in hand. Ryan’s gaze snaps, somewhat startled, to Shane’s hand and he watches in amusement as realisation dawns. Ryan flushes a lovely shade of red and Shane assumes that it’s only fair he be lacking in the common sense department considering he has the face of an angel and a physique that screams he could bench press Shane’s entire form.

One I.T guy, three office chair jousts and a whole lot of love.

Lost a fic? We can help. Send an ask!

#shyan #skeptic believer #fic search #fic found #sbbookclub #fluff #long fic

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yusuke-of-valla · 3 years

Text

like rats fleeing a sinking ship, pt. 9

Whumptober Day 20: Toto I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore

Prompt: Lost

TW: Panic attacks

<-Previous Next->

AO3

The first thing Futaba realizes when she drifts into consciousness is how cold she is.

“Sojiro, did you forget to pay the heating bill?” Futaba asks, reaching out to pull her blanket tighter.

Instead of her comforter, she smacks her hand against old rotting wood. Futaba’s eyes snap open, and she realizes she’s not in her room.

It all comes back to her.

The announcement, the crash, Sojiro.

Futaba must have passed out against this tree while hiding from the search party.

Futaba starts breathing heavily. She has no idea where she is, she has not idea where she’s supposed to go, she’s in the woods alone and covered in scrapes and bruises and she is so, so hungry.

Tears in her eyes, Futaba tries to go through the breathing exercises Makoto taught her. It takes a few tries to get her breath to stop hitching and everything to even out, but eventually Futaba manages to calm herself down. She pokes her head out above the tree. There’s no signs of people, and she’s about to try and get up, when a twig snaps behind her.

If she were Oracle, this wouldn’t be a problem. Nothing would be able to hide from her. But she isn’t Oracle right now, she’s just Futaba and all she has are her instincts screaming at her to get out of here.

Futaba scrambles over the log, just as she hears shouting behind her.

“Hey, wait up!”

Futaba pumps her legs even harder. She remembers a game like this where the character was being chased by a monster and zigzagged through the woods to get it off his trail, so that’s what she does.

Futaba moves back and forth, thoroughly confusing herself and thus hopefully confusing her pursuer as well.

Suddenly she trips over a rock and tumbles into a bush. Bites her cheek to keep from crying out and presses herself as close to the ground as possible, hoping the mud in her hair and jacket will work as camouflage.

She holds her breath when she hears the footsteps getting nearer, and doesn’t let it out until they’ve faded away completely. Futaba gives it a few more minutes to be sure that her pursuers are gone, then gets up and starts in the opposite direction.

She walks for… well it feels like an hour but it’s probably closer to fifteen minutes, shivering when something rustles in the bushes beside her.

Futaba only has time to grab a large stick before the thing in the bushes jumps out. Her intention is to bat it away with the stick, but Futaba just falls over.

She sits up to see a white shiba inu staring at her.

“G-get away!” Futaba says, swinging the stick. To her surprise, the dog listens sitting back. The dog actually looks kinda concerned.

They stare at each other for a while, before Futaba slowly lowers her stick. “You don’t work for the police do you?”

The dog shakes his head, and looks at the stick, as if asking permission to come closer.

“Well, ok if you’re not gonna make any noise, I guess you can come over,” Futaba says, putting the stick down. The dog approaches her slowly, and starts to lick her face. “Ah, don’t do that I’m dirty. You’ll get sick,” Futaba says, gingerly petting him.

Oh wow, this dog is soft and warm. Futaba moves closer to scratch him under the chin.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Futaba says, relaxing a bit.

“Koromaru?” A voice calls. Futaba stops petting the dog and grabs her stick, turning around to point it at the newcomer. The boy doesn’t look that much older than her.

“Oh, you’re Sakura-san right?”

“No,” Futaba says, thinking quickly. “I was… camping! With my parents, but I got lost.”

The boy smiles. “No, you don’t have to lie. It’s fine, I know you’re a Phantom Thief.”

“What’s a Phantom Thief?” Futaba says. “My parents and I have been camping out here for a long time so we’ve missed a lot of news.”

“Seriously, it’s fine. I promise I’m not going to turn you in. Koromaru seems to like you, and he’d never forgive me if I let that happen,” the boy says, throwing a look at the dog, who is by Futaba’s leg.

“You can say that, but how can I trust you?” Futaba asks, looking for an opening to make a break for it. This boy doesn’t look much older than her, but he’s certainly taller than her and would probably catch her if she ran.

“Ok how about this.” The boy takes out a gun, and Futaba stumbles backwards. Instead of pointing it at her, though he points it towards his own head and pulls the trigger.

Instead of blood, blue light fills the woods and Futaba stares up at what is undoubtedly a Persona.

“H-how are you doing that in the real world?” Futaba gasps, barely registering the stick falling out of her hands.

The boy grins. “I’ve had a lot of practice. Look, my name’s Ken Amada, and my friends and I are all Persona users like you, and we want to help.”

Futaba gathers herself. “Just because you have a Persona doesn’t automatically mean you’re trustworthy.”

Amada’s smile drops. “I guess not. But, I promise we want to help. We investigate things related to Shadows and Personas but Shido’s been getting in our way for over a year now. We’re on the same side.”

Maybe it’s the exhaustion, but something in Futaba tells her she can trust him, almost as if the sight of another Persona has stirred Prometheus within her.

“And who are you and you’re friends?” Futaba asks.

“We’re called the Shadow Operatives.”

That name rings a bell, and Futaba remembers seeing them mentioned in her research into Cognitive Psience and when they hacked Sae’s computer.

“Ok.” Futaba says. “I-I’ll go with you. B-but if you try anything, I won’t hold back! I am a Phantom Thief, and you don’t want to be my enemy.” To prove her point, Futaba picks up her stick again.

Futaba follows Amada and Koromaru until they arrive at a car by the road. Amada waves to the driver then opens the door for Futaba to get in. She does so, and Koromaru sits on her lap. Amada makes a call, and soon three other people arrive.

A gorgeous woman with voluminous red hair gets into the back with her, followed by Amada. A stern looking man in a suit gets into the front, and soon they’re on the road.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” the man in the front says, looking at her in the rearview mirror. “I’m Detective Kurosawa. Sojiro called me for help after you left Tokyo.”

“Oh, really?” Futaba asks, still gripping her stick. She’s getting wood and dirt all over this fancy car, but she doesn’t care.

Kurosawa nods. “I used to work with him, and your mother.”

Futaba’s eyes widen. “Seriously? You know my mom?”

“Yes, you’re a lot like her,” Kurosawa says. Futaba blushes, and turns to the woman in the back seat with her.

“And you are?”

The woman smiles, and reaches out her hand. “My name is Mitsuru Kirijo,” she says as Futaba shakes her hand. “Ken has already told you about the Shadow Operatives, no?” the woman asks.

“Yeah.”

“We’re an organization that looks into threats from shadow activity. As I’m sure you can guess, that means we get involved a lot with Cognitive Psience, and we were following your mother’s work before she passed away.” Kirijo offers Futaba a sad smile, but Futaba waves her off. “Our group has been trying to look into the mental shutdown incidents for a long time now, but at every level we’ve been blocked by Masayoshi Shido. We know you aren’t involved with them because the Phantom Thieves only recently became active, so we were hoping you would be able to help.”

“What do you want my help for?” Futaba asks.

“We’d like you to tell us everything you know about the mental shutdowns and Shido.”

Futaba looks between Kirijo, Amada, and Koromaru in her lap. “Fine.”

She tells them about her mother, about how the Phantom Thieves helped her, about Shido and Akechi and how they were set up. When she finishes, Kirijo has a serious expression on her face, and Amada looks like he wants march into the Diet building and smack Shido himself.

“We’re here.” Kurosawa announces as they pull up next to a fancy looking building.

Kirijo leads Futaba into the building, nodding at the receptionist, and finally they arrive in what looks like a living area.

“You’ve been through a lot, Sakura. Why don’t you get some rest,” Kirijo says. Futaba wants to argue, insist she’s fine but even she can feel how sluggish she is. The last time she slept in two days was in the woods in the freezing cold, and the adrenaline that had been keeping her going for the last few hours is starting to wear off. Futaba finds a guest room, kicks off her boots and passes out before her head even touches the pillow.

-_-_-

“... been asleep for how long?”

“Can you blame her, she’s exhausted. The doctor said she should wake up soon.”

Futaba opens her eyes and sees two people talking just outside the open door to her room. One’s a man with a cross necklace, and the other is…

“Excuse me, are you Yukari Takeba?” Futaba blurts out. The two people turn in surprise, then the man laughs.

“Let me guess, you’re a fan of Featherman?” he asks.

“Obviously.”

The Yukari Takeba elbows the man, then turns to Futaba. “Yes, I’m Yukari Takeba, and this is Junpei Iori. Are you feeling alright? You’ve been asleep for three days.”

“That’s not really weird for me,” Futaba says, throwing off the covers. Her discarded jacket and boots have been cleaned, though the clothes she fell asleep in are still pristine. Her stick is also propped up next to her boots, and that makes Futaba happier than she would have expected.

“Go get yourself cleaned off, and then you can meet us in the meeting area.” Iori says.

“I will, thanks.”

Futaba has what is probably the best shower in her entire life, and puts on the clothes that have been laid out for her. The blouse is a bit nicer than Futaba is used to and she has to roll up the pants, but they’re comfortable and smell nice so she walks into the meeting room feeling confident and refreshed.

When she gets there, she sees the Shadow Operatives she’s already met, along with a woman with light blue hair, a blonde woman who Futaba quickly realizes is actually a robot, and a man with silver hair.

“Futaba, you’re just in time!” Iori says when he sees her enter. “You’ve already met pretty much everyone here, but this is Aigis, Akihiko Sanada, and Dr. Fuuka Yamagishi.”

The blue haired woman smiles. “I’m not quite a doctor yet, I still need to finish my dissertation.”

“Eh, you’re practically there already,” Iori says.

“I-It’s nice to meet you all.” Unfortunately, no amount of showering is going to help her when she knows everyone in the room is staring at her, but Futaba tries to keep her calm. “So, you guys said we might be able to help each other?”

“That’s right.” Kirijo says, standing up.

“Well then, can you help me figure out what happened to Sojiro?” Futaba asks. “H-he’s probably worried about me.”

Yukari Fucking Takeba’s face falls. “Sojiro Sakura has been arrested.”

Futaba pales. “What are they doing to him?” She remembers going to see Akira after his little stint in a police station. He’d been asleep and Morgana had warned her not to wake him, but even from the other side of the attic, Futaba could tell he’d been absolutely riddled with bruises and his breathing sounded labored.

And that was after less than a day. Who knew what they were doing to Sojiro, all because he decided to help her. He’d warned them. He’d suspected Shido and didn’t tell her because he thought they’d go after him and get themselves killed and now it’s actually Sojiro who’s going to end up dead.

“Futaba!” A voice pierces through her thoughts. Futaba blinks and realizes Iori is kneeling next to her. “Just breathe ok. In and out.”

Futaba follows his instructions and lets herself be guided to the couch. The blonde robot woman— Aigis? It was Aigis, right?— offers her a glass of water that Futaba takes.

“Listen, Sojiro’s going to be fine.” Iori says.

“We know that there’s plans for him to go on trial, there’s going to be an announcement tonight,” Aigis says.

“It’ll be public, I doubt they’ll do too much to him before then,” Kirijo says.

“But after that, they’ll throw him in prison,” Futaba says. “Or make him disappear or-”

“We won’t let that happen,” Kirijo says. “We will do everything in our power to make sure your father is alright. You have my word.”

Futaba drinks her glass of water and doesn’t say anything.

“We need to change Shido’s heart.,” Futaba says. “Then he’ll admit to everything and our names will be cleared.”

“What would you need to do that?” Sanada asks.

“Ok, well then we need to get back to Tokyo and find my friends,” Futaba says.

Kirijo frowns. “That will be difficult. Apparently the police force is watching all the entry points into Tokyo, and we’ve all been blacklisted.”

“There has to be something .” Futaba insists.

“Actually. I have an idea,” Yamagishi says, quietly. All eyes in the room turn to her. “Sakura-chan, your Persona is suited towards navigation, right?”

Futaba blinks. “Yeah, why?”

“Mine is too, and navigators get stronger when they use their abilities in tandem. There’s a device we can use to amplify the power of support personas. If we used that, and had Mitsuru and Rise to help, we might be able to generate enough of a range to reach Tokyo. It wouldn’t be amazing but at least you could talk to your friends or maybe keep track of enemy weaknesses.”

“Wouldn’t we still need access to that… uh Metaverse you told us about?” Sanada asks.

“I can do that,” Futaba says. “I-” she reaches into her pocket, and then remembers she lost her phone. “Ok… Uh, I’ll need a laptop or something. I have backdoors into all of my friend’s phones. And Akechi’s, I guess. I can hack into their phones and copy it off of one theirs, and then we can boot up the app and run it here.”

Sanada and Kirijo share a look. “Think it’ll work?” Sanada asks.

“It’s possible,” Mitsuru says. “It would be rather draining but-”

“We have to try .” Futaba insists. “Please, Sojiro-”

“We understand,” The Actual Yukari Takeba says. “We’ll help you in any way we can.”

The Shadow Ops continue the conversation and say a few things, Futaba doesn’t pay attention to. She looks around the room for a laptop or something to get on line.

They insist Futaba eat food and rest a bit before letting her at a computer. It’s simple enough to hack into Akechi’s phone through the backdoor she left earlier and download the MetaNav onto the computer.

What’s less fun is the official announcement that night that Sae’s been arrested too and would stand trial with Sojiro.

Futaba doesn’t sleep that night. She sits up and wonders what the hell could have happened if Sae’s been caught. And where Makoto is, until finally she’s had enough of being in her own head.

Instead Futaba hacks into the Shadow Operatives files, and gets as much dirt on them as she can. She finds the schematics for the amplifier Yamagishi was talking about and starts taking notes.

The next morning, Futaba goes to the living area and sees Yukari “Feather Pink Herself” Takeba.

“Do you know where Mitsuru is? I’ve been looking through the schematics on the amplifier and I think I’ve figured out some ways to make it stronger.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Nah, but it’s fine.” Futaba says. While she’s here, she might as well get something to drink. She wants coffee, but that makes her think about Sojiro too much, so she grabs a hot chocolate packet and some marshmallows out of the counter.

Yukari Takeba, Seriously It’s Really Her, sits down on the counter across the table. “Is it alright if I call you Futaba-chan?”

Futaba nearly chokes on the marshmallows she’d been stuffing into her mouth. “I mean, yeah sure, if you want. That’d be cool.”

“Listen, Futaba-chan,” Yukari “Holy Shit She’s Using My Name” Takeba says. “I know you’re worried about your friends, but you can’t spread yourself too thin. You’re just doing yourself a disservice by wearing yourself out.”

“I did everyone a disservice by running away,” Futaba mutters.

“You’re not, though. You’re safe, and I’m sure your friends would be happy to know that at least. And we will get you out of this mess.”

“Yeah, you need our help or whatever and-”

“We also wanted to make sure as many of you were as ok as we possibly could. You’re kids-”

“Are you saying we can’t handle this?” Futaba snaps.

“Not at all. I’d be a hypocrite if I did too, considering what we got up to at your age. But that means you still deserve to feel safe and not have to watch your backs, especially since you were almost certainly innocent. I’m sorry you feel like you have to push yourself this much, but let me tell you, you don’t. Things will be fine, better even, if you let yourself relax and recover.”

Futaba stares at her drink, then back at Takeba. Then she feels the tears start.

“I just… I can barely do anything, and-”

Futaba doesn’t realize Takeba’s walked over to her until Futaba feels arms wrap around her. “You’re stronger than you think. I promise. You can do this, your friends can do this, and everything will be fine.”

Futaba lets herself cry into Takeba’s shoulder for a long time, all the fear and worry of the situation finally catching up with her.

When Futaba’s all cried out, she pulls away. “Thanks, Takeba-san.” Futaba says.

“You can call me Yukari. You’re an honorary Shadow Operative now, after all.”

“Really?”

“Oh, definitely.” Ta- Yukari straightens and pulls out a mug of her own. “Now, do you want sprinkles on your hot chocolate?”

After that, Futaba takes Yukari’s advice and gets some sleep, then works with Kirijo and Yamagishi on her device.

Oh she also meets Rise God Damn Kujikawa, who has a Persona, which is insane.

The day after her conversation with Yukari in the kitchen, Futaba opens her computer and runs the MetaNav, inputting the coordinates for Shido’s ship. This won’t do anything if no one’s there, but hopefully they can figure out something.

Yamagishi, Kirijo, and Seriously Is That Actually Rise Kujikawa, summon their Personas, and Futaba does the same, pleasantly surprised to feel Prometheus, even if she can’t manage to fully bring him into reality like the others.

“Alright, let’s start.” Futaba reaches out, feeling around Shido’s ship. It’s fuzzier than usual, but her breath hitches as she gets a familiar ping from Prometheus.

“I’ve got a reading.”

#yes i am still doing the whumptober prompts it's what i themed most of the chapters around #alto writes #on the run au #futaba sakura #mitsuru kirijo #yuakri takeba #junpei iori #whumptober2020 #no.20 #wordcount: 2500-3000 #panic attack tw #persona 5

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