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onyourhyuck · 1 year

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Do I Wanna Know? | J.JH

— Prologue: “Maybe i’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new.”

— Summary: You and Jaehyun both agreed that there will be no feelings involved. But Jung Jaehyun ended up falling for you, and now you’re being distant with him.

— Genre: Friends with benefits > To lovers. Slightly angsty. Artstudent!jaehyun x politicstuddnt!y/n. Romance. Jaehyun is this indie artist student, Y/n is giving Rory from Gilmore.

— Notes: Do I Wanna Know - Artic Monkeys.

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You and Jaehyun both agreed that there will be no feelings involved, this carried on for eight months. You would fool around sometimes before class, sometimes you’re fooling around with him drunk. The whole point of this arrangement was to make sure you both get laid. As an University student you can’t exactly get a relationship and make sure you can be in that relationship while being a future lawyer. You see it’s quite difficult to even begin a forming attachment. Which is why one day in January, you met Jung Jaehyun.

Jung Jaehyun isn’t your typical pretty face. Sure, he’s got the looks and the body. He is devilishly handsome. People often gossip about his rich family in England. The only thing people saw in him were his appearance, his money and his family. Nothing else but you were different to him.

You actually ended up getting to know Jaehyun. Your classes were the opposite but you’ve met on a night out through a mutual friend and ever since then you have been talking whenever you saw each other on campuses. Somehow you’ve never ran into him before but now meeting him on that night out, you keep seeing him everywhere.

You are the opposite to each other. He prefers apple juice and you prefer the classical OJ juice straight out the fridge cold and iced. It somehow amazes you how well you click despite being so different. He hates politics and you love them, he could hear you talk about politics and somehow it makes him interested. But if he heard it on the news or whatever from someone else he’d want to blow his brains out and make sure to never live the day again.

People only saw Jaehyun from what they know on the outside but the outside never amazed you. When you saw how sensitive and precious Jaehyun was you couldn’t help but think he’s pretty cute. Whenever he draws he used his emotions to draw. You can tell he’s very intact with them, you somehow become envious of how much emotion he can create and draw on a blank piece of canvas in a hour.

You can barely put out an emotion just by thinking about it but you suppose it’s because in Politics you’re not meant to lead with emotion you’re meant to be using logic. Which is why your emotions department is looking a bit bleak. Nonetheless Jaehyun’s art had a way of moving your heart.

He admires the way you lead people by protesting outside of the campus. You told him you like protesting for problems that haven’t been spoken out publicly because many corrupted politicians like to gain something out of the work. He would come and see you do your speeches. He would be cheering you. Jaehyun even let you borrow is laptop so you could finish your assessment when yours ran out in middle of your lecture class, so you left to grab a charger from your dorm only to not have it there.

He remembers the day you came inside his art class crying because you were freaking out so much over this assignment and you hated how your laptop shut down suddenly. He literally dragged you to his dormitory just to get you his laptop. You will forever remember how much he cared for you passing your assignments. Even though he was busy needing to finish his portrait exam. He still chose to help you.

The more you two were entangled in each others lives the harder it was to pull away and eventually one day, you both mutually ended up in each others beds. Multiple times for over eight months you were both together agreeing that no sort of feelings will be involved and that this was just for the sake of your hard working subjects.

But the more Jaehyun had a taste of you he couldn’t stop thinking about taking another taste of you, and then his dreams are all about you. He wasn’t sure what you were feeling. In fact he didn’t wanna know what you were feeling because you seemed so in the moment but by the next day you were acting like you weren’t kissing him so passionately like you were in love. Maybe he read into it wrong.

Maybe he was wrong that he could do a friends with benefits with you because he can’t. He failed the first rule which is, don’t fall for you.

You knew something was off about Jaehyun the minute he was kissing you differently one night. You knew something was definitely not right when he moaned your name so softly, as if he were treating you like you were his girlfriend, his lover, with an intention to make love to you. Not to fuck you, but make love to you. You couldn’t handle it and somehow when you questioned it, Jaehyun couldn’t look you in he eyes straight.

You just knew from that moment of silence from your friend that he was no longer just a friend, he was someone who was wanting more.

And you couldn’t handle it. You broke it off that night and since then you and Jaehyun haven’t been as communicative as you were before. You don’t come over to each other’s classes anymore. Your mutual friends don’t see you guys speaking anymore. Your families don’t hear you speak about you and Jaehyun anymore they could only wonder what’s been happening behind the scenes. You and Jaehyun, have stopped being together.

But somehow you still saw each other whenever you guys went. It was like a trick in the matrix to you. You thought if you pull away you’d be free from Jung Jaehyun. But the more you walk away the further he walks forward and somehow you guys meet paths so many times again and again.

You saw him at the bowling centre when you went with a guy friend, Doyoung, from your politics major class.

You saw Jaehyun with your other mutual friend you both share at the bowling centre, with Johnny Suh, and you were both blown away.

What are the chances? None of you had a way of knowing where the other one is so how come you keep on running into each other.

Then your mutual friend Johnny decided it’s a great idea to merge both groups together because apparently, Doyoung and him go back together through high school. Somehow you wanted to disappear from the face of this earth knowing that your friend and Johnny were pretty good senior and junior throughout their high school years which left you and Jaehyun awkwardly confused and wondering what about you two?

It didn’t change the fact that Doyoung and you had a great time together. Smiling and laughing at god knows what. You were speaking to Johnny too, Jaehyun felt jealous with the way Doyoung can casually put his hand around you or tap your shoulder.

It lead him to wondering, ‘Do I Wanna Know if you miss me too?’

‘Do I Wanna if you ever wanna go back to the times when we were together like this too?’

These questions overpopulated his busy mind and you weren’t even aware of it how much he’s been feeling grey and blue without you. He couldn’t draw anything but you and somehow all his professors were worried with the amount of drawings of you were crowding the classroom storage now.

Jaehyun went through so many breaks up which is bizarre to me considering he handled them so well but with you this felt so much worse than a breakup to him and he couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t put a finger on it wondering why and what is making this worse and it’s probably because it’s you. You’re special and he grew attached to you.

When Doyoung and Johnny left you behind to grab popcorn and a few drinks for you guys, it leaves you and Jaehyun sitting next to each other in tense silence wondering when they will come back. It felt like two people waiting for their parents to come and pick them up from school, it felt exactly like that.

You fiddle with your thumbs, pushing away your feelings so you could try and speak to him. “So Johnny wanted to go bowling?” You trail to the boy next to you who had the gloomiest expression ever you couldn’t even imagine what Jaehyun must be feeling.

For you sure, you can handle seeing Jaehyun. But for Jaehyun it felt like two worlds colliding and he doesn’t want them to. It’s making his open wound more wide and open, it’s going to bleed him out if he keeps seeing your beautiful face, hearing your wonderful voice that keeps making his heart all soft and warm. His scars only get more painful when he knows you and him are no longer what you used fo be.

He turns at you somehow his eyes finding the time to look appreciating your eyes finding a wanderlust beauty in them and he couldn’t look away from them. “Mhm, Johnny called me up to go bowling suddenly.” He says biting the bottom lip as he looks away. “And your friend over there? I remember seeing him in your class once.”

“Ah Doyoung? Yeah. He wanted to go bowling suddenly too and we planned to go here.” You nod humming.

You felt your hands become a whole waterfall with the amount of sweat they produce. You and Jaehyun never had an awkward moment before but now it’s just only awkward moments you can’t imagine how hard it must be for the audience watching this, aka your friends, who probably know something is freaking up with you both.

Jaehyun suddenly broke the third wall, letting his emotions carry him throughout his entire existence. “Do you miss me?” ‘Do I Wanna know…’ he trails into his palms thinking hard, if he even wants to know the truth.

You couldn’t lie but the minute he asked you, you were screaming yes instantly. Without a doubt you miss him, of course you do. You were super close and before then you spend the days together for so long. Eight months isn’t a small number of times. You spend a long term time being friends with Jaehyun and halfway through that your bodies were more than friends too.

It’s impossible not to miss Jung Jaehyun. He was a part of you.

“Jaehyun…” You trail stopping yourself. Your heart was beating so fast it’s made you nearly stutter out. Jaehyun faces you seriously and you glance back shortly.

“Of course I miss you. It’s just…” you pause again, holding your teeth to the bridge of your mouth.

“I miss you, a lot Y/n. I cant sleep and eat without you and I don’t know if I’m the only one going crazy here but why can’t you be with me? Has it never crossed your mind?” He softly retorts at you putting all sorts of questions out there he needed answers for, but you yourself didn’t know how to answer them.

What your respond to those were a complete unknown world mystery. You weren’t sure what to do because all you were feeling was blush crawling on your face, you felt your body going into a fighting mode, or maybe those were the butterflies? You weren’t even sure if this was love or if this was your body telling you to run, make a run for it.

“Jaehyun…we are friends. We can’t be anything more than that. You know this from the start.”

Jaehyun knew it from the start but that never stopped him from developing feelings for you nonetheless that rule was the dumbest rule he has ever heard and the more he keeps hearing you talk about it the more his feelings were becoming progressively stronger for worse or for better.

“Why don’t you find someone new Hm?” You smile at him trying to light up the situation.

Every political issue has a problem logically it can be solved by another situation. You thought about this through political eye point of view so if Jaehyun likes you, a way to discard those feelings is if he meets another girl. Yes, exactly that.

You thought you found a loophole but Jaehyun found it incredibly difficult and mean to process. He found it almost impossible and somehow you, the one he loves, being the one to address him a solution to getting over you made his blood boil a little.

“Maybe i’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new.” He gnaws beneath his breath pushing himself off the seat and suddenly, grabbing his bags.

You look at him with widen eyes. “Hey— where are you going Jaehyun?”

You couldn’t believe it but he looked pretty angry with you right now and you wondered maybe you weren’t going with the good approach. The moment he left the building your two friends come back with the food completely shocked by seeing only you left. Johnny squints his eyes at Jaehyun’s seat helplessly.

“Jaehyun looks a little different here.” He says lightly. “Where’d he go Y/n?”

You look down murmuring. “He left.”

Doyoung chokes on his cola looking over at Jaehyun. You were busy looking down at your hands thinking this through because you must’ve said something mean to truly upset him and you couldn’t help but think maybe you’re the one in the wrong here. Your two friends were whispering in the air to one another, near-yelling whispers.

Doyoung points at Johnny miming all sorts of actions to the older guy. “You said this bowling situation would bring them back to normal.” He clenched his jaw speaking harshly and quietly in front.

Johnny looks back helplessly. He and Doyoung met up together one night planning this day together so that it would look like a little coincidence that they would meet up at this bowling public area. It felt like a genius plan but someone had to make sure it didn’t work.

You grab your head pulling on your hair feeling that you were too harsh on him. You felt awful.

“I’m awful. I’m an awful person.” You bite on your bottom lip in worry. You’re starting to realise how much of a jerk you’ve been to Jaehyun.

The two boys join your side to comfort you knowing that you probably weren’t aware how to deal with whatever situation you’ve been through together. You sit in your seat trembling just by the thought of Jaehyun truly walking out of your life it made you rethink things. You’ve not been grateful enough for him. Johnny taps your shoulders, to go and show comfort for you.

But no matter what your friends say all your body was telling you to do was go find Jaehyun and apologise on your knees, just go and find him before it’s too late because he was an one in a life time person you’ll ever meet who actually loves you so much he would rather suffer than have you suffer.

“What did you say to him?” Doyoung spoke out causing you to murmur your response in shame.

“I told him to find and look for someone new. So he could get over me quickly.” I flatly said.

Johnny clears his throat when Doyoung looks at Johnny glaring. He knew he shouldn’t of trusted Johnny with this bowling idea.

“I- maybe you weren’t thinking with your heart when you said that, were you?” Johnny slants looking at you and you look back at him.

“Yeah. I thought that… if politics had a solution to everything maybe this did too. The logical route I guess.”

Doyoung never wanted to slap someone so much beforehand but mentally told himself you were built different and perhaps he should go the softer scolding method to way you out.

“Y/n love isn’t politics. Love is something your heart desires not what your brain wants you to do and believe.” Doyoung told you shaking his head.

You widen your eyes realising that Doyoung and Johnny was right. You kept on thinking about Jaehyun logically when you broke it off you kept on thinking that if you put your distance your relationship will be forgotten or something, but in reality your heart never wanted that.

Your heart always wanted Jaehyun. When you and Jaehyun kiss your heart was the only thing beating not your freaking brain.

You clench your hands together suddenly running out and Doyoung looks at Johnny side slanting.

“I bet twenty won that Y/n will make the first move.” Doyoung smirks.

Johnny pull out thirty won in his hand. “I bet thirty that Jaehyun will do the first move.”

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Wondering endlessly where on earth could Jaehyun be you were chasing the one you were avoiding all this time so stupidly because you were afraid, all because of one single emotion called fear took control over you. In reality you were busy being in denial all in your head thinking about this like it were some freaking political campaign.

Jaehyun wasn’t some protest. He wasn’t an exam you needed to study for. He wasn’t a thing you should’ve been avoiding in all along where in fact you should’ve been here, in front of him, holding him, speaking to him.

Being true to him.

But no you didn’t do that. You were too stupid to.

Meanwhile Jaehyun was spending his precious time mopping about the horrible incident between your fall out he was spending his time wondering if this feeling goes both way. He always chose you. He would always wanna know, if you ever returned his unknowingly emotions he feels for you; the feelings he held dear to his poor ole’ heart for you. He wanna know if you want to be the one to wake up to his side every morning, he wanna know if you ever thought about calling him up, he wanna know if you would have drinks with him like the old times.

He would want to know if you, were willing to be his.

Now you’re the one crawling back to him.

You have iron between your teeth everytime you play it on repeat how shameless you were hurting your friend and his feelings, the guy you all along were falling for but weren’t even aware of it this closely until you were losing him. To know how precious someone is sometimes, you gotta lose the precious think to want it back.

‘Do I wanna know…’

‘I’m crawling back to you.’

‘My heart is open to you now.’

Jaehyun doesn’t need to wonder if your heart is closed at this time or when it’s going to be open next time so he could have you all to himself. No. He doesn’t need to wait anymore.

‘If you wanna to we can be together.’

Jaehyun doesn’t need to hope for you to stay anymore.

‘Because you’re staying with him.’

You run down to the house banging on the door with your fists knocking so hard you could chuck the entire wooden door down by the power you’re enforcing. You were panting, heat coming to your cheeks and your eyes teary eyed with water in them. The cold suppresses your body.

You ran all over the city for him only to crawl back to his house that you’ve been going to all these months sleeping with him, in his warm bed that is now empty, wondering if you’d ever stay in his bedsheets again. Even though they smell of you you’re gone.

The moment you saw Jaehyun standing in the doorway with a distasteful look on his face seeing you, you were the one biting your bottom lip.

“Y/n what are you doing here?”

You never wanted to stay with someone until now.

“I’m here to make things right.” You pant coming forward grabbing Jaehyun by his collars pushing the boy inside his house making you enter with a harsh kiss on his mouth. Jaehyun felt like he were on extreme ecstasy the moment your soft but very cold mouth was roughly exposing him to a makeout with you. Your bodies falling flat on the bed sheets again, it didn’t take a whole second to figure your way round the house. It felt like a core muscle memory for you considering you’ve stayed in this house and in this same exact bed with him so many times to count. It was your secret.

Too many secrets you are keeping with Jaehyun, constantly playing on repeat until you fall asleep. You both were wanting to know if this feel was going on both ways, he was wondering, if you were staying or not. If you were crawling back to him, or not.

Jaehyun swipes you underneath him biting on the bottom lip leaving you breathless, you look mythical underneath him almost like a siren who was alluringly close with his heart bewitching it making him madly in love with you.

“Will this night be the same night for the things you can’t say tomorrow,” Jaehyun watches you deeply wanting a genuine response, to something he wants to know, for a long time he’s been waiting. “Or will it be different. Will you stay with me and become mine?”

You’re watching him with the intent of doing exactly that. To stay until he gets sick of you because you’re done running without a pathway to someone good. You’re done being alone and pretending you don’t need anyone when in reality all you ever needed was someone — someone like Jaehyun.

You cup his face smiling. “I’m crawling back to you. I’m done being your friend, Jaehyun. I am yours.” He watches your face leans in whispering to his lips before deeply touching his own.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear this.”

Jaehyun says as if this were his biggest dream come true to hear you accept the same feelings he was feeling.

He never thought so much before, but he wanted to know and you let him know how you truly felt.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating and copyrighting my work thank youu! Reblog this fic and follow for more updates it helps a girl out.

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bringthekaos · 19 days

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Hot take but I don't think Mel is interested in a pacified Zaun & Piltover because of the good in her heart as much as she wants to do it to prove herself to her mom

I mean. Mel’s mom literally said “let the war unfold,” and if Mel wanted to prove herself to Ambessa, then she would have done just that. We saw through her flashback how Mel tended to lean toward mercy rather than bloodshed, and seemed to be disgusted by her mother’s thirst for it.

Now… there might be a small element of vying for peace to spite her mother, but even then… I think vying for peace for selfish reasons is still vying for peace. Right thing for wrong reasons is still right thing, kinda deal. And I also think that Jayce rubbed off on her, a little. She had been here in Piltover for so long, playing the game of politics for so long, that when she first met Jayce he was just another pawn on her chess board. But I think as she got to know him better, she was reminded of the reasons she came to Piltover in the first place—to escape the warmongering and build something for herself, and she lost herself along the way. He helped her get it back, and I think it made her take a step back and say “what am I doing? This isn’t a chess board, these are people’s lives, and if we’re not careful the warmongering will consume us too. I will become my mother.”

Mel is a complex character, and one that got far too much hate from the fandom (and I think a very large reason for that is that many of us, myself included to an extent, can’t help but project our own distaste for corrupt politicians and “rich people” onto her). But I think it’s important to give characters a chance without dooming them from the start just because they happen to resemble something IRL. And while yes, she is technically corrupt, she is far from the biggest problem on that council. And even if she’s done some corrupt things in the past… she deserves a chance to make it right. I mean that’s the essence of character growth, to realize you’ve done something wrong and seek to change. I really hope she survives the bombing, because I’d like to see what a Mel who has been hurt by the conflict might look like… and how it could swing her to go even harder on the “no war” stance. She may be one of the only voices that still holds to it, Jayce included.

TL;DR—Mel may have voted for peace to spite her mother, but personally, I think her motivations for the vote are inconsequential to the vote itself. And while it may have been too little too late, she deserves credit for trying to stop this.

#arcane #arcane meta #arcane analysis #arcane Mel #Mel Medarda #Piltover & Zaun #asks #ace answers

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racefortheironthrone · 3 months

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So! I was planning on writing a Batman fan fic and had a question about the urban facing side I was wondering if you could help on. I suppose this can intersect with other super hero / billionaire figures. Interested in exploring urban development in the setting but trying to avoid pitfalls , but ofc no worries if this isn’t something in your purview or interest

I feel like Gotham, so deeply realized as a fictional setting and riddled with its issues as a city, would be a great template to explore these urbanist issues. And while Batman treats symptoms - protecting people from acts of violence, and also pursuing those who are responsible for the corrupt systems who have put themselves above conventional pursuit. But Bruce Wayne I feel like by a lot of fans can he overlooked as an agent of improvement in Gotham - he can use his political and economic clout to both publically and privately improve the systemic conditions of the city, like his famous hiring program for ex cons. And I would like to explore this side a lot deeper, however I’m wary of showing a billionaire as the only solution , or even the best solution to a city’s issues and basically recreating public policies privately.

Since showing a privatized solution to be the answer to all these problems isn’t the sentiment I want to give, as often private corporations are the ones exploiting / building up this cult of personality around millionaires is already troublesome. But ofc, Bruce Wayne is fictional and can be an example of how a CEO ought to act, but would like to show these solutions are achievable and to be sought after in the public sphere - we shouldn’t expect CEO to hire ex cons, build free transit, eliminate all these zoning issues by buying half the city because 1) unrealistic and 2) can institute a dangerous mindset where it’s like “just give everything to billionaires and they’ll fix things!” (See, the cult of musk)

So my question is, do you have any recomendations on how to achieve this balance of using Wayne as a championing workers rights, urban development , reform etc. without just shilling for billionaires? Because, after all, billionaires have been opponents and don’t want to diminish that. Perhaps using his influence to give away his infouence to others , if that makes sense. or even better - historical examples of figures of privilege utilizing their position to advocate for the public sector and go all in as earnest urban Allies as a roadmap to model this after?

This is a really interesting question, and I think points to some of the limitations of what can be done with the Bruce Wayne archetype.

As I've said before, I think what can be done to make Wayne an enlightened person without falling prey to the mentality that "the billionaires will save us!" (looking at you, RALPH) is to really explore the limitations of top-down reform.

Because if there is one genuine weaknesses both to the Batman and Bruce Wayne, it's that he has a well, "heroic" mindset in which he thinks that if he's just smart enough, prepared enough, tough enough, that he can win a one-man-war on crime and other social evils - but you don't really see him engaging in movement-building in either his vigilante or civilian sides.

In the former, even if we leave aside his more "lone wolf" depictions, Batman has issues with trust and working well in groups. At best, he cultivates a small number of people (the Robins, the JLA), and he tends to keep people at arm's length. In the latter, even when Bruce is trying to make systemic, social interventions in transportation or housing or health care or social welfare, it's usually done through a top-down approach - build this project here, support this politician there - rather than sitting down and doing an analysis of how he could build a sustainable majority coalition with the muscle to change Gotham on its own.

Realistically, an honest, militant, and strategic Waynetech union (albeit assisted from the shadows to keep the mob and the supervillain gangs at bay) could do more to change Gotham for good than any Foundation that has ever or could ever exist.

#comics #comics meta #dc #dc meta #bruce wayne #batman #gotham city

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theemmtropy · 1 year

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Wasn’t Anakin also a Very Successful General that was in charge of a Very Successful battalion? Like? Not responsible? Not trustworthy? From day one he was willing to sacrifice himself for others (case in point, the pod-race, you know, when he and his mom were S L A V E S on a hell planet and he was nine years old). He literally fought in a war for you, won countless battles, saved countless lives, and then you basically say he isn’t worth your time? With no good reasons as to why? And this is all after you betrayed his trust in you multiple times? I, as a normal human with pretty good coping skills that hasn’t been traumatized by war or slavery would be PISSED. And I get that they’re Jedi and they have a ‘no emotions’ clause in their religious text (which is bullshit since the whole council seems to make most of their decisions based on emotion), but seeing how many Jedi became Sith due to no one listening to their problems without just telling them to ‘let it go’ (because that totally works) makes me think that maybe the Jedi are the problem here.

The fact that they let Anakin get ‘so close’ to the politicians (as a child, mind you) in the first place makes me think they’re just stupid. Too stuck in their sense that they’re right that nothing could be going wrong. Sith? Surely not, they’re extinct! Corrupt politicians grooming a child? Please. He’s an elected official, definitely not Evil. And yes, Anakin committed horrible acts. No excuse there. Murder is still murder. However. They raised him to be a weapon, used him as one, treated him like one, and then were surprised when the weapon they made was then turned on them. Because it turns out the weapon was actually just A Guy who doesn’t like being treated like an object, and one of the only people who in his eyes treated him like a person was a Sith Lord. Yeah. They failed Anakin long before he failed them.

All of this. The Council makes victims of the people who trust them, and Anakin is the just the one example.

#asks #star wars #anti jedi

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plxntbasedbitch · 9 months

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pamela isley

Is that [Riley Keough]? No, that’s [Pamela Isley], AKA [Poison Ivy]! [She] appears to be [35]. [She] has the abilities of [cholorkinesis, pheremone control] which makes them a powerful [villain].

Pam believes in plant supremacy -- when it comes to nature itself versus human nature, the former is supreme and deserves to be ascendant over the puling creatures which have not only subjugated it, but abused it, for so long. She has dedicated herself and her formidable arsenal of skills to defending the Green, at whatever cost. If a few corrupt politicians and selfish CEO’s lose their lives in the process, that really isn’t such a loss, is it? In Pam’s view, they should have considered what their policies and companies were doing to the environment -- it’s fitting, really, if their remains end up feeding the loam of the forest. It’s the first and only time they have contributed anything to the world.

She inherited her love of flora and fauna from her mother, who turned to gardening in order to comfort herself in the face of an abusive marriage. Pam’s experiments with pheromones began in college, from which she graduated Summa Cum Laude despite handing out pheromone pills just to test their effects. From there, she worked for Jason Woodrue as she pursued her doctorate, only for him to turn her devotion to his cause into a terrible tragedy. Because of Woodrue’s failed experiment, she woke from a coma to find that her blood was chlorophyll, her sweat was poison…and the pheromone pills she’d handed out in college were old hat compared to the powers she had now. In the intervening years, she’s utilized the powers Woodrue inadvertently gave her to become Poison Ivy, scourge of any foolish enough to cross the Green.

personality:

Intelligent, protective, independent

Unforgiving, single-minded, violent

oddities:

Every time Pam’s father left a bruise on her mother’s cheek, he would bring home a new bulb or bloom for her garden. His father ended up taking her mother’s life, and is now under life imprisonment in Blackgate.

While she was in college, Pam interned for Wayne Enterprises as a research assistant. She was let go when she presented research which would drive up his advertising revenue by 100%...for some reason, Bruce had a problem with the fact that it was a pheromone which would rob people of free choice. Buzzkill.

She has a living, mutated Venus fly trap named Frank in her apartment. Sometimes, when people piss her off, she threatens to feed them to him.

As her civilian identity, Dr. Pamela Isley, she currently works at the Gotham Botanical Gardens, and has started research into combining human and plant DNA.

Because of the genetic mutation she underwent during Woodrue’s experimentation, in addition to her other powers, Pam will age slower and live longer than a regular human.

goal:

To protect plant life at all costs, and help the Green reassert its dominance over humanity

sexuality (and pronouns): Lesbian, she/her

age: 35

#gothamsintro #murder tw #domestic violence tw #drug use tw

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fleur-de-violette · 2 years

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To fight against time and win

A3O

Summary:

“How much time do you have?” Batman asks.

Dick thinks there might be some kind of poetry in being asked that while being chained to a giant clock and slowly pulled into the harbor, but he doesn’t really have it in him to find it.

He will drown soon, but there are hostages who need Batman. So he does what he has to do.

“Enough.”

He lies.

Note:

Hi, this was supposed to be a quick one shot and then suddenly it was 8k long. I love writing.

Warnings for fear of death, drowning, respiratory illness, and guilt. As Bruce doesn’t have the best way to process guilt, extra warnings for unhealthy coping mechanisms and violence toward inanimate objects.

This is absolutely medically inaccurate. If someone drowns, take them to the hospital.

Hope you’ll enjoy the fic!

Dick knows how to appreciate the beauty in things. He grew up watching and appreciating performances. He was dragged into every museum Gotham and the neighboring cities had to offer by his school as a teenager, and traveled around the world, with his parents first, and then with Bruce, rarely for vacation, occasionally for business trips, and more often for bat-business trips. He traveled a little bit more on his own and with the Titans.

He’s not insensitive to the beauty of things. And he can say the clock is a work of art. It’s huge, decorated by metallic ornaments, probably lead, tin, silver, and gold. The mechanism is visible, and it is itself impressive. A chain is linked around one of the cogs, slowly rolling around it. It is also linked to somewhere under the sea, probably at the bottom of the harbor. And it is also, unfortunately, attached to his left ankle.

He’s slowly being pulled down into Gotham harbor water by a chain. And this is really hindering his ability to appreciate art.

The worst thing is, he’s not even that opposed to the people who put him into this situation, in principle. They’re a new group, going after corrupt politicians, and Dick would be all for that if they had chosen to expose them through journalism, social media, rumors, or anything really, rather than dumping a bunch of officials into the ocean. He miscalculated the size of the group and got hit pretty hard in the head by a teenager with a baseball bat. When he woke up, he was in the harbor, attached to a shortening chain that pulled him into the water within minutes.

The style, the not-killing-him-but-rather-putting-him-through-an-elaborate-machine thing remains him of the Riddler, except, as far as he knows, Nygma is currently secured in Arkham, and his riddles are solvable. Dick has nothing with him to help him escape. This isn’t a riddle: this is a torture device. He’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to get out of it. The only reason he’s even been able to call for backup is because he has a hidden communicator on him. It’s just him and Batman tonight; Robin, Batgirl and Black Bat are in New Zealand, assisted by Oracle on a special mission. Dick first saw this as both a chance for Damian to get out of his father’s shadow while still being surrounded by his family and a chance for Bruce and Tim to work together, like old good times. While the first point still stands, the second had been cut short a few days ago by an altercation with Killer Croc that had ended with a broken arm. Tim had been confined to the comms until his injury healed, and Dick had offered to come to Gotham, as Blüdhaven was currently quiet. Or, as quiet as it can be.

“I see the harbor,” comes his father’s voice into his ear. “ETA 1 minute.”

Dick smiles despite the situation. “Hostages are in the north area, on a black and white ferry. Be careful.”

He hears a grunt of acknowledgement. “How much time do you have?”

Dick swallows. This is actually an excellent question. How much time does he have? It’s not only the shortening chain and the rising tide that are a problem, but also the fact that he’s holding himself above water while being concussed, and has a very real risk of hypothermia, despite the early spring weather they had in the last weeks.

But the chain is still long enough for him to float, even if it gets shorter by the minute. Besides, he chose to put himself in danger and, as corrupted as the hostages supposedly are, they didn’t. “Enough for you to get them out safely and then come back to free me. Don’t worry about it.”

Another grunt. Batman doesn’t like this kind of information, too vague to do anything with it. But Dick won’t give him a time limit and risk both of them being captured because his father had been worried.

The comms are silent after that. Dick wishes Bruce or Tim would keep him updated with how the hostage situation is going because he can’t deal with staying there alone with his thoughts. With every second that passes, he worries about his father, and he worries about himself. He tries to work on the shackle holding his ankle, but, as before, he can’t get it open. Most of his tools had been removed when he’d been captured, and even with them, he’s not sure he would have been able to break the chain. His best shot would be to remove it from the clock, but there is no way he can reach that far.

Soon, the chain forces him to get his leg back underwater and he can’t work on the shackle, unless he wants to dive. He chooses against it. It’s not like he was going anywhere, and he has the feeling he will be underwater for too long for his liking soon, anyway.

It’s fine. He has time. Bruce is probably freeing the hostages by now. Then he will come and save him, Alfred will worry about the concussion, about how long he stayed in the water and any damage done to his ankle, and then he will have a cup of tea and a nice plate of whatever Alfred has prepared as a post-patrol meal, maybe watch a movie or play a game with Tim afterwards.

It’s fine. He will be fine. He’s been in plenty of bad situations before. But he really wishes he could have an update from Bruce, while being scared to ask for it.

The chain on his leg gets taut. The real countdown starts now. He watches the horizon for something, anything, from Batman coming back to the GCPD arriving to an unexpected bystander with a saw ready to help him. But the harbor is empty, and he can only hear the quiet waves and maybe a seagull or two.

His hand hovers over his communicator. He wants to open it, he wants to say something, just in case. But what could he say, without taking the risk of distracting Bruce? What even are his options?

Some part of him wants to say,

I chose this. I’m happy with this situation and no one forced me to become anything. Being Robin, being Nightwing, was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I don’t know what I would have become without it. I knew dying was a possibility from the start and I accepted it. I have no regrets.

And, while this is true, some part of him wants to say,

I have so many regrets. I’m sorry. It feels like giving you up, but I know you guys can survive without me. I love you. I love you all so much. Do you know how much I love you? How proud I am to call you my father, to call everyone my family? How sad I am to have to leave you? You’ll be okay, I swear. I love you, I’m sorry.

And then there is another part of him, one he’s not proud of, that wants to say,

I don’t want to die. Please come back for me. If you leave the hostages, you might still have time, please, I’m sorry I lied, please save me and tell me everything will be okay. I need you. Please help me.

He takes his hand off his communicator.

It’s fine. He still has time. Maybe one minute until he’s underwater, and then, he’s trained to hold his breath. His best is seven minutes and twenty-two seconds. That gives Bruce enough time to get back to him. Afterwards, the chances for a non-lethal drowning are about 95% during the first minute, 25% after six minutes, and fall to 3% after 8 minutes, with an increasing risk of permanent brain damage every minute. He knows the theory. In practice, it means he’s trying to gain time. To keep his head above water for as long as he can, taking a breath when the waves allow him to. Until, finally, the chain pulls him definitively under water.

He starts a mental countdown.

Seven minutes and twenty-two seconds.

He remembers the day he broke his record, in the batcave. It was pure spite, at that time, that pushed him. A profound desire to do better than Bruce’s seven minutes and nineteen seconds record. Back then, he hadn’t fought a bunch of people, gotten himself a concussion, and spent an unknown amount of time keeping himself afloat in the Gotham Sea. But this is irrelevant.

Seven minutes

Here is the worst thing about being chained to a shortening chain. He can see the surface, if he swims toward it, he might even be able to get his hands out. But he can’t get his head out of the water. There is something frustrating about it. Maybe that’s why the machine is designed that way, so he can see his salvation, so close, and yet unreachable.

Six minutes

The clock imagery had never been more relevant, he thinks as his chest starts burning, pleading him to take a breath. This isn’t a battle against the organization that captured him, at this point. This is a battle against time. And he’s not alone in this fight. While he’s fighting to stretch time, to hold on to his air, Bruce is somewhere, fighting to get him in time. Any moment now, the chain could let him go. It’s just a question about what will happen first. Unfortunately, time, much like gravity, is cruel and unwavering.

Five minutes

He will hold on. He won’t let Bruce have to tell Damian he’s dead when the child comes back. Not again, never again. Even by pure will, he will hold on. He will survive this and go back to his family. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much he wants to breathe. He will survive this.

Four minutes

He should have said something, earlier. He should have found something to say to Bruce, or to Tim. Not let his last words be about something mission related. He should have told him something, anything. At least to let him know his time was running out.

Three minutes

Maybe there could have been another way? Maybe Gordon could have taken care of the hostages while Bruce freed him? He knows it’s selfish, but he’s dying. Could he be a little selfish?

Two minutes

Do these people even deserve him to die for them anyway? Sacrifice for sacrifice, he could at least have died for someone he loves or someone who would save thousands of lives in return. He knows that is just pain and fear talking, but still. This is so unfair.

One minute

Nothing exists other than pain now. Pain and the will to live. He’s not even afraid anymore.

Forty-six seconds

He’s supposed to still have time. He’s supposed to still have forty-six seconds. He’s supposed to still be able to hold his breath. And yet, his body disrespects his commands, pain overtaking over the will to live. His mouth opens for him to take a breath full of seawater. He doesn’t have time to choke on it, already on the verge of unconsciousness.

The last thing he sees before his world fades is a shadow above the water. Some part of him distantly thinks Batman is back, and another reminds him this could very much be a hallucination of his oxygen deprived brain.

But it doesn’t matter, because soon, the shadow disappears, along with everything else.

It’s pain that wakes him up. Crawling from his chest to his throat to his head, unbearable pressure threatening to split him in two. His eyes shoot open and before he can fully process what’s going on he’s on his side, vomiting seawater and what’s probably half of his stomach. He coughs, spits, and tries desperately to get this to stop. But water keeps coming, and he can feel his face covered in spit, tears, and half of the ocean. After what seems to be a small eternity, the pain eases, leaving him shaking and panting, unable to move. That’s when he realizes there is a hand in his hair, a gentle voice soothing him.

Now that he thinks about it, there are other voices and flashing lights. He doesn’t really know what’s going on, but Batman is here, above him like the gargoyles that protect the city. The cape looms over him, his own personal protection against the world.

They did it. They won against time. He wants to say he never had any doubts about it; Batman and Robin can overcome anything, after all. Except the adult part of him knows both statements are false, and he and Bruce haven’t been Batman and Robin for years now. But it doesn’t really matter because when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a strangled wheeze.

“Shh,” says Batman, or Bruce, he can’t really be sure when his father takes that voice. “Don’t try to talk. I’m getting you out of here. Let me know if anything feels wrong.”

He barely has time to process what had been said to him before he’s lifted in the air, his head spinning as his body touches Batman’s armor. Something tugs on his left foot, and for a second panics blossom in his brain. He can feel himself being taken away from his father’s arms and pulled back into the ocean. But, as Batman walks away, the weight on his foot follows quietly. He risks opening his eyes only to see the chain, dangling from his ankle, but broken.

“What’s happening?” he murmurs. There are cars, the GCPD? What about the hostages? What about the organization? Most of the people Dick fought were very young, there has to be a leader manipulating them somewhere.

“You’re okay,” is all the only answer he gets.

He blinks, and he’s on his side in the Batmobile. There is something on his face, and it takes him a second to identify it as the portable oxygen mask they keep in here. Bruce is talking to someone on the radio, possibly Tim or Alfred, but when the car starts moving and Dick has to pull off the mask to dry heave in a bucket that was conveniently placed near him, he’s by his side in an instant.

Dick thinks he says something, but the meaning is lost even to him. He’s exhausted and cold, and he just wants the pain to stop.

“I know,” Bruce says. “Just let me get you to the cave, then you can sleep.”

This is a lie. Dick knows all too well the procedures after a drowning. The tests will last forever, and he won’t be able to rest just yet. But he doesn’t call his father out on it and instead lets himself be dragged out of the Batmobile and to a cot as soon as they reach the cave.

From the corner of his eyes, he can see Tim gravitating around him, gathering supplies under Alfred’s direction.

“I’m okay,” Dick says. It might have been more convincing if his voice was louder than an airy murmur.

Tim gives him what he probably thinks is a comforting smile, but it looks more like a grimace. “I know.”

And then he just disappears behind Alfred, and Dick lets his surrogate grandfather get him out of his wet uniform and into the warm post-patrol clothes he has in the cave. He then dutifully lets him listen to his lungs and shine a penlight in his eyes. He gives his arm for an IV, answers the questions to the best of his capacity, and forces himself to stay awake for the rest of the tests.

All this time, while Tim offers words of encouragement and concern from time to time, Bruce stays silent and stone-faced. There is something wrong, but Dick doesn’t have the energy to do anything about it now. As soon as Alfred gives him the all clear and helps him lie back down on the cave cot, Batman takes his foot to work on the cuff. Not Bruce, Batman. The hands are gentle but professional.

“Where are you?” Dick asks.

“I’m here,” Bruce reassures him, but he’s not, not really. He’s protecting himself, pushing his feelings away. Dick knows it all too well.

But he doesn’t have time to tell him all that, because he definitely loses his fight to stay awake, sleep welcoming him in its arms like a long-lost lover.

Dick wakes up with a breath stuck in his throat. He coughs, and slowly sits up, massaging his aching chest. He closes his eyes and tries to take deep calming breaths, trying to leave whatever nightmare had woken him up behind him without aggravating his lungs. After a while, he feels comfortable opening his eyes again. Tim is by the computer and hadn’t moved during his little freak out. There is no one else in the cave.

He takes the medical report that is lying next to his bed. He reads the information, half-expecting what he finds. Mild concussion, several broken ribs from CPR. The IV in his arm is rehydrating him as well as supplying antibiotics to avoid pneumonia, or at least preventing it from being too bad. With water from the Gotham Harbor in his lungs, Dick has little hope he won’t be feeling like death warmed over in a few days, despite Alfred’s best efforts.

He’ll probably have to do another cognitive test sometime soon, but the results from one from the night before were as good as could be expected. He knew his brain wasn’t too damaged, but this still lifts a weight off his shoulders. He puts down the paper and carefully puts his feet on the cold cave floor, mindful of the left one, where the shackle left an angry red bruise. After a second, he gets up. He waits for a moment for his head to stop spinning and makes his way toward the computer, hand on the IV pole.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Tim asks without turning around, typing one-handed on the batcomputer.

Dick wants to return the question, but when he tries to talk, his throat closes on the world, and all he can get is a small croak. Tim moves a thermos toward him as he sits down heavily in front of an unused computer. He unscrews the top, half expecting to find coffee, and is pleasantly surprised when he smells thyme and honey. He pours himself a mug and takes small sips, feeling the hot and sweet water soothe his throat.

“You’re not seriously going to write a report now?” Tim asks when he opens the blank document they use to write their mission reports.

Dick shrugs. “The group was way bigger than I expected, and they were mostly teenagers and young adults. Someone is manipulating them, and I want to know how they did to recruit so many people so fast.” He takes a sip of the infusion when his voice threatens to break. “And then there are the victims. Are they really corrupted, and how did the organization know about them?”

Tim’s chair turns toward him. “I would have made that mistake too. With the information we had, I would have underestimated their number, just like you. So would’ve everybody else.”

Dick raises an eyebrow, silently asking his brother his point.

“It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

Dick shrugs. Sure, it’s never pleasant to make such a mistake, but he knows this isn’t entirely on him. He wonders why Tim would assume it, before his eyes find the report page. Right. But he’s not punishing himself, not really. He just needs to do this so Batman can safely take over the case.

“I’m okay, kiddo,” he says quietly. Some time passes, the silence of the cave disturbed only by the sound of their keyboards, as well as the occasional screeching from the bats and coughing from Dick, before Tim says, “I know.”

Some more time passes, and Dick is about halfway through his report when he says, “It wasn’t your fault, either.”

Some more silence, before Tim repeats, “I know.” He stays silent some more, working on the computer, before muttering, “It’s just... I wasn’t there.”

Dick turns his chair. “Tim, you have a broken arm. You were on comms, and you coordinated the GCPD and paramedics.” Or at least Dick assumes he did. “And even if you had left the cave when I sent the distress signal, which would have been incredibly stupid considering you’re injured, you wouldn’t have made it to the harbor in time.” Because this is what it all falls down to, in the end: time. The large hands of the clock deciding his fate. If Batman had arrived only a minute or two later…

But he didn’t, and Dick chases the uncomfortable thought from his head. “You did the right thing, Timmy. And it turned out alright.” It almost didn’t, but it turned out alright.

Dick continues his report and sips the infusion after that. He writes automatically, not really thinking about what he’s doing, well trained from thousands of mission and patrol reports. When he’s finished, he takes a deep breath. “Where is Bruce?”

Dick hopes he didn’t just go back on patrol, but knowing Bruce, this was a very real possibility. That is, if it’s still night. He doesn’t know how long he slept for, and there is no way to tell the time in the cave. Time, again.

Tim makes a face. “In the training room.”

Dick has to hold back a sigh, if anything because it would only aggravate his chest. He’d known Bruce for years now, and he knows how he acts when he’s upset. “I’ll go see him,” he says, standing up carefully.

Tim opens his mouth but thinks again before saying whatever it is he wanted to say. Maybe Dick doesn’t have to go confront Bruce, but they both know he will do it anyway.

Dick ruffles Tim’s hair as he passes behind him. “Go to sleep, Timmy.”

Tim snorts. “You don’t even know what time it is.”

Dick smiles. “No, but I know you.”

His little brother let out a long-suffering sigh. “It will be lunch time soon, anyway. No point in sleeping now.”

Dick hums. It’s good to have at least an idea of the time of the day. “You should take a nap after lunch, then. I’m guessing you haven’t slept much since yesterday.” He knows his family. It’s not exactly their style to leave him unsupervised in the cave after he drowned and go to their usual activities. He hopes Alfred, at least, had gotten some rest while Tim and Bruce were watching over him. “Wait, it was yesterday, right? I’m not missing an entire day?”

Tim shakes his head, sadly all too used to waking up confused after a disastrous patrol to make fun of his older brother. “No, you just slept through the night and the morning.”

Dick hums again, coughs in his fist. “I’ll go see Bruce. Call if you need anything.”

Tim hits him lightly in the arm. “That’s my line.”

Dick walks slowly into the training room. Bruce is exactly where he expected him to be. Wearing only the pants and boots of the Batman uniform, he’s fighting against one of the machines that sends tennis balls at high speed toward them, in hard mode. Dick winces when his father blocks one of the balls with his forearm, sending it flying toward the opposite direction. It wouldn’t even leave a bruise with the Batman suit on, but on his bare arm? That’s got to hurt.

“How long have you been down there?” Dick asks. He doesn’t know if his father could have heard him over the sound of the machine if Batman’s senses hadn’t been trained to the very limit of human capacity. But they have, and Bruce quickly turns off the equipment and turns toward him.

“You should be in bed,” he says, giving Dick that look.

Dick sits down on one of the chairs. “Well, I’m here. You didn’t answer my question.”

Bruce takes a towel and starts drying his sweat-covered hair as he goes sit next to Dick. “I’m glad you’re okay, chum.”

Dick grimaces. Still not an answer. Meaning Bruce has been here longer than he’s comfortable admitting. The bruises on his arm and chest only support this theory. Maybe Dick wasn’t punishing himself by writing a report with a concussion and maybe Tim wasn’t punishing himself by staying awake all night, but Bruce definitely was by training for too long and unprotected.

“Yeah, thanks to you. You got me in time.”

Bruce’s face twists. There it is. “I almost didn’t. You were…”

Cold. Not breathing. Bruce doesn’t have to finish. Dick has saved enough people, civilians or other heroes, from drowning. He knows how hard it can be to think you’re too late, to think maybe the last rescue breath should be the one where you accept that death has won and stop.

Dick puts his shoulder on Bruce’s. His sweatshirt touches bare skin, but he knows Bruce can still feel the warmth beneath the clothes. “I’m okay, now.” He bites back another cough that wouldn’t help his case. This is starting to become annoying, but he knows the coughing will linger for a moment, still.

Bruce moves away from his contact. Whatever moment they had is now over. “There are still some risks. You should go see Alfred for a checkup and eat something. It will be some time until you’re back at full capacity.”

Dick sighs. “You should go upstairs too. You know, have some food, maybe see the sun. Take Tim with you. But before that, B, you should really take a shower.”

Bruce mutters something that sounds like “brat” and Dick smiles as he makes his way into the manor.

“Have you had any sleep at all?” Dick asks as Alfred puts a stethoscope on his chest, frowning at what he hears.

“It’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around,” says the old man, but he smiles kindly. “I did rest for a few hours. And by the look of you, I suggest you do the same after lunch. You need all the energy you can get.”

Dick nods. He woke up not an hour ago, yet he can still feel himself ready to go back to sleep. “I’ll try to blackmail Tim into getting some sleep, too.” He doesn’t think he can do anything about Bruce. If anyone has any chance of getting him to nap, it’s Alfred, not him.

“Will you stay in the manor? At least for a few days?”

Dick looks away. “Alfred…”

“Please. After the scare Master Bruce and Master Tim had, I think it would do both of them some good to have you home for a moment.” Tim had already decided he would stay at the manor until his arm healed, or at least until Damian came back.

Dick sighs. He always had a hard time saying no to Alfred. Some part of his mind rationalizes that even if he went back to Blüdhaven now, he won’t be in any shape to do effective vigilante work. He should probably ask in the Titans group chat if anyone is available to do a few rounds in his city, check if everything is still as quiet as when he left it.

“And I really would like to keep an eye on your lungs. It’s easier to do so if you stay here.”

Dick puts his hand on Alfred’s shoulder. “I’ll stay,” he says. It’s not as if things are as bad now as they once were with Bruce, and it’s still an occasion to spend some exclusive time with Tim, even if this kind of thing only seems to happen when one or both of them are injured.

Alfred frees him from the IV, switching him to oral medicine instead, as he can eat and drink alright. Thoughtful as ever, the butler had also prepared a special meal for him, which he eats under Bruce’s hawk gaze. His father restrains himself from any comment about how little he eats during lunch, and Dick is grateful for that. He knows Bruce’s words sometimes sound like reproach even if they come from a place of concern, but he doesn’t have the energy to be patient now.

When lunch is over and everything was put away, Dick finds Tim exactly where he expected him to be: by the coffeemaker. He stops his brother’s hand before he can touch the appliance. “No. Nap for you.”

Tim snorts. “It’s not like coffee is going to prevent me from sleeping.”

Dick knows it all too well. Coffee had kept him awake for maybe a year or so after he started drinking it until habituation set in, nullifying the effect entirely. He stopped drinking it after that, never a fan of the taste. He assumes it’s the same for Tim, except for the fact that his little brother actually likes bitterness.

He pulls Tim’s sleeve toward him. “Still. Come on, let’s go to my room.”

Their rooms are all big enough so several people can sleep in them at the same time, and it’s not the first time they will be sleeping in the same bed. Plus, he knows Tim. If he wants his brother to actually sleep, he has to keep an eye on him.

“You took your meds?” he asks when he sees his younger brother massaging his arm with a grimace.

“I’m good,” is all Tim says, though whether it means he took the painkillers and they just hadn’t acted yet or he decided against medication is anyone’s guess.

When they finally reach his room, Dick lets himself fall on his bed, winded by the small trip, then pulls Tim’s hand to make him sit. “Give me your phone, I don’t know where mine is,” he asks, almost petulantly. Tim doesn’t say anything and hands him the device. Dick opens the music app and finds a quiet soft playlist to put on.

He would be satisfied in falling asleep like that and think about everything else later, but, apparently, Tim isn’t. He’s still seated on the bed, his eyes open and firmly on the ground.

“What’s going on in that big head of yours, Timmy?” Dick whispers.

Tim shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he says, then turns around to give Dick what he probably thinks is a reassuring smile. “Go to sleep.”

Dick pulls on Tim’s arm again, making him lie down next to him. “What’s going on?” he asks again.

Tim closes his eyes. “I read your report,” he finally says, his voice barely audible.

“And?” Dick asks in the same tone.

“And I know the hostages. I saw them several times, during events for Wayne Tech or galas and stuff.”

Dick hums. He’s not surprised. Some of the names reminded him of something, but he never kept as good a track on Gotham high society as Bruce or Tim.

His brother opens his eyes. “Dick, none of these people would have lifted a finger to save you unless they had something to gain from it. They will probably find a way to play the whole event in their favor, without so much as a thanks to you and Batman, or the GCPD and Gotham General paramedics, for that matter.”

Dick stays silent for a moment, letting Tim gather his thoughts. After a while, Tim sighs and starts talking again. “I guess… I know it’s selfish, but when your comm went silent and your vitals started dropping, and all I could do was just sit there and do nothing, I just wondered… you know… why does it have to be us?”

Dick brings his hand to Tim’s head, moving a stray hair out of his brother’s face. “We saved a lot of people,” he answers. It feels weak, even to him.

“I know, I know. And it’s not all bad, but times like yesterday… I wish things were different, and sometimes it just feels so unfair.”

He sighs again. “I know it sounds childish-”

“It’s not,” Dick cuts him off. “It’s not childish.” He could say a beautiful speech, about how they’re heroes and they’re saving lives every day, about how it’s their calling, but Tim deserves the truth.

“When I was in the harbor, I also thought… that maybe if Batman hadn’t gone for the hostages first, he could have saved me, that maybe I was going to die for some assholes. But I chose this. I’m risking my life because I think this is the best thing I can do. For others, but also for myself. It’s easy for me to say, because it was me chained to that clock, and not one of you. But… I had these thoughts, too. And it won’t stop me from going back out tomorrow. Because it might be unfair sometimes. But sometimes, you see someone you saved, and you think: this is worth it.”

He’s a little winded by the time he finishes what ended up being more or less an epic speech about how they’re heroes and it’s their calling, but he knows Tim got the idea. His brother smiles. “Well, maybe not tomorrow.”

“Maybe not tomorrow,” Dick agrees. He takes a tissue and coughs some mucus on it, as if his body is trying to prove his point.

“But thanks,” Tim says. “I know all that, but sometimes, I guess it’s worth a reminder. Sorry, you’re the one who almost died, I should be cheering you up, not the other way around.”

Dick can feel himself drifting. Maybe talking too much was a bad idea. “Must have been terrible to watch,” he mumbles. “But I’m okay now. I’m here.”

Tim says something in return, but Dick is already too far gone to hear it.

When he wakes up, he’s alone, but the other side of the bed is unmade and still warm, so he hopes Tim has at least gotten some sleep. A quick look at his alarm clock informs him it’s late afternoon. Duke is probably back from his day patrol by now.

After a quick run into Alfred, he’s informed that Tim, Bruce and Duke, are in the cave. He goes down, overhearing the conversation before he reaches the place.

“I’ll see what I can do, look for clues during the day, see if I can find anything about the leader,” says Duke.

Bruce’s reply is immediate. “Do not, under any circumstances, engage. These people are dangerous and not to be apprehended alone.”

A quick look at the computer’s screen shows him his report and research from the previous night. “You’re working my case without me?”

The three of them turn toward him.

Duke swallows. “You were still sleeping. We didn’t want to-”

Dick cuts him with a hand wave, sitting on one of the chairs. “It’s fine, it’s not as if I’ll be on the field anytime soon anyway.” He’s out of breath from the short trip from his room to the cave and the pain in his chest hadn’t lessened the slightest during his nap. Even he knows he can’t reasonably go back to his night job like that. “Though, I still think we’re missing someone.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. Dick looks from him to Tim to Duke. If nobody is going to say it, he might as well do. “You said it yourself, they’re too dangerous to be apprehended alone. I made that mistake, and I paid the price.” Bruce winces, but Dick isn’t one not to play all the cards he has in hand. “We need someone to do the day patrols, that would be Duke, and someone to do the night, where they are more likely to show up. That’s you. You can’t expect Duke to do both day and night.” The kid looks like he’s about to argue but Dick shuts him up with a look. There are enough people who don’t care about their own wellbeing in this family as it is. “Tim and I are injured. But you still need someone with you.”

The cave stays silent for a minute or two, all of them understanding the implication, before Tim takes his side. “Dick is right. We should call Red Ho-”

“No.”

Dick groans. “Are you guys fighting again?” He turns toward Tim and Duke. “Are they fighting again?”

Tim shakes his head and Duke whispers a “not that I know of.”

Dick turns toward Bruce. “What is it then?”

“We are not calling Red Hood. Period.”

Dick sighs. This is not a fight he’s ready to lose. “Look, I know you guys have your differences, but Jason has been doing really well lately. You didn’t have any problem calling him last week if I hadn’t offered my help to patrol in Gotham. Why now? This is the best thing to do, and you know it.”

He can see in the lines of Bruce’s face that he’s starting to get angry. Well, he can get as angry as he wants, Dick isn’t going to change his mind unless he understands Bruce’s point. “We are not calling Hood.”

Tim opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “Is that because you were almost too late to save Dick? It brought back bad memories and now you don’t want to see Jason?”

Dick turns toward Tim. That actually makes a lot of sense. When he turns back to Bruce, the man gets up abruptly and walks aggressively toward the training room. Duke gets up, but Dick stops him. “I’ll handle this.”

One of the training dummies is going to have to be replaced, Dick thinks grimly as he hears the sound coming from the room. He leans on the wall. “I’m okay,” he says. “You got me in time.” His voice breaks toward the end, and he has to take a tissue to cough in it. Okay, maybe he’s not as okay as he wants to pretend, but he’s getting there.

“I almost didn’t,” Bruce responds, a repeat of their conversation in the same room, earlier in the day.

“But you did. I’m okay. And so is Jason. I know in his case this is different, but somehow, he’s here and alive. You can’t act as if he’s still in that tomb, because he isn’t.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything and keeps hitting the training dummy. He knows what Dick’s telling him; they both know it.

“And it will probably be hard to see him, I don’t doubt it, but it’s also the right thing to do given the situation. You need someone to help you with that case. People’s lives are at stake. We have to make the most logical choice.”

“You think I don’t know that!?” Bruce yells, and the training dummy flies a few feet away from Dick. “You think I don’t know we have to make the most logical decision even if everything in us tells us to do otherwise?!”

Dick has the feeling his father isn’t talking about Jason anymore. He suddenly can’t breathe for a reason that has nothing to do with the state of his lungs. Bruce takes a step toward him; all anger seems to have evaporated from his body. “I need you to know. I wanted to go back to you, I really did. I wanted to turn around and free you, hostages be damned.”

“But you couldn’t,” Dick says in a strangled voice.

Bruce closes his eyes. He let the next words out almost painfully. “But I couldn’t. We didn’t know how much time the hostages had, and I…”

He trails off. “I understand,” Dick murmurs.

Bruce’s hand closes on his arm. “I know you do. Maybe that’s even worse.”

Dick doesn’t know what he can say to that. The truth: that he was scared and wanted his father, would only hurt Bruce even more. But he doesn’t have it in him to lie. “Let’s call Jay,” is all he says.

Bruce nods and they make their way back to the main room of the cave together. To their surprise, Tim and Duke are already on the phone with Jason.

“You guys didn’t waste time,” Dick says, sitting back on his chair.

Tim shrugs. “We know you. There was no way it would have ended otherwise. I also asked Alfred to add a share to dinner, so Jay, I guess you better leave now if you don’t want to be late.”

“Who told you I was coming to dinner? I agreed to help with the case, that’s all,” says Jason’s voice from the phone.

“I mean,” says Tim, “you could skip dinner, but Alfred would probably be disappointed.”

Jason curses, maybe insults Tim, and cuts the line. Tim turns toward Bruce. “Is that okay?”

Bruce sighs. “That’s okay. Thank you, Timmy.”

“All in all, you don’t look dead,” is all the greeting Dick gets from Jason as his brother enters the manor, just in time for dinner. “I would have been pretty upset if you were: that’s my thing. It’s trademarked.”

“Yeah, speaking of that,” Dick whispers, “Could you go easy on the death jokes with B tonight?”

Jason gasps dramatically. “You can’t ask me that, it’s like asking a fish not to swim.”

Dick hits him in the ribs. “Come on, at least try?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” is all Jason says as he takes his seat for dinner.

The dinner is what he’s expecting it to be after that. Tim and Duke do most of the conversation, Jason chiming in here and there, mostly to give obviously bad ideas. Dick watches Bruce’s gaze, going from Jason to him. His father seems more relaxed than he had been in the cave. That might just be a front, or maybe seeing Jason, reassuring himself that his second son is back for good, actually did him some good. Dick hopes it’s the latter, but knowing Bruce, he might never know.

Dick tries to keep up with the conversation, but he’s not sure how much success he has in that. Despite having slept for most of the day, he’s still exhausted. He blames the fear, the concussion, the pain, and the incessant coughing for that. He zones out more and more as the dinner progresses. This, apparently, isn’t lost on Alfred, as the old man asks him to follow him into the medical wing after they said goodbye to Duke for the night.

“You have a low-grade fever,” his surrogate grandfather informs him after a quick exam. “And I don’t like the sound of that cough.”

“I’ll be okay, Alfred,” is all Dick can say.

The old man smiles. “I know you will. You’re healthy and fit. You will bounce back in no time. But in the meantime, let an old man take care of you.”

Dick looks away. He feels bad doing nothing as Bruce and Jason take over his case. As if reading his thoughts, Alfred says, “Do not worry, Master Bruce and Master Jason are both experienced vigilantes. I’m sure they will get this thing sorted out and come back in one piece. Plus, they work well together.”

Dick snorts. “Don’t let either of them hear you say that.”

The butler gives him a knowing smile. “That’s why I’m saying it to you. Come on. Off to bed.”

Alfred takes his arm and guides him back upstairs. He helps him settle to bed and comes back a little later, one of Bruce’s vests and his sewing box in hands. “I thought I could stay with you, if that’s okay,” he explains. “I have a button to sew back, and I always appreciate company.”

Dick smiles, nodding. Alfred doesn’t need the company as much as he does, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he let himself be lured to sleep by the sound of thread against fabric and Alfred’s focused breathing.

Just as he’s about to drift, he feels lips on his forehead, and hears the familiar voice of his grandfather saying, “You’re okay, my boy. You don’t have to take the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He wants to tell Alfred that neither does he, but he’s asleep before the words pass his lips.

Things are fuzzy when he wakes up. He doesn’t know what time it is, or what’s going on. His chest feels tight, and he thinks he calls for help, but he’s not sure if anyone hears him.

He blinks, and he’s in the cave. The IV is back, and so is the oxygen mask. He wonders for a second if he ever left at all. Did he live the previous day?

He blinks again, and he sees Tim. His brother is saying something to him, but it’s like he’s underwater. Why would Tim be underwater, Dick is the one who drowned. But he got out, Batman got him out, Batman won against time. He knows that. He knows Bruce saved him. He’s not… it was real.

He’s not underwater anymore. He’s safe. He’s safe.

He calls for Bruce, or he thinks he calls for Bruce, and his father’s face appears next to him.

He closes his eyes and lets go. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, but there is a child-like belief, something time had drowned but that sometimes resurfaces: he will be okay as long as Bruce is here. As long as Batman is here.

Batman’s got him, and he’s safe.

“Are you actually awake this time?”

Dick blinks, and Jason’s face clears. Yes, he thinks he’s actually awake.

He groans. “What happened?”

Jason taps lightly on his leg. “You crashed during the night, and Alfred took you here for oxygen treatment. Your fever broke this morning, so he thinks the worst is behind you.”

One quick look around the cave reveals Tim, curled up in a cot, and Bruce, sleeping on a chair, his neck bent toward the ground. Dick winces in sympathy. “He’s going to be so sore when he wakes up.”

Jason snorts. “Give the old man a break, you scared him,” he says, and Dick knows this is as close as he will go to you scared me. “After we had a big emotional talk on patrol and all.”

Dick blinks. “What big emotional talk?”

Jason clears his throat, looks away. “Well, he seemed pretty shaken by what happened in the harbor. It opened some sort of weird affection to me. Anyway. You know B. He doesn’t do anything without it being awkward.”

Jason seems more and more interested in the ground. “Anyway. It was long overdue.”

Dick gets his hand to move and takes Jason’s wrist. “Will you stay?” he asks. Because if one of them is as good as Bruce at escaping emotional situations, it’s Jason.

“Your case isn’t over,” is all Jason says. “And I think you need someone to babysit you.”

Dick smiles. “You bet I do. I’m going to force you into a whole day of movies and games, and use my illness as an excuse to do nothing.”

Jason snorts. “Damian and the girls will probably be back the day after tomorrow. You can bully them into staying with you then.”

Dick closes his eyes. He doesn’t look forward to the moment where he will have to explain the situation to Damian. But the idea of spending some time with his youngest brother soon still fills him with warmth.

Dick is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He knows his family is distracting him while they keep working in the cave. They’re not even doing a good job at it, taking turns to stay with him in a scheduled timeframe. They’re usually better than that at plotting and Dick would be offended they’re underestimating him if he wasn’t so tired. If he wasn’t so happy to have Alfred, Jason, Tim, Bruce, and, later in the afternoon, Duke all working together out of concern for him.

But he knows they’re also spending most of their day in the cave, possibly working on his case. He knows they’re working, and he knows they’re good, so he’s not the least surprised when, in the morning of the third day after his drowning, Jason tells him when he wakes up that the case is solved.

“So, you’re leaving?” he asks his brother, sitting at the table for breakfast, nodding to Bruce. His father had been watching him like a hawk, preventing him from doing anything more than moving around in the manor since the previous night.

Jason shrugs. “Well, the kids are coming back this afternoon, so I was thinking I could hang out a little longer.”

Dick gives him his best smile. He wishes the circumstances were different, but it’s nice to see Jason and Bruce being in the same room without being at each other’s throats.

He knows nothing is solved. He knows the next crisis will happen, and it can possibly be the last. But for now, they won. And he decides to enjoy the time he has.

Hope you enjoyed the fic, I had fun writing it. As usual, many thanks to @ohmytoddhewitt for beta reading and English fixing!

#dc #batman #batfamily #dick grayson #bruce wayne #Tim Drake #dick grayson centric #dick grayson whump #fanfiction #My writing #drowning #fear of death #sickfic

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just-late-roman-republic-things · 10 months

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Ancient Rome and the Pit of Slytherins

So, there’s this pattern I notice in a lot of books about ancient Rome, fiction and nonfiction alike. It involves every politician acting like a stereotypical Slytherin: devious, amoral, and caring only for his self-interest. No offense to Slytherin fans; I mean the stereotype here.

John Maddox Roberts describes it well in his novel, The Catiline Conspiracy:

The Pit of Slytherins, as I’ve started calling it, is related to what historians call the “frozen waste model” of Roman politics.

In the frozen waste model, there were no real ideological divides in late republican politics, because the senatorial class had effectively defanged the popular assembly and controlled people’s votes through the patron-client system. The conflicts of the Gracchi, Saturninus, Marius, Sulla, Pompey, Cicero, Catulus, Caesar and Cato solely reflected the power struggle between aristocratic families, not the popular will.

If you believe in the frozen waste model, it feels natural to conclude that the populares like Marius and Caesar were just faking their beliefs for power, while the optimates like Sulla and Cato disingenuously claimed to be protecting the “republic” while really just protecting their own class interests. So you end up with books like Roberts’, where all the politicians are a bunch of Slytherins.

There’s just one problem with the frozen waste model: it’s not true.

In recent decades historians have found increasing evidence that the popular assembly did regularly reject senatorial decrees, and wasn’t just a rubber stamp. The voters didn’t just vote for whoever their patrons told them to. Although the Roman government was strongly biased toward the upper class, the people did make their voices known in elections, referendums, court hearings, and contios (political assemblies). Furthermore, populares and optimates alike appealed to the mandate of the people for political legitimacy. (See Robert Morstein-Marx 2004, 2021.)

And, since the People played a real role in politics, there were real political divisions over what reforms to pass, and whether the People or the Senate held supreme authority. Politicians had to appeal to voters on the basis of character and issues, not just family connections.

Even if we just look at, say, Caesar’s career, several of his actions don’t seem to serve his self-interest. His expansion of civil rights for Sicilians, who couldn’t have voted for him, and to Jews, who couldn’t swing elections; his plan to drain the Pontine Marshes to reduce malaria; the Lex Julia, an anti-corruption bill; his opposition to executing the Catilinarians. While there’s no doubt he was ambitious, being ambitious isn’t the same as having no principles or real concern for one’s country.

I’d like to see more novels that let Roman politicians have beliefs, and show multiple sides with conflicting ideas of what’s right for their country. I’d especially love to see the fallout of Sulla’s “Senate supremacy” policy and the arguments people must have had over whether the Senate was subject to the People, or vice versa. And frankly, well-intentioned people thinking that they’re doing right, but unable to reconcile their differences, is just so much more interesting than treating them all as amoral hypocrites.

#the frozen waste model #the pit of slytherins #historical fiction #ancient rome

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talechasertavern · 2 years

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Artist unknown, picture found on Pinterest

“We need to be patient, Obi Wan. Come sit with me.”

Qui-Gon waved his hand in a slight gesture, bringing a pillow cushion across the bedroom to his side. Obi Wan finished fixing his Padawan braid and walked across the room to sit with his master.

“I’m afraid, master.”

“I know. I’ve known of your fear for a long time, Obi Wan.”

“But nothing seems to be out of place.”

Qui-Gon chuckled to himself and fingered through his beard. Obi Wan noticed his master was already starting to grey. A few hairs stood out in his mustache.

“You need to give yourself a moment to think. To go deeper. Past your fear and into your feelings.”

“Is fear not a feeling, master?”

“Fear is an illusion and a distraction.”

“Have you seen something in your meditations, master?”

“There is always much to see. You should see for yourself, my young padawan.

Qui-Gon gripped his shoulder warmly, the way a father would to a son, and with just as much love as those bound by blood. Obi Wan felt most loved when he was alone in the presence of his master. He’d never told him, but that was the beauty of being one with the Force, and bound together by it. Qui Gon already knew, as the feeling was mutual, and had always been.

Obi Wan closed his eyes, wrapped his hands around his knees, sat up straight, and focused hard. He felt his muscles relax and his heart rate slow. At first there was only smoke. He forced as much distraction as he could from his mind and delved deeper.

“He is incredibly powerful,” a voice echoed from the darkness.

“Master Windu?” Obi Wan furrowed his brow and focused in on the Jedi Master’s muttering.

“Qui Gon knows better. That is our problem. He will continue to push for things we don’t approve of. He is continuing to teach in an opposing direction to that of the temple.” Mace Windu’s voice rang out with a flaming intensity.

Obi Wan felt fear rise again in his belly, and began to back out of his vision.

“Obi Wan!”

“Qui Gon!”

The young padawan felt his consciousness suddenly crash back down to the present, back to his room, back to his master, who appeared concerned. He shook his head and Qui Gon held his cheek in his hand, staring his apprentice in the eyes, searching for answers.

“What did you see Obi Wan?”

“I heard what I expect to be a meeting with the Jedi Council. Master Windu’s voice was the only one I could hear.”

“And what did Master Windu say?”

“That he doesn’t trust you? That…that you will continue to teach me your own way and not accurately to the teachings of the temple.”

“How does that make you feel, Obi Wan?”

“I’m confused.”

“Did he say anything more?”

“He says that you will continue to push for things the rest of the council won’t approve of. That you are incredibly powerful. Master I can’t help but to ask…do you believe the Jedi Council fears you?”

Qui Gon smiled. “They fear what isn’t their rule.”

“What does this mean?”

“If you learn nothing else from me Obi Wan, I pray you do that. The Order has always been corrupt. Any organization that holds a higher power is.The Jedi, the Sith, politicians…all of them.”

Obi Wan bowed his head. “Have you always known they feared you and your teachings?”

“They are not as good at hiding their feelings as they would have you think. They don’t doubt the good I stand for, but they do not approve of the way I teach you. The temple is a launch pad, not a binding holy script, and I stand by that.”

“Is there anything we can do, master?”

“You are strong and wise Obi Wan, and I am very proud of you. This is something you shouldn’t fear, but instead take in stride. We must continue to lead by example. Regardless of these things, we still have much to learn from the Order, just as they have much to learn from us.”

Obi Wan nodded and smiled softly at Qui Gon. “Thank you for being so good to me, and for being my master.”

“Hardly a master,” Qui Gon chuckled, “We are in this together Obi Wan.”

#star wars #fanfic #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn

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squishmallow36 · 2 years

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Aurora Irae

I figured I've accidentally written them into enough other oneshots I should give Marelliana their own story. I originally planned on using OCs for this but well Arsonist!Marella was too fun to turn down.

Word count: 3.5k

TW: swearing, blood, a knife, arson, implied murder due to aforementioned arson, mention of Alden's homophobia, the whole shebang. Please tell me if I should tag anything else.

Neopronoun notes: She/they/fi Marella, ae/aer Biana, xe/xem Dex, it/its Keefe, ze/hir Maruca, fae/faer Linh, he/hine Fitz

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @ichor-on-my-hands @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @snowflakewolves @poppinspop @crystallinewalker @uni-seahorse-572 @tiergan-andrin-alenefar @books-over-boys @florida-llama-46 @when-wax-wings-melt @k00laidcrush @bowlcut-boyfriends @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizznee @jamesdeangf

On Ao3 or below the cut!

Marella stumbles back into fire hideout, clutching fire shoulder. Fi replays the night’s events over and over in fire mind, trying to figure out how it could’ve gone better.

It started pretty normally, just having to deal with your average corrupt politician who got away with tax evasion. There might be some other charges, but it’s fairly routine by now.

It shouldn’t be, but it is.

But then he started packing his car sooner than expected, which is a sure sign that he’s gonna be going somewhere sometime soon. And chances are, it’ll be out of the country.

It’s not that hard to get to Mexico from San Diego, you know? Certainly easier than from, like, New York.

And then there’s the whole problem of getting innocent--at least to a certain extent--people out of the way.

But, thankfully, Emery’s wife is having an affair. Marella doesn’t have a clue who, and it really doesn’t concern fire. Fi also doesn’t have definitive proof, but it’s obvious when you’ve been borderline-stalking their house for over a week by now and she hasn’t come home before 10 p.m. once.

Yeah, some people work, but that’s kind of excessive. And this isn’t fi’s first rodeo. You learn to spot the signs.

Marella sits down on a stool, peeling fire jacket off, and grimacing the entire time.

Small shards of glass are sticking out of fire shoulder, blood dripping from the wounds.

Marella swears. Fi grabs a pair of tweezers and braces fireself before starting to pull them out one by one.

There was so much traffic this evening and for no good reason. That threw off all the calculations, and fi already had only a vague grasp of stoichi--whatever the word is. Some fancy chemistry thing.

Honestly, it was a good day if fi didn’t fall asleep in Mrs. Galvin’s class.

Marella didn’t think fi would have to time how long, in seconds, it would take for 1 molar HCl to eat through three sheets of aluminum foil so it can react with the baking soda and heat up the carbon disulfide until it starts to burn.

But here we are.

Because it took way too freaking long to get there, it was dangerously close to when Emery’s wife usually got home, and in fire hurry, fi couldn’t get out of the blast radius in time.

Exploding windows are my favorite kind, fi thinks bitterly as fi pulls the last shard out of fire arm.

As Marella is trying to get the crusty dried blood that isn’t covering a hole off, fi starts muttering about how Dex caused all of this.

Xe’s the best source for chemicals anywhere around here, and is oblivious enough to buy fire crappy excuses of why fi needs more HCl.

That or xe knows and just lets fire believe that fi is believable. Either way, this current system is working, and fi doubts that xe is going to do anything to change that. Fi’s a well-paying customer, after all.

Marella us so caught up in fire internal monologue, fi lets fire guard down. And that’s never a good idea.

The floorboards above fire head creak with a footstep, and a stream of muttered curses start flowing from fire lips.

Fi throws on fire disguise in record time, carefully shrugging fire well-worn, fireproof jacket on before looping fire smoke-filtering mask Dex didn’t know xe made for fi.

It’ll have to do fi thinks, looking at the recent lacerations all over fire jacket, as fi creeps up the stairs.

Fi pulls a familiar knife out of fire pocket, tightly gripping its handle that has molded to the shape of fire hand after all this time.

Marella watches, crouching in the shadows. With each passing the second, the voice in the back of fire head wondering if fi is just being paranoid gets louder.

Fi’s about to give up when, softly, another floorboard creaks.

Marella wants to swear. Someone is definitely here…What are you doing?

Fi sneaks out of fire hiding spot, pressing fireself into a dark corner, hoping fi isn’t too obvious. It can be difficult to hide in an old, abandoned, concrete warehouse.

Ironically, that’s exactly why fi liked it in the first place. That, and the nice basement.

Marella gets fire first look at the figure, as they step into the light.

The figure seems to have a sixth sense to know fi is there, and as they make eye contact, their fight-or-flight responses both kick in.

The figure tries to turn and run, and there’s some primitive instinct that tells Marella to chase after them, to protect fire land.

It’s only a few steps before fi catches up, pressing them against the wall to prevent further attempts to run away.

As an added precaution, fi presses fire knife against their throat.

The figure’s hoodie falls back, revealing a terrified expression on a familiar face.

It takes much too long for Marella’s mind to put the pieces together. And those pieces all add up to fire girlfriend, Biana.

Fuck. Ae can’t figure out that I am who I am. That isn’t a conversation that’ll end well. That’s the kind of conversation that’ll put aer in more danger than ae already gets aerself into on a regular basis.

“So…um…hi?” ae whispers.

With the amount of adrenaline running through Marella’s body, it’s nothing short of a miracle that fi remembers to turn on fire voice scrambler. Because Biana recognizing fire voice would be real freaking bad.

“...hi?”

“How are you doing today?” Biana asks shakily.

“...It’s been kind of a shitty day, not gonna lie. How’s your day been?”

Biana shrugs slightly. “So-so.”

An awkward silence stretches between the two of them until Biana smiles slightly and says, “I’m Biana. Nice to meet you. I’d reach for a handshake…but…you know…”

“You can call me Aurora Irae. But you probably already knew that, judging from the whole outfit,” Marella says, using fire alter ego’s name.

“Also the knife,” Biana smirks. “So, yeah, I suspected. Although the news has been calling you Aurora Ignis.”

“I know. I’ve tried to fix it. Several times. The news has decided that a serial arsonist such as myself should have the Latin word for fire in their name. But I think I know my own name. Since I was the one that picked it. So it’s irae. I-r-a-e.”

“Pronoun pun. I love.”

Marella smiles behind the mask, glad it conceals fire true expression. Fi makes a conscious decision to ask, “What?”

“Nevermind.” Biana pauses before switching to an entirely different track. “Is it related to the dies irae leitmotif at all?”

The dies irae, where the ‘dies’ part is two syllables because Latin, is a super famous bit of music--just four notes, which are a minor second, and then a minor third. With that kind of minor key influence, even without translating the entire poem, you can kind of tell that it isn’t the happiest leitmotif you’re ever going to find.

It often is used to represent death, and it’s in everything from Star Wars, to The Lion King, to the sound Elsa is hearing in like the entire, like, first half of Frozen 2 to an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer Marella half-listened to.

If you want to know what it sounds like, “Making Christmas” from The Nightmare Before Christmas, is heavily drawn from the dies irae. As in the part where they say “Making Christmas” is the dies irae.

So if you ever hear some bit of music that sounds like “Making Christmas,” it could very well be an intentional use of the dies irae, and you should be looking for the death it’s foreshadowing.

If that doesn’t make it clear enough, the answer is yes. “Finally. Someone has culture. Have you played an instrument by any chance?” Marella asks, knowing full well that ae has.

“Yeah, viola for--wait, how many years? Since 4th grade. Seven-ish years. Close enough. You?”

“Like, maybe a year of clarinet. And then YouTube music theory channels that I can barely understand.” fi answers, with three years of clarinet under fire belt.

“You seem like a clarinet.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, just a vibe. You seem like you’d play clarinet.”

How the hell do you get that, Bi?

Marella pulls the knife just a hair back, away from Biana’s throat, enough to keep up appearances, but now that fi’s stopped shaking, fi doesn’t want to accidentally slit aer throat.

“Trust me, after dealing with instrument people, you start to give off a vibe. Why else would all the trumpets be arrogant arseholes?”

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

Biana laughs, and Marella’s stomach fills with familiar butterflies. “You’re not wrong. It’s like an instrumental gaydar. Wonder if it’s connected to my actual one.”

“Biana, a word of advice. Don’t tell the person with the knife know that you’re queer. What would you have done if I was homophobic?”

“Considering I don’t have a new hole in my neck, I’m pretty sure I’m okay.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Aw, are you worried about me?”

“Now I am!” Marella says, barely holding fireself back from revealing fire identity, because this is not okay. Fi also puts down the knife.

“Well, don’t. No reason to worry.”

There are a few obvious tells that Bi is thinking about Alden, and that is one of the most common one.

I’m so glad this mask hides any expression I might have. Because I’m ready to beat Alden’s ass and Bi doesn’t need to know that.

“Then why don’t I believe you?”

“Probably because you have to be paranoid enough to hold me at knifepoint.”

“Why did you sneak in here anyway?”

“My friends disproportionately enjoy daring me to break into places. It’s a gift and a curse. Been a while since I got caught. I honestly didn’t know you were here. Just thought it was your average abandoned warehouse.”

“Well, that’s why I picked it so that’s nice…I guess.”

Biana laughs. “You sound like my girlfriend.”

Oh, great. Forgot to disguise speech patterns. How am I supposed to remember that?

“We talked about this. I still have a knife. Don’t give me any personal details, if you can possibly help it. Because you don’t want questionably trustworthy people to be able to track you and the people you care about down.”

“I can protect myself, thanks.”

“Oh, Biana, how I wish I could believe that.”

“I’m tougher than I look.”

“You go on believing that,” Marella mutters.

“Hey, at least I don’t haven’t sent Alden Vacker a three page rant he because made some homophobic tweets…as much as I want to.”

“The news found out about that? Stars.”

“I really don’t know how they found out…it may or may not have been leaked by his daughtaer.” Biana smirks. “And they’ve decided you’re straightn’t, which just means they’re calling you gay until further notice. Because they don’t know any other terms.”

“Of course they did. But they were kind of right for once. I’m gay as hell. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t include that in your police report. I don’t need to piss off the homophobes more than I already do.”

“But pissing off the homophobes is fun…Also who said anything about a police report?"

“I’m pretty sure holding someone at knifepoint is some felony or another. And then there’s the whole arson thing but that’s whatever.”

“Um, so does breaking and entering, if I’m not mistaken. Or trespassing or whatever I’m doing here.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Marella says, closing the pocket knife. If Bi wanted to run away, ae would have already.

“Thanks,” ae says sarcastically.

“You’re welcome,” fi replies, just as sarcastically.

“So does that mean I can…” Bi gestures towards the door.

“As long as you don’t tell anyone where I am. If you do, I will find you and slit your throat. And don’t try to find a legal loophole out of it like a politician.”

“Except for when it accidentally legalizes arson for people who don’t exclusively use binary pronouns.”

Marella stops. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, in the US’s arson laws, it explicitly uses ‘he or she’ blah blah blah I don’t really care about the rest.”

“Is that why the news is so determined to use he/him for me? Because I have done my absolute best to present as nonbinary and yet here we are.”

“May I ask what you’d like pronoun-wise for my mental dictionary then?”

“I guess they/them works. Gender is yucky.”

Biana laughs, making fi’s heart flutter. They’ve been dating for months now and it still won’t stop with that.

“That’s the most correct thing I’ve heard all week. And maybe try looking into neopronouns if the trinary doesn’t feel like it fits.”

Marella nods, saying, “I will,” knowing full well that fi’d love to use fi/fire pronouns but that just doesn’t seem feasible. Aurora Irae can’t know about neopronouns before today, because that’s much too small of a community, so it’d be too easy to find fire from there, and Marella can’t just use fi/fire while there’s a serial arsonist running around.

“Alright. Then I guess I’ll see you never.”

“Bye. Remember, you better not tell anyone about this place.”

Biana turns to leave before whipping back around again. “Wait, one more thing. You remember Alden, right?”

“Unfortunately.”

“When he gets caught and then inevitably pardoned for tax evasion or something, put him on your list.”

Oh, great, Biana is trying to make an arsonist murder aer father. I knew their relationship was bad but holy fuck.

“Okay.”

“He’s a horrible, queerphobic bast--wait, you agreed?”

“Yeah, sure, why not? Small price to pay for security. Plus, he fits my business model.”

Biana smiles amusedly. “Business model?”

“Business model, modus operandi, same thing.”

Biana snorts. “I don’t think I’ve got anything else, so bye!” Ae walks backward, waving, and Marella spends the entire time worrying that ae’s gonna trip on something and hurt aerself, but ae somehow avoids all of the rubble that Marella likes to think of as interior decor.

It’s what makes aer so good at being in places ae shouldn’t be.

Fi waves halfheartedly, making sure Biana gets off fire property before sighing and climbing back downstairs.

As the adrenaline fades, the nerves in fire shoulder that fi’d been ignoring throw a fit, and peeling fire jacket off is more painful than earlier, with even more semi-dried blood fusing fire to fire jacket.

Fi finishes patching fireself up as best as fi can before beginning to pack up fire meager belongings that get left here unattended.

Yes, Marella trusts Biana, but that doesn’t mean Aurora Irae can.

And if ae doesn’t hold up aer end of the bargain, there’s no telling how severe the fallout will be.

It’s morning before fi knows it. Marella sighs as fi watches the sunrise, already mapping a mental route to the nearest coffeeshop.

It’s a jumble of emotions as Marella throws fire signature accelerant, designed to burn bright yellow with just a dusting of sodium--fi didn’t get to use it last night because of outside factors--and it wipes away any trace that fi’d ever been here.

There’s plenty of other abandoned buildings out there, fi tells fireself as fi watches the flames consume fire warehouse.

Marella is almost in a trance until reality comes back to slap fire in the face, and fi takes off running towards fire high school, with not nearly enough time to be on time to fire first class.

Don’t you people know that I have to go real estate shopping later today? I don’t have time for this much homework, Marella thinks bitterly, joining her friends in the hallway, who have already started joking about nothing, per usual.

But, it’s nice to have this normal high school experience sometimes, especially after last night.

“Bi, do you think you can maybe help me?” Keefe asks, causing Biana to sigh heavily.

“What’s your idea this time?"

It shrugs. “Just a little something for Principal Alina. I need you to break into her office for me.”

Biana, just like everyone else here, knows that this isn’t the whole story, but has given up fighting a long time ago. “Text me the details. I don’t have enough energy to argue.”

“You sleep alright?” Marella asks.

Ae yawns, and Marella notices the dark circles under aer eyes. “Yeah. I just had more homework than I thought.”

Liar. You didn’t have any homework. You told me yourself. I should be proud that you’re willing to lie for Aurora Irae.

Did you lose sleep thinking about them? As your girlfriend, that’s disappointing but understandable.

Maruca blows hir nose for the several hundredth time today. “I’ve probably just infected aer. You might be next.” Hir parents are convinced it’s just allergies. But we've collectively decided it’s one heck of a head cold. Antihistamines aren’t helping.

“Is that a threat?” Stina asks, smirking.

“Do you want it to be?” Ze looks at her, raising an eyebrow.

The others just collectively ignore the fact that they’ve been queerplatonically flirting for months now and yet, somehow, they’re still ignorant of what’s going on between them. So everybody willfully ignores it.

It’s not like you can tell either of them what they’re too oblivious to see.

Linh saves everyone, asking, “Wait, Bi, didn’t we send you off on a mission last night?”

Before ae can respond, Fitz joins the group, interrupting, “Yes, you did. And that warehouse was targeted by Aurora Ignis this morning. You should be lucky you weren’t in there. It’s all over the local news.”

“Damn,” Keefe mutters, not-so-discreetly watching its best friend’s ass as he walks away. It’s anyone’s guess where its statement applies.

“Anything interesting happen while you were there?” Marella asks, choosing to ignore Keefe. If you can’t tell, there’s kind of a trend here.

Biana swallows hard, and Marella sees a fine line on aer throat from last night’s events.

Worse case scenario, it’ll blend right into the car crash scars covering aer entire left side from a few years ago.

“Nope,” ae answers, voice shaking only slightly. If anyone notices it, they don’t point it out.

“Aw, that’s disappointing.” Keefe says. “Fitzy could use a prompt for hine creative writing class.”

Linh looks at it. “We’re in the middle of our poetry unit.”

“Hey, I don’t know how that works. Eddie Poe could probably figure it out.”

Fae shudders. “That’s because Poe is a motherfucking genius.”

“What would Bangs Boy think about your language, young laedy?"

“Tam is your boyfriend and swears like a sailor. Don’t even try that with me.”

“Uh, we’re on a break right now, and the fact that you don’t know that…my disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined.”

“I’m already a disappointment to my parents, do you think I care?”

Fae had to go there, didn’t fae?

“And so is everyone here. That doesn’t make you special,” Keefe argues.

Stina interjects, “No, I’m not.”

“Shut up,” Keefe growls, not as angry at it wants to seem like it is.

“Have fun with that. See ya later, bitches,” Stina says, turning away to her next class.

Keefe gets dropped off for its math class that it’s going to inevitably skip one way or another, and then Maruca and Linh get dropped off at their required US history class.

Nobody except for Fitzy wants to take that. And even that’s debatable some days, so you know it’s bad.

All that’s left is Marella and Biana, holding hands as they walk down to the science halls.

“You’re sure nothing happened yesterday, love?” Marella asks.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. No reason to worry.”

That just makes me worry more, you know that, right?

“Wow. So convincing.” Marella replies, piling the sarcasm on thick.

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

Marella squeezes aer hand. “I’m always here if you need me. Maybe not in the physical plane and I might miraculously be away from my phone for a millisecond, but, you know, metaphorically.”

Biana just barely smiles, complex emotions that words can’t quite describe etched into every line.

“I’ll see you after class? ‘Cause you can’t get rid of me this easily.”

Marella’s hand slips from Biana’s grasp as she heads into her AP Chem class she regrets taking every single day.

Stars, I’m a horrible person. Ae feels like shit. Because of me and me alone.

But you had to make sure Aurora Irae’s secret was safe.

I guess. But there really isn’t much left to tell anymore.

You don’t know what could end up being your downfall. Your secrets will be safe as long as nobody knows anything.

That’s a really damn lonely way to live. But it’s not like I’ve got any better solutions.

#kotlc #marella redek #marella may #biana vacker #kotlc fanfic #'aurora irae' means 'dawn of wrath' in latin #more details of how i came up with that in the fic #originally marella's character's name was supposed to be nex #which is latin for 'violent death'#so i had to pay homage to that somehow #latin vigilante name it is #i can't seem to avoid going on random fact detours in everything i write #nevertheless im super proud of this #<3 #is this cliche?#probably #do I care?#not in the slightest

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changeatthepenglide · 1 year

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Digital citizenship and how I've seen it unfold

Protest and digital activism are things I’ve learned and cared about yet never experienced. The words ‘disagreement’, ‘disapproval’, and ‘opposition’ are stated by Cambridge Dictionary (n.d) when defining protest and having experienced a time of protest that was unique to me; I can say that about sums it up.

Context

As has been reported on the news, this year was incredibly difficult for Sri Lanka, my home. Discontent among the mass population grew to the point that individuals from every race, socio-economic background, class, and gender voiced their frustrations for the first time.

Sri Lankan politics is such that every faction of society is involved whether they like it or not. The prevalence of individuals who are not qualified to be members of parliament is so significant that ludicrous decisions are made almost daily, corruption is rampant, and people inevitably speak their thoughts as they are affected.

This year, however, the divide in political views and support for parties and politicians ended as Sri Lanka’s reserves fell to 0, our currency plummeted, and inflation became the 2nd highest on earth. Being a society that rarely spoke out against then-President, Gotabaya Rajapaksa due to the fear of persecution, people took to digital protest to voice their frustrations.

Digital Activism to Protest

Spaces like Facebook and Instagram were flooded with posts and comments condemning the actions of a corrupt government. However, as problems grew in their magnitude so did public discontent, 17-hour power cuts, waiting in line for 2 weeks to secure half a tank of fuel, not having cooking gas in the country and seeing prices of goods exceed that of first-world countries brought people out to the streets.

As per Morozov (2010) in his New York Times article, there is a difference between what he says are “virtual” and “real protests.” However, as he questions the legitimacy of digital revolutions with a Western gaze, I can say that there is not only a correlation between the two, but they are both needed to achieve success.

Sri Lanka sees constant protesting; it isn’t an odd sight to be going to the office or coming back from school to be held in traffic due to a demonstration every few weeks. However, the success of such protests was limited as they remained just that, a protest, never getting the backing of the masses to become a movement. The U.S did not experience the Civil Rights Protest; it was the Civil Rights Movement. It saw collective action from African Americans of all classes, hence why its legend has lived on. The same sentiment applies to Sri Lanka. The digital protest created a platform that mobilized the public for a common cause, disseminated information amongst every facet of society, and developed collective resistance to the ruling regime.

Information regarding physical protests was spread on Twitter, Instagram and WhatsApp. In a truly impressive and organized fashion, millions of people assembled at notable locations around the nation. Through many struggles, the protest ultimately succeeded, removing the President and his brother, who served as PM.

A Broken Record

Ultimately, my thoughts on protest and digital activism are that they aren’t separate, nor does one hold more importance than the other. They need to work in tandem to achieve what should be a common goal. The age we live in calls for the use of social media to disseminate information and provide a platform for the truth. We’ve seen it work around the world, and I’ve seen it work first-hand in a way that no person alive today in my country will ever forget as we all continue in the struggle for a better tomorrow.

References

Cambridge Dictionary . (n.d). protest . Retrieved from dictionary.cambridge.org: https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/protest

Morozov, E. (2010, December 9). Virtual vs. Real Protests . Retrieved from nytimes.com: https://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2010/09/29/can-twitter-lead-people-to-the-streets/virtual-vs-real-protests

#mda20009 #sri lanka #week 6 #protest

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danganronpasurvivoraskblog · 2 years

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Taking Matters...

I’m really sorry. Truth be told, this is all my fault.

It’s ok. So long as you’re all safe. Besides it’s not as if your chase was unprovoked.

I’m partially to blame as well. I was the one who was serious about keeping attention away from us, but I jumped at the opportunity to assist in the escape. I can’t claim to be unassociated.

Same here, obviously. In fact, the chase was kinda my idea. Boss wanted to go back and ask the staff for help, but I stopped him.

Actually, I’m glad you did that Kuripa. I wasn’t really thinking about it at the time, but the more we involved ourselves with that group, the more we draw attention to ourselves. We don’t have any business associating with people like that.

Ok, I’m glad you’re all ok, but I think you’re all missing the bigger questions.

Who WERE those guys that stole from you and Fang Inc!?

A-And why were the police shooting at you!?

...Well, if we want to answer both those questions...

*Byakuya goes over to the table and places down some newspaper articles. He, Kyoko and Makoto stand around the table and look down at the articles. Hiro and Hina sit on opposite sides of the table on the comfy seats, and Kuripa goes over to the sofa in the corner, lazing on it and keeping an ear open, ready to chime into the conversation.

I gathered these and tried to get as much of a grasp on the situation as I could. Was trying to decide whether or not it was worth tapping on.

But to answer Hiro’s question first, it’s because you weren’t just pursued by police. You were pursued by members of the F.I.P.E

Fipe? What does that mean?

Isn’t that some kind of economic research foundation in Brazil?

This is a different kind of Fipe. F.I.P.E stands for Fang Incorporated Public Eye. They’re a private section of the American police force, owned and supervised by the higher up officials in the company. Only those closest with the CEO, Emilia Feng herself.

What the heck!? So she really does own the police!?

Part of it anyway. Which is a fairly large chunk.

That would explain why their cars had the company brand...

I knew American’s were trigger happy, but that force seems significantly more dangerous than any other I’ve encountered, and that’s even counting the Kisaragi Force. Not even Kinjo is shoot first, ask questions never.

But that doesn’t make any sense! Emilia Feng ain’t a politician or police captain, she’s the owner of a corporation! Why does SHE, upstanding citizen she may be, own her own police force!?

She doesn’t exactly have any previous ties to the government, and as a matter of fact, these days nobody really knows what the woman looks like. She hardly ever shows her face to the public unless she’s delivering information that’s very important. Same goes for the US police.

If I had to take a guess...It’s a combination of bribery, and pulling strings.

You think so?

Before it fell from the tragedy, Togami corp was one of, if not, the most powerful financial giant in the world. But even if it was kept from me, I cannot deny the possibility that that wealth and power was built on the backs of others, through bribery and exploitation.

The larger a company is, the deeper it’s corruption runs. The only issue is when the company head, who controls everything, is corrupt themselves. Because THAT’S when things start to become a problem.

And you think Emilia is corrupt?

Maybe...Maybe not...but it’s not fair of me to make such an assumption against a woman who’s legacy is this impressive...

Let’s just say that when you bribe and control a segment of the city’s police...I find it suspicious.

I see where you’re coming from there...Not even Future Foundation control the public police, and we hire our own soldiers for that.

Ok, I get the picture with the corporation, but that’s not what I’m interested in.

Do we have anything, ANYTHING at all, in regards to our bandits?

If Fang Inc. is really so powerful, then those guys have got a lot of nerve to be stealing from them. They’re either brave or stupid.

I’m willing to bet the latter. Seriously, who hurts their wrist when punching someone?

Actually, I think I can answer that.

You can?

*Kyoko pulls some more newspapers and shifts them around.

In fact...I believe that these guys are the people who the Kisaragi Foundation warned us about.

They call themselves...The Freedom Foundation.

Freedom...Foundation?

Why does everyone gotta copy our brand?

Well, they’re a stupid group of unruly kids, so to be perfectly honest, if you told me it was a coincidence, I would NOT be surprised.

What’s the deal with those guys? There’s gotta be more to them than just a small group of criminals.

Supposedly, from the newspaper and tv reports, they aren’t just a regular group of young dumb criminals. They seem to have some kind of personal vendetta against Fang Inc. They only target facilities and places that are associated with the company.

And does anyone know who they really are?

That’s the weird thing. People have stated to have seen the faces of the Foundation, and have reported it to both Fang Inc. and the police...However...

Neither side acts as if they know the groups real identities, despite eyewitness reports. And as stupid as they came across in their escape, clearly they’re more professional and organized than they let on.

After all, we were only after them to get Makoto’s wedding ring back. But they acted very defensive. Plus, the green haired girl had that spear, which she stole from the gallery.

I think they stole something else...possibly from the databank inside the building.

The databank!? But that place is locked up tighter than Togami’s ass!

What!?

Don’t look at me, I got THAT one from Boss.

What you-!? Well...I might’ve said that?

I...will let that slide. The point is there’s more to those guys than being simple wedding ring thieves.

And also...if we’re going to get back what they stole from us, OR do some potential digging...Then we’re going to have to do it ourselves...

We can’t get the police involved because 1) they might be bribed against us, and 2) it would draw attention to us which we don’t need.

Uh...I hate to be that guy, but wouldn’t the safest thing maybe be to...NOT go after them anymore?

Hiro!

What!? If we don’t wanna draw attention to us, we shouldn’t be getting wrapped up in organized crime!

No, Hiro’s got a point. This is potentially dangerous for us, and we risk exposing ourselves if we go too deep into this.

Who said anything about involving ourselves? We can just find them, secretly get back our ring; or at least find out what happened to it, and then bail before anyone can figure out we’ve even been there.

And if we get caught?

Then we fight our way out and don’t look back. If we don’t want to get involved in this plot...then we don’t have to.

Hm...And you’re sure that will work?

With my luck...probably not, but it’s worth a go.

Alright, but...even so...Where the hell do we even start?

We can’t track these guys down with evidence or a license plate or anything. We’d need to go to the police for that, and if we don’t want to involve ourselves in a scandal, then we can’t go with that option.

We do have some tracking technology stored away here in the home. We could potentially use it to track a phone, but...

But what?

We’d actually need an IP address. Or any trace of one of those people’s phones.

!!??

*Kuripa, lazing on the sofa, suddenly gets up.

We have that!

You what!?

*Kuripa reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

That girl. The one with the hoodie and green hair! We exchanged contact info.

You did WHAT!?

Before we realized she’d stolen from Boss, we were actually hitting it off. We wanted to speak again later, so we exchanged info. If we’re lucky, she’s forgotten about it by now.

Why didn’t you just call her earlier!?

What kind of suggestion is THAT!? “Oh, hello, just ringing you to ask you to give me back that thing you stole from my boss?”

Hang up, block, delete number! Are you ACTUALLY that stupid!?

Alright Kuripa, don’t be mean.

In any case, is this good enough Byakuya?

It depends. This could take from a few hours to a day or two. This tech isn’t exactly reliable.

Let me help you then. Believe me, we’ve got all the time in the world.

#danganronpa survivor #danganronpa #danganronpa 1 #dr1 #oc #makoto naegi #kyoko kirigiri #byakuya togami #yasuhiro hagakure #aoi asahina #kuripa kurafto #into the ocean arc

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missmentelle · 3 years

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Why Smart People Believe Stupid Things

If you’ve been paying attention for the last couple of years, you might have noticed that the world has a bit of a misinformation problem.

The problem isn’t just with the recent election conspiracies, either. The last couple of years has brought us the rise (and occasionally fall) of misinformation-based movements like:

Sandy Hook conspiracies

Gamergate

Pizzagate

The MRA/incel/MGTOW movements

anti-vaxxers

flat-earthers

the birther movement

the Illuminati

climate change denial

Spygate

Holocaust denial

COVID-19 denial

5G panic

QAnon

But why do people believe this stuff?

It would be easy - too easy - to say that people fall for this stuff because they’re stupid. We all want to believe that smart people like us are immune from being taken in by deranged conspiracies. But it’s just not that simple. People from all walks of life are going down these rabbit holes - people with degrees and professional careers and rich lives have fallen for these theories, leaving their loved ones baffled. Decades-long relationships have splintered this year, as the number of people flocking to these conspiracies out of nowhere reaches a fever pitch.

So why do smart people start believing some incredibly stupid things? It’s because:

Our brains are built to identify patterns.

Our brains fucking love puzzles and patterns. This is a well-known phenomenon called apophenia, and at one point, it was probably helpful for our survival - the prehistoric human who noticed patterns in things like animal migration, plant life cycles and the movement of the stars was probably a lot more likely to survive than the human who couldn’t figure out how to use natural clues to navigate or find food.

The problem, though, is that we can’t really turn this off. Even when we’re presented with completely random data, we’ll see patterns. We see patterns in everything, even when there’s no pattern there. This is why people see Jesus in a burnt piece of toast or get superstitious about hockey playoffs or insist on always playing at a certain slot machine - our brains look for patterns in the constant barrage of random information in our daily lives, and insist that those patterns are really there, even when they’re completely imagined.

A lot of conspiracy theories have their roots in people making connections between things that aren’t really connected. The belief that “vaccines cause autism” was bolstered by the fact that the first recognizable symptoms of autism happen to appear at roughly the same time that children receive one of their rounds of childhood immunizations - the two things are completely unconnected, but our brains have a hard time letting go of the pattern they see there. Likewise, many people were quick to latch on to the fact that early maps of COVID infections were extremely similar to maps of 5G coverage - the fact that there’s a reasonable explanation for this (major cities are more likely to have both high COVID cases AND 5G networks) doesn’t change the fact that our brains just really, really want to see a connection there.

Our brains love proportionality.

Specifically, our brains like effects to be directly proportional to their causes - in other words, we like it when big events have big causes, and small causes only lead to small events. It’s uncomfortable for us when the reverse is true. And so anytime we feel like a “big” event (celebrity death, global pandemic, your precious child is diagnosed with autism) has a small or unsatisfying cause (car accident, pandemics just sort of happen every few decades, people just get autism sometimes), we sometimes feel the need to start looking around for the bigger, more sinister, “true” cause of that event.

Consider, for instance, the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II. In 1981, Pope John Paul II was shot four times by a Turkish member of a known Italian paramilitary secret society who’d recently escaped from prison - on the surface, it seems like the sort of thing conspiracy theorists salivate over, seeing how it was an actual multinational conspiracy. But they never had much interest in the assassination attempt. Why? Because the Pope didn’t die. He recovered from his injuries and went right back to Pope-ing. The event didn’t have a serious outcome, and so people are content with the idea that one extremist carried it out. The death of Princess Diana, however, has been fertile ground for conspiracy theories; even though a woman dying in a car accident is less weird than a man being shot four times by a paid political assassin, her death has attracted more conspiracy theories because it had a bigger outcome. A princess dying in a car accident doesn’t feel big enough. It’s unsatisfying. We want such a monumentous moment in history to have a bigger, more interesting cause.

These theories prey on pre-existing fear and anger.

Are you a terrified new parent who wants the best for their child and feels anxious about having them injected with a substance you don’t totally understand? Congrats, you’re a prime target for the anti-vaccine movement. Are you a young white male who doesn’t like seeing more and more games aimed at women and minorities, and is worried that “your” gaming culture is being stolen from you? You might have been very interested in something called Gamergate. Are you a right-wing white person who worries that “your” country and way of life is being stolen by immigrants, non-Christians and coastal liberals? You’re going to love the “all left-wingers are Satantic pedo baby-eaters” messaging of QAnon.

Misinformation and conspiracy theories are often aimed strategically at the anxieties and fears that people are already experiencing. No one likes being told that their fears are insane or irrational; it’s not hard to see why people gravitate towards communities that say “yes, you were right all along, and everyone who told you that you were nuts to be worried about this is just a dumb sheep. We believe you, and we have evidence that you were right along, right here.” Fear is a powerful motivator, and you can make people believe and do some pretty extreme things if you just keep telling them “yes, that thing you’re afraid of is true, but also it’s way worse than you could have ever imagined.”

Real information is often complicated, hard to understand, and inherently unsatisfying.

The information that comes from the scientific community is often very frustrating for a layperson; we want science to have hard-and-fast answers, but it doesn’t. The closest you get to a straight answer is often “it depends” or “we don’t know, but we think X might be likely”. Understanding the results of a scientific study with any confidence requires knowing about sampling practices, error types, effect sizes, confidence intervals and publishing biases. Even asking a simple question like “is X bad for my child” will usually get you a complicated, uncertain answer - in most cases, it really just depends. Not understanding complex topics makes people afraid - it makes it hard to trust that they’re being given the right information, and that they’re making the right choices.

Conspiracy theories and misinformation, on the other hand, are often simple, and they are certain. Vaccines bad. Natural things good. 5G bad. Organic food good. The reason girls won’t date you isn’t a complex combination of your social skills, hygiene, appearance, projected values, personal circumstances, degree of extroversion, luck and life phase - girls won’t date you because feminism is bad, and if we got rid of feminism you’d have a girlfriend. The reason Donald Trump was an unpopular president wasn’t a complex combination of his public bigotry, lack of decorum, lack of qualifications, open incompetence, nepotism, corruption, loss of soft power, refusal to uphold the basic responsibilities of his position or his constant lying - they hated him because he was fighting a secret sex cult and they’re all in it.

Instead of making you feel stupid because you’re overwhelmed with complex information, expert opinions and uncertain advice, conspiracy theories make you feel smart - smarter, in fact, than everyone who doesn’t believe in them. And that’s a powerful thing for people living in a credential-heavy world.

Many conspiracy theories are unfalsifiable.

It is very difficult to prove a negative. If I tell you, for instance, that there’s no such thing as a purple swan, it would be very difficult for me to actually prove that to you - I could spend the rest of my life photographing swans and looking for swans and talking to people who know a lot about swans, and yet the slim possibility would still exist that there was a purple swan out there somewhere that I just hadn’t found yet. That’s why, in most circumstances, the burden of proof lies with the person making the extraordinary claim - if you tell me that purple swans exist, we should continue to assume that they don’t until you actually produce a purple swan.

Conspiracy theories, however, are built so that it’s nearly impossible to “prove” them wrong. Is there any proof that the world’s top-ranking politicians and celebrities are all in a giant child sex trafficking cult? No. But can you prove that they aren’t in a child sex-trafficking cult? No, not really. Even if I, again, spent the rest of my life investigating celebrities and following celebrities and talking to people who know celebrities, I still couldn’t definitely prove that this cult doesn’t exist - there’s always a chance that the specific celebrities I’ve investigated just aren’t in the cult (but other ones are!) or that they’re hiding evidence of the cult even better than we think. Lack of evidence for a conspiracy theory is always treated as more evidence for the theory - we can’t find anything because this goes even higher up than we think! They’re even more sophisticated at hiding this than we thought! People deeply entrenched in these theories don’t even realize that they are stuck in a circular loop where everything seems to prove their theory right - they just see a mountain of “evidence” for their side.

Our brains are very attached to information that we “learned” by ourselves.

Learning accurate information is not a particularly interactive or exciting experience. An expert or reliable source just presents the information to you in its entirety, you read or watch the information, and that’s the end of it. You can look for more information or look for clarification of something, but it’s a one-way street - the information is just laid out for you, you take what you need, end of story.

Conspiracy theories, on the other hand, almost never show their hand all at once. They drop little breadcrumbs of information that slowly lead you where they want you to go. This is why conspiracy theorists are forever telling you to “do your research” - they know that if they tell you everything at once, you won’t believe them. Instead, they want you to indoctrinate yourself slowly over time, by taking the little hints they give you and running off to find or invent evidence that matches that clue. If I tell you that celebrities often wear symbols that identify them as part of a cult and that you should “do your research” about it, you can absolutely find evidence that substantiates my claim - there are literally millions of photos of celebrities out there, and anyone who looks hard enough is guaranteed to find common shapes, poses and themes that might just mean something (they don’t - eyes and triangles are incredibly common design elements, and if I took enough pictures of you, I could also “prove” that you also clearly display symbols that signal you’re in the cult).

The fact that you “found” the evidence on your own, however, makes it more meaningful to you. We trust ourselves, and we trust that the patterns we uncover by ourselves are true. It doesn’t feel like you’re being fed misinformation - it feels like you’ve discovered an important truth that “they” didn’t want you to find, and you’ll hang onto that for dear life.

Older people have not learned to be media-literate in a digital world.

Fifty years ago, not just anyone could access popular media. All of this stuff had a huge barrier to entry - if you wanted to be on TV or be in the papers or have a radio show, you had to be a professional affiliated with a major media brand. Consumers didn’t have easy access to niche communities or alternative information - your sources of information were basically your local paper, the nightly news, and your morning radio show, and they all more or less agreed on the same set of facts. For decades, if it looked official and it appeared in print, you could probably trust that it was true.

Of course, we live in a very different world today - today, any asshole can accumulate an audience of millions, even if they have no credentials and nothing they say is actually true (like “The Food Babe”, a blogger with no credentials in medicine, nutrition, health sciences, biology or chemistry who peddles health misinformation to the 3 million people who visit her blog every month). It’s very tough for older people (and some younger people) to get their heads around the fact that it’s very easy to create an “official-looking” news source, and that they can’t necessarily trust everything they find on the internet. When you combine that with a tendency toward “clickbait headlines” that often misrepresent the information in the article, you have a generation struggling to determine who they can trust in a media landscape that doesn’t at all resemble the media landscape they once knew.

These beliefs become a part of someone’s identity.

A person doesn’t tell you that they believe in anti-vaxx information - they tell you that they ARE an anti-vaxxer. Likewise, people will tell you that they ARE a flat-earther, a birther, or a Gamergater. By design, these beliefs are not meant to be something you have a casual relationship with, like your opinion of pizza toppings or how much you trust local weather forecasts - they are meant to form a core part of your identity.

And once something becomes a core part of your identity, trying to make you stop believing it becomes almost impossible. Once we’ve formed an initial impression of something, facts just don’t change our minds. If you identify as an antivaxxer and I present evidence that disproves your beliefs, in your mind, I’m not correcting inaccurate information - I am launching a very personal attack against a core part of who you are. In fact, the more evidence I present, the more you will burrow down into your antivaxx beliefs, more confident than ever that you are right. Admitting that you are wrong about something that is important to you is painful, and your brain would prefer to simply deflect conflicting information rather than subject you to that pain.

We can see this at work with something called the confirmation bias. Simply put, once we believe something, our brains hold on to all evidence that that belief is true, and ignore evidence that it’s false. If I show you 100 articles that disprove your pet theory and 3 articles that confirm it, you’ll cling to those 3 articles and forget about the rest. Even if I show you nothing but articles that disprove your theory, you’ll likely go through them and pick out any ambiguous or conflicting information as evidence for “your side”, even if the conclusion of the article shows that you are wrong - our brains simply care about feeling right more than they care about what is actually true.

There is a strong community aspect to these theories.

There is no one quite as supportive or as understanding as a conspiracy theorist - provided, of course, that you believe in the same conspiracy theories that they do. People who start looking into these conspiracy theories are told that they aren’t crazy, and that their fears are totally valid. They’re told that the people in their lives who doubted them were just brainwashed sheep, but that they’ve finally found a community of people who get where they’re coming from. Whenever they report back to the group with the “evidence” they’ve found or the new elaborations on the conspiracy theory that they’ve been thinking of (“what if it’s even worse than we thought??”), they are given praise for their valuable contributions. These conspiracy groups often become important parts of people’s social networks - they can spend hours every day talking with like-minded people from these communities and sharing their ideas.

Of course, the flipside of this is that anyone who starts to doubt or move away from the conspiracy immediately loses that community and social support. People who have broken away from antivaxx and QAnon often say that the hardest part of leaving was losing the community and friendships they’d built - not necessarily giving up on the theory itself. Many people are rejected by their real-life friends and family once they start to get entrenched in conspiracy theories; the friendships they build online in the course of researching these theories often become the only social supports they have left, and losing those supports means having no one to turn to at all. This is by design - the threat of losing your community has kept people trapped in abusive religious sects and cults for as long as those things have existed.

#missmentelle #askmissmentelle #conspiracy theories #cults #psychology #science #neuroscience

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years

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A(nother) massive Swiss banking leak

Look, there’s been another massive banking leak, this one from Credit Suisse, showing complicity in laundering money for the world’s greatest monsters: human traffickers, despots, criminals. They’re calling it Suisse Secrets.

https://www.theguardian.com/news/2022/feb/20/credit-suisse-secrets-leak-unmasks-criminals-fraudsters-corrupt-politicians

They had to call it that, because Swiss Leaks was already taken, for the 2015 UBS leaks that revealed UBS’s complicity in the same fucking thing.

As Jeffrey Neiman — lawyer for the Credit Suisse whistleblowers — told the Guardian, “How many rogue bankers do you need to have before you start having a rogue bank?” I’d add, given that this rot extends beyond Credit Suisse to UBS and undoubtably further, “How many rogue bankes do you need to have before you start having a rogue banking system?”

The friend who emailed me about this wrote, “After so many of these, I am accepting that these leaks don’t matter, and that those in power don’t actually want to fix the system. Sunlight isn’t doing any disinfecting at all.”

He’s not wrong, but that’s not the whole story.

The problem isn’t the transparency, it’s the inaction.

They money laundering revealed in Suisse Secrets abetted the worst criminals on Earth, like Nigerian dictator Sani Abacha, who looted $5b from his people and laundered hundreds of millions (or more) through Credit Suisse. Abacha is in good company — CS also laundered for the Marcoses and their bagman, and other looters from Syria to Madagascar.

Also mafiosi, killers, human traffickers, embezzlers, fraudsters, corrupters and worse. The facts laid out in the Guardian story (and stories in partner outlets like Süddeutsche Zeitung), there is no question that Credit Suisse knew whose money they were handling, and knew just how dirty it was.

What’s more, the reporting makes it abundantly clear that Swiss banking secrecy is designed and maintained for the express purpose of laundering this blood money. Despite Swiss officials’ claims to have ended banking secrecy, the country is still a rogue state, a criminal haven. It’s not only failing to end money-laundering, it’s encouraging it: Switzerland is broadening its banking secrecy law to allow it to punish whistleblowers who reveal the nation’s role in global finance crime:

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-swiss-banking-secrecy-exclusive/exclusive-swiss-prosecutors-seek-widening-of-secrecy-law-to-bankers-abroad-idUSKBN1D01CI

To my friend’s point, we kind of knew all of this. The leaks — SwissLeaks, LuxLeaks, IRS Files, Panama Papers, Paradise Papers, Pandora Papers — keep revealing that the marble facades of the world’s greatest banks are holding back oceans of blood and misery:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/04/avoidance-is-evasion/#transparency

We haven’t done anything about it.

Yet.

500 new billionaires were minted in 2020. Then it got worse. There’s a new billionaire being minted every 17 hours:

https://www.dw.com/en/forbes-a-new-billionaire-every-17-hours/a-57135443

Behind every great fortune is a great crime:

https://quoteinvestigator.com/2013/09/09/fortune-crime/

It’s a nightmare and it shows no sign of ending.

Knowing about it isn’t enough. But knowing about it is a start.

The knowledge we’ve gained from the reporting on these leaks — reporting at great expense and risk, which has resulted in a journalist’s assassination — isn’t the reason for the inaction.

Indeed, if the action ever comes, it will be because of this reporting. You can’t solve a problem until you know it exists.

A truism of the free/open source world is that “with enough eyeballs, all bugs are shallow.” That is, with enough scrutiny, a solution will emerge.

That idea came under enormous strain with 2014’s Heartbleed Bug. It turned out that a widely used free/open piece of web-server infrastructure had a longstanding bug, just hanging out there in plain sight. The code was there for anyone to scrutinize, but no one had looked hard enough to find it.

https://heartbleed.com/

That was a wakeup call for the community. It wasn’t enough to simply publish sourcecode for important infrastructure. We had to build and fund systems that would audit that code. Having the code where anyone could see it would make their job easier, but the job wouldn’t do itself.

We got lucky with Heartbleed. The good guys found it before it was ever exploited in the wild, and they coordinated a massive, global upgrade that patched the majority of webservers before the bug was disclosed.

But we didn’t get so lucky the next time. When the Log4j bug was discovered last November, it was already too late. We’d hit snooze on Heartbleed’s wakeup call and holy shit had we ever overslept:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Log4Shell

Competent, serious people are worried about the vulnerabilities presented by the software that underpins our digital world, but none of them argue that the problem with that software is that it’s available for inspection. The problem is that we don’t inspect or act on it in a systemic, coordinated way. We don’t take it seriously.

We should take it seriously.

The problem isn’t that we know about these deep and worrying flaws. The problem is that we’re not doing anything about them. Knowing these specifics — whether it’s Log4j or SuisseSecrets — is the necessary, but insufficient condition for change.

These leaks are claim-checks on the people who sold us out. Someday, we’ll collect on them.

Image: Ready.gov (modified) https://www.ready.gov/floods

#pluralistic

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centaurianthropology · 2 years

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The Subtle (and very American) Classism of Lord Eshteross

Something has struck me since the beginning of campaign 3, and I think it’s deliberate, both on Matt’s part and on Travis’. Both Lord Eshteross and Bertrand Bell talked about Eshteross’ mission, and on the surface it seems like a very good thing, rooting out corruption and protecting the innocent.

But who is innocent in their eyes? Who is worth protecting, and who is dismissed? This is something I was immediately wary of during Bertrand’s introduction of Lord Eshteross, when he discussed how he wanted to help the “good people of Jrusar, the decent people”. I have heard those buzzwords before, and they mean something specific, particularly in America. When politicians use those words, they mean the middle class or wealthier. In politics, those people matter. The people who are truly impoverished aren’t ever even mentioned by politicians except as criminals.

And there, in the ways Eshteross talks about Jrusar, I heard it again. In the most recent episode, he discussed the people living in the Crook House, where Ashton and Fresh Cut Grass live, as “riff raff”, and the people in other impoverished areas of the city as worse. Every single one of the truly poor in Jrusar is lumped under this category of meaningless-or-criminal.

And that’s classic American classism. I’m sure there are similar forms in other countries, but I can only really discuss America in depth. Class and money in America are inextricable, and it seems like Jrusar is similar. Those with reasonable money are good and decent and deserve protection. The middle class deserves better, but the poor may as well not exist. No politician, no matter how well meaning, really digs into poverty in a meaningful way in their speeches. They will touch on it, nod to it with food initiatives in schools and beautification projects, but to truly address systemic poverty is not only something that they are not interested in, but is considered political suicide. Why? Because if money in America is part of the American dream, and upward mobility in the class structure is as easy as earning more money, and there’s supposed to be no limit on the amount of people who can make money and move up and no real barriers to it beyond ‘laziness’ or ‘a criminal nature’ in the American mythos. Therefore, to truly try to address systemic poverty is to deny that mythos. It’s to say that some problems can’t be solved with a can-do attitude and pulling yourself up by your boot straps. It’s a thousand people who managed to claw their way out of poverty spitting on the million who couldn’t, because they need to feel superior, lest their accomplishments be flukes rather than something monumental and achievable purely under their own initiative.

And Eshteross is the same. He also looks at the poor and sees people who didn’t grasp opportunity. He sees those in the Crook House as undeserving of his aid because they have ‘chosen’ to be outcast, not taking into account elements outside their control or what factors made them think that living outside Jrusar society was better for them.

While campaign 2 was often overtly class conscious, campaign 3 seems to have it rooted in its veins in a more subtle and impressive way. So much of what I’ve watched so far has been a class critique of Jrusar down to its foundations.

Ashton does not trust Eshteross, and for good reason. Whenever Eshteross talks about his Batman-like plans to help the good people of Jrusar, Ashton understands that they are not included in that group of ‘good people’. Milo isn’t included. Anna isn’t included. I think there are good reasons why so many people on the periphery of Jrusar are nonbinary or disabled. They are the people who are often marginalized in American society. They are the ones who don’t fit well into our own boxes of ‘success’ and ‘good people’ and are cast aside. Especially ones who refuse to fit neatly into a narrative of victimhood that society has decreed that the poor ought to adopt. If they find joy despite their poverty, if they decorate their homes and find cute things to wear and splurge just a little on treats, they aren’t doing poverty right. If Anna uses her money to buy a new instrument rather than pay bills or try to move out of the Crook House, if Milo finds fulfillment in their inventions, if Ashton buys breakfast sandwiches rather than paying off their crippling, impossible debt, they are not acting correctly. If Ashton rages against injustice rather than meekly taking it, he’s just another criminal whether or not he’s committing a crime. And so they aren’t the good people of Jrusar, and so they are cast aside, and so Lord Eshteross, despite any good intentions on his part, perpetuates the cycle of poverty and classism in the city.

#Critical Role #critical role campaign 3 #Lord Eshteross #classism #politics #Is this a Marxist commentary on CR3?#I feel like I'm not well-read enough on theory for it to be that in any substantive way #but I think that commentary is there #for anyone more into political theory than I am

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yoongsisbae · 3 years

Text

Handshakes of a Lifetime - Chapter 5

You snag exclusive fan meet tickets, but as you shake hands with your favorite idols, something strange happens…

BTS soulmate AU. OT7 x Reader / Yoongi x Reader focused in this chapter, slight Jungkook x Reader

Here we gooooo. I have a special place in my heart for Yoongs, I think this might be my favorite handshake yet. Enjoy the craziness!

Warnings: death, blood, guns, stabbing, fighting, bondage, drunk sex, rough sex Yoongi and y/n are just two kinky idiots in love, ANGST so much angst why, let me know if I need to add more I know it’s dark.

Word Count: 10.6k

“So you think if I touched her, it would happen to me too? Is that why-” Taehyung turns to a defeated Jin.

“I don’t know.” He can’t stop thinking about you, his body hurts, his chest hurts.

“I want to try, this is so unfair.” Taehyung whines.

Namjoon sighs, “Well…”

You hear a knocking at the door. Your legs felt numb. How long have you been sitting here? You were too lost in your thoughts, reliving moments that weren’t yours.

“Hello? Unlock the door.”

You know that voice. No way.

You’ve listened to his solo songs on repeat so many times, his deep voice and sharp tongue playing in your ears for hours at times.

For lack of better judgment, you decide to stay silent. You slowly unlock the stall door trying not to make a sound as you tiptoe to the door. You rest your ear against the wood hoping to hear something. You consider maybe it was just another delusion. There is just no way.

“We know you’re in there.” You flinch from the door, the idol’s voice is as clear as day.

“I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t mean to do what you think I did..I-I don’t even know what I-I just want to go home. Please...” You put your palm on the door, a superficial gesture you know won’t make a difference, much like a nod to a person over the phone, and rest your head on the door waiting for his response. There is a long silence.

The weary idol stands in front of the bathroom door. He should have let Namjoon handle it, he thinks, why did he volunteer? When security came to tell them you had locked yourself in the bathroom, it brought up old memories he didn’t like thinking about, it made him want to help you. So before anyone else could, he volunteered to get you. But now he felt inadequately prepared, he should have just let Namjoon handle it.

He gestures to the security to give him some space. He rests his head on the door and sighs, instead of reaching for the door handle he rests his hand above it.

“Can I please come in? Open the door, it will just be me, I promise.” The idol switches to Korean, hoping you understand him. “I just want to talk to you. And then you can leave.” Actually, he doesn’t know if it will be that easy, but at this point he would tell you anything to get you to open the door.

He hears the slow scrape of metal as the lock turns. He gives security one last look to stay back before opening the door. You shuffle back quickly as the door opens and in walks Min Yoongi of BTS.

Yoongi shuts the door and locks it again. You try to give him space, but he advances towards you. So you keep giving him space and he puts his hand up in surrender, like someone would when approaching a scared animal.

“Hello.” He greets you in English. This was a bad idea.

“H-Hello.” You both face each other awkwardly.

This was the last thing you’d ever expect to happen, standing alone in a bathroom with BTS’s Suga. You feel like you’re burning up, you wonder how you haven’t managed to pass out as the rapper watches you in silence.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I freaked out. I’ll just go home, I promise I won’t ever talk about what happened. I-I mean, I don’t know what happened, nothing-“

“It will be okay. Breath.” He speaks in English to you again. “Take a deep breath. Count to ten.”

You’re shaking again. He’s being so nice to you, it makes you want to cry even more.

“C’mon, count.”

You start counting in shaky Korean, glancing over at the rapper who tries to hide a smile at the way you recite the words like a school child taking a test, you finish and feel like laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, your own lips curving upward as you begin to relax.

“Do you understand me when I speak Korean?” Yoongi says in Korean. You nod.

“Do you understand me when I speak in English?” The rapper nods back. “Most of it, yes,” he confesses.

You stand there awkwardly too scared to speak, gripping the sink counter to steady yourself, your reflections stare back at you in the bathroom mirror. The rapper looks perfect in his button down and styled hair, you on the other hand-

You laugh, “Oh god, I look horrible.” You turn on the sink and splash cold water on your face to get rid of your dried tears.

“No you don’t.” The rapper leans on the counter looking at you, grabbing a paper towel to hand to you. He is making it very hard for you to pretend he’s not there.

You watch him through the mirror’s reflection, “Thank you.” The words barely come out of your mouth. You turn around and lean on the counter beside him, making sure to keep your distance. ‘This is the weirdest night of my life,’ you can’t help but let out a small laugh.

The two of you stand there next to each other in silence for a painfully long time.

Finally, Yoongi lifts his hand palm side up and gives you a sideways glance. “I owe you, don’t I?”

You stare at his hand, study the silver rings around his fingers.

“...A handshake.”

“What?” You can only gawk at him.

“You paid all this money for handshakes from all members...”

That was not what you expected. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

You grip the counter tighter, “I don’t want to, really, it’s okay.”

“I insist.” You can hear the frustration in his voice.

“No...It’s okay. I won't hold it against you.”

Yoongi frowns, slowly lowering his hand, feeling stupid. How is he supposed to get you to touch him?

He chews on his bottom lip and sneaks a glance at you again. Against all his instincts, when he realized he had another chance to see you, he took it with no question. You scared him and yet he felt himself gravitating to you. Everything that transpired had given him so many questions, and you were the only answer. “Please, I want to know-I want to know if it’s true.” Yoongi pauses, “I just want to understand why I feel the way I do being around you.”

You realize just how close the rapper stands next to you, your shoulders almost touching, had he moved closer and you didn’t even realize it? Did you?

You glance over at him, he looks so vulnerable and lost, nothing like the intimidating idol who stood in front of you at the fanmeet. He seemed so untouchable, now he’s asking you to do just that. You want to give in, you think it’s the least you can do for him, and then he’ll realize his mistake and let you go home.

You brace yourself and push away from the counter behind you, turning to face the rapper.

“Okay, but you’ll probably regret it,” you whisper, extending your hand.

Yoongi goes to grab your hand but you move yours just out of reach before he has a chance to, “Don’t say I didn't warn you...” Yoongi nods to you. He grabs your hand.

“Can you let go of me already.” You whisper as Yoongi holds you in a death grip.

“Yeah, let’s just blow our entire cover.” Yoongi hisses. This was not how the mission was supposed to go. Yoongi doesn’t do field missions, his talents are long range. Away from people, especially you.

“And can you stop looking at me like that, you’re supposed to be acting like my wife,” he warns lowly in your ear, you think he’s going to dislocate a finger the way he’s squeezing your hand. Yeah right, like you would ever marry a man like Min Yoongi.

You’re annoyed. Annoyed at the man next to you, annoyed they required you to have a male partner at all, like you needed a babysitter to do your job. On top of it all, it had to be him.

The gala you walk into is being held for top diplomats and politicians from all over the world. You let Yoongi pull you through the crowds as you scan the room for your target, a corrupt delegate who has a swath of information that could be useful to the state. You pull on Yoongi’s arm to get his attention, “Your left, 9 o’clock.”

He pulls you closer before you can advance on the target, grabbing your chin to face him instead, to anyone else it would look like a romantic gesture, for you it’s just another tactic Yoongi uses to keep you leashed to him. “We should make sure there aren’t any threats first.”

You’ve never been a woman to accept the cages men tried to confine you to, you have claws and you know how to use them. You lean into Yoongi, you can feel his body stiffen as you press your chest against his. You place a kiss on his cheek, bringing his arms around you until he gives in and grips your body instead, “That’s your job isn’t it, let me do mine,” you give him your best smile, but your eyes show him your true emotions as you glare at him with hatred. And with that, you were able to slip away from Yoongi’s grasp.

You drop your suitcase onto the only bed in your small hotel room. You know you needed the sharp shooter to complete the mission, but why did you have to share a room with him too? And why do they keep assigning Yoongi to you? You’re a top agent, you could easily complete this mission with an amateur, anyone but the smug sniper who is making his way toward you now.

“We need to be on site at 23:00, so go do something while I sleep.” The agent starts unbuttoning his cuff, paying you little attention.

“So I’m not supposed to get any rest?” You cross your arms and frown at the jaded man in front of you, “What the hell am I supposed to do while you’re getting your beauty sleep?”

“Not my problem.” Yoongi is sleep deprived and more irritable than usual. “You slept on the plane ride here, I know because your snoring kept me up the entire flight.”

You feel your face go hot with anger and embarrassment. “Well, I’m not leaving. This is my room too!”

“Do what you want! I don’t care.” the sniper yells. He needs to sleep so he can keep you safe, he thinks, ‘ungrateful brat.’

He moves past you shoving his shoulder into yours. In your anger, you shove him back. He turns around glaring at you, then decides to shove you again, this time with his hands. Yoongi is stubborn, but you’re more stubborn, you push him again, and now you’re in a shoving match with your own partner.

“Will you stop!” he yells, pushing you so hard your back hits the hotel wall.

“You first!” The next time you push your hand into his shoulder Yoongi grabs your wrist and pulls you hand forward, slamming his chest into you and crushing you between his body and the wall.

He glares down at you, his eyes flicker down to your lips.

Why did he do that? ‘Ugh idiot,’ and now you're thinking about his lips, the thoughts make you glance down. ‘Fuck, why did I do that?’ He catches the movement of your eyes.

You stand trapped against his strong frame, you think about elbowing him away, sweeping his feet and knocking him out for daring to test you like this, but you needed him at the top of his game for tonight. You squirm in his grasp while he stares down at you with an unreadable expression.

Eventually, when you feel like the pounding of your pulse might give you a heart attack Yoongi removes himself from you and goes to the bathroom, slamming the door shut. You hear the shower start. ‘Why does it have to be him,’ you wonder, rubbing your temples with your fingers. You decide to go grab some food. There’s a pit in your stomach, it must be hunger you think.

---

You walk the perimeter of the house, leaving the man you coaxed into bringing you into his home asleep in his bed. The sleep sedatives you laced in his drink made sure he wouldn’t bother you while you search his mansion. You had to work quickly and quietly.

“Two guards, headed your way.” Yoongi’s voice comes through in your earpiece, letting you slip into an empty room undetected.

“Clear?”

“Clear.” Yoongi’s deep voice crackles in your ear.

You make your way down the third floor hallway until you reach a large door.

Yoongi watches you through heat sensor binoculars. “There are five guards behind that door, do not engage.”

“I guess I’m getting warmer then.” You remove the knife around your thigh. “Do you have a clear shot on any of them?”

The sniper sees three windows, two blocked almost entirely by a curtain, the last only slightly covered, the situation was not ideal. “Negative. You’ll have to push them to the far open window so I can get a better shot.”

You look at the large windows of the hall you stand in. “Do you have a clear shot on me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

You smirk, “You ruin your perfect record? Doubt it.”

You knock on the door, ignoring Yoongi hissing in your ear, “So much for the element of surprise.”

“This is not the bathroom!” You stab the first guard in the neck. As he falls, clutching his throat and spluttering for air, you hug your body to the wall. When the next guard runs out you kick the pistol out of his hand. He fights against your advances, he’s strong and trained, but even then one can only take so many stabs to the body. The rest of the men advance on you, two drop, you see the bullet holes in their skulls.

“Thanks-” the last man lunges at you, putting you in a chokehold. He’s tall, he lifts you up and you lose your footing. You swing your knife, blade piercing his arms, but his hold on you stays. You kick in his grasp, your legs make contact with the wall and you both go down.

“I don’t have eyes on you. Get him in my sight!” You’d like to yell at Yoongi that that’s exactly what you were trying to do, but the guard’s hold on your windpipe makes it impossible. You aim your knife for his sides until his grip on you lessens. You roll off of him and start crawling, hoping he falls into your trap. He grabs your leg, you use the momentum to twist your body and kick him in the chest, before he falls on his back, he’s already dead. You can always count on Yoongi to never miss a headshot.

“Like I was saying, thanks.” Your voice is hoarse. Yoongi scoffs in your ear.

As you work to open the safe you’ve located, you hear Yoongi’s voice again, “Get out of there now! Twelve guards headed your way!”

“Just twelve?” You grab the dead mans’ guns and barricade yourself in the room. You pull every curtain you see down and fall to the floor just in time as gunfire fills the room.

Yoongi watches you take the men down one by one. You move in a chaotic dance around the room, there’s a preciseness to your movements, and also a wildness in your actions. You’re like a feral tiger, eating your targets alive. Yoongi’s impressed. The sniper lines up shot after shot, giving you as much cover as he can offer. He tries to keep your bloodshed to a minimum, you set up the pins, he knocks them down.

He is more than happy to deal the final blow. As he adds another tick to his total body count, he hopes you’ll be okay. Physically, he knows you’ll be fine, but mentally, he worries about you. Memories with you after similar missions still haunt him, the quiet anguish that fills you after every big bloodbath. It’s become a ritual to spend nights together after a mission, neither of you able to sleep soundly, you’d often wonder out loud to Yoongi if the dead men had wives or children, ask if it bothered him, ‘destroying families.’ It didn’t, if he’s being honest, they were horrible men and their families were probably better off without them in his eyes, but he knew it bothered you.

So, he doesn’t mind killing for you, it’s not because he cares about you, no, it’s just easier to get through missions that way. He would rather have everyone think you’re a tiger, Yoongi knows the truth.

Yoongi pulls you back, concealing your bodies from the advancing enemies. You look at him questionly. He places a finger to his mouth to keep you quiet. He signs with his hands, ‘two,’ ‘ahead,’ ‘you wait,’ ‘I’ll go around.’ You nod in agreement. You wait, straining your ears to hear signs of struggle. You hear footsteps running towards your direction. You grab the enemy and knock him out before he can make a sound. Yoongi is pulling you away, handing you a black bag you assume is full of data your agency so desperately wanted. You make a quiet getaway, grateful you can hide in the shadows and follow Yoongi to your escape: a boat that can get you to international waters. You stretch and watch the night sky as Yoongi starts the engine. “I didn’t die.” you hum.

“You say that like you’re disappointed.”

You snort, kicking the bag you and Yoongi risked your lives for. You turn to him, “Thank you, comrade, you saved my life.”

Yoongi shuffles uncomfortably, you’re being pleasant and it’s weird. “You’re welcome.”

“We make a good team, hmm?”

You sit on Yoongi’s workbench. In his space. The two of you work in silence as you put together the pieces of your handgun. He cleans the parts of his sniper rifle. He hands you the last piece of your weapon, it’s easier working here with him, his office is quiet. He doesn’t try to make small talk with you, you hate small talk. Your days are not “good.” You’re sick of using your body to lure in your targets, having to do things more than what you’re comfortable with on multiple occasions to complete the mission. But as a female agent, sometimes you think that’s all you're good for, and they would kill you if you tried to leave now. Escaping and living a quiet life without the man who sits next to you, not being able to protect him, you don’t want that either.

You hop off the table, Yoongi had also gotten up from his chair to grab more rags and you collide into each other. He grabs your waist to steady you. You bodies press against one another. You hold your breath. As his strong hands move you to the side, he mutters a sorry.

Yoongi is livid. He is slamming drawers and yanking open cabinet doors as you slowly make your way to sit onto the medical table. The safehouse is empty except for you and him.

“Are you insane or just stupid?” Your partner advances on you hastily, a medical kit in his hands.

You roll your eyes, “It’s just a scratch, I’m fine.” The blood seeping from your side and over your fingers betrays your words.

Yoongi yanks your hand away and grabs the tattered corners of your blood covered shirt and rips it. You try to stay stoic as you sit in front of him in only a bra while Yoongi works to clean and bandage your wound. His actions are so aggressive your body jerks back and forth from his movements. He pulls a bandage particularly tight and you yell, glaring at him. He glares back at you.

“You could have died.” Yoongi says softly. He keeps his eyes trained on your wound, adding the image to the list of reasons on why he doesn’t get close to people.

“And you would have died.”

His hands drop to the medical table as he cages you in. His dark eyes bore into yours, you hate how it makes you feel: vulnerable. “Don’t risk your life for me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

---

“Tell me how much you want me.” Your partner’s low voice whispers in your ears. You think you’d rather die.

His fingernails scratch your scalp as he grabs a hold of your hair and yanks back, pulling you against his front. Your hip digs painfully into the dresser in front of you, as he pushes his body closer to yours. Your face feels tight, the pain burns your scalp, a reminder that you still can feel something. Everything in your life makes you feel numb, but Yoongi makes you feel alive. You hate how addicted you’ve become to his touches.

“If you don’t say it, you won’t get anything,” he tuts, tightening his hold on your hair and a moan escapes you. He pulls your head back and places soft kisses on the column of your neck.

Yoongi waits, his lips attached to your neck as he grinds his hard erection into your ass until you lose yourself to pleasure, unable to take his teasing any longer.

“I want you.”

“I can’t hear you.”

You grind your teeth, “You’re pushing it.”

Yoongi grabs your breast, “Tell me, kitty.” His rough hands on your body is exactly what you want, makes you drip with arousal, but you’ll never tell him that. Instead, you move your hands behind you and grab at his hard erection.

“I can’t seem to remember what I was going to say, do you?” You run your hand down his length and squeeze, his hold on your hair loosens ever so slightly as his breathing turns shallow.

He’s used to your stubborn nature by now, but this kind of fight is something you’ll never win. Yoongi grabs your wrist and holds your arm in place, twisting your arm in a lock and bending you over the dresser. You struggle against him, as he opens your legs wider with his own. “You know kitty, you’re not invincible. Always ready to start a fight. If you’re not careful, someone might decide to teach you a lesson.”

You can see him out of the corner of your eye. He normally looks so composed, but the way he stares down at you so hungrily, he looks wild, eyes blown wide by lust.

“And is that you?” you laugh, grunting as he pushes down on you, grabbing your other arm and locking it behind your back. The weight of him against your back increases, stealing air from your lungs. His low voice whispers teasingly in your ear, sending shivers down your spine, “Do you want it to be me?”

Yoongi stands, watching you struggle against his hold. He knows it would be easy for you to get away from him if you really tried, and the knowledge that you’re submitting to him in your own stubborn way makes his body hot and dick throb. He squeezes your thigh, his thumb rubbing against your center. You’re so wet, your underwear drenched in arousal. He bites back a moan, pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing deep circles into you and forcing a whine to escape your lips. He lifts up your skirt, yanking the wet fabric of your underwear down to your thighs. Then his touch becomes slow and teasing. He runs his fingers along your slit, drenching his digits in your essence and bringing them to his mouth. You taste so good, fuck he can’t get enough of you, Yoongi is going to wreck you.

You watch him licking his fingers, the erotic scene making you clench unsatisfyingly around nothing. “Please…” you whisper, the sight of him had broken down your walls.

Yoongi unzips his pants and pulls himself out. He takes no more time, plunging into your heat suddenly. You shudder, it feels so good to have him inside you. He finally lets go of you to grip the flesh of your hips, slamming into you over and over. The force of his thrusts takes your breath away, as your body shifts up and down against the hard surface of his dresser.

With every thrust you feel the tension in your body uncoil, you never want this to end, you’d rather drown in the pleasure he’s giving you then come up for air and deal with the pain of your life. “You feel so good-fuck me harder!” The words leave your lips without thought. You don’t want to feel anything else but his bruising touches, you don’t want to think of anything else but him.

Yoongi grips your shoulder with one hand, moving your body to meet his thrusts as his pace becomes brutal. Your entire body vibrates with pleasure as he manhandles you. You pulse around him as you let go. Yoongi goes faster, using your body to climax, you let yourself moan freely, losing yourself to the pain and pleasure of overstimulation. You can feel him filling you up as he shakes against you.

Your world comes back into focus as you gasp for breath, your body slumped against the desk. “Is that all you’ve got? Hardly a lesson.” Yoongi laughs, wrapping his arms around your middle. He lifts you up and throws you onto the bed. You land with a huff.

---

The silence is deafening as you lay across from your partner. The twin bed in the cheap motel room you share makes it impossible for either of you to have your own space. Neither of you can sleep, and you’re both too tired to complain about the situation, so you stare at each other in the darkness, the neon lights outside your window bathe your faces in soft hues of blue. The cheap sheets scratch your skin, you can feel the hard edges of your gun underneath the old thin hotel pillow, but the soft fabric of Yoongi’s long sleeve shirt feels nice against the back of your hand. You absentmindedly brush your hand against his arm, your fingers play with the baggy material, rolling the fabric between your fingers. Yoongi places his free hand over yours to stop your actions. You’re too tired to question him, nor do you want to break the silence. Yoongi’s features are calm, his hardness is all gone tonight, when he relaxes you think he looks quite soft. Tonight Yoongi doesn’t look like a trained killer at all, his messy hair frames his face and his usual cold eyes radiate warmth. You study each other through half open eyes. Eventually, Yoongi closes his eyes, but doesn’t remove his hand from atop yours. “Go to sleep,” he grunts.

You take a deep breath out. You focus on Yoongi’s steady breathing, trying to keep your heavy eyes open, scared of what you’ll see once you close them, faces of the dead petrified corpses that always reveal themselves against the darkness of your shut eyelids. You study the soft features of your partner instead, able to memorize the details of his face while you’re so close to him. You think of him until sleep takes over.

---

You groan in pain, not ready to open your eyes to the morning light. Your throat is sore and dry, and your entire body aches, especially a certain part of you, the realization snaps you awake. You realize you’re not alone in your bed, you open your blurry eyes to a head of jet black hair. A man sleeps on your naked chest, you can feel his lips against your breast as he quietly snores. You realize his messy locks, the slope of his nose and contours of his muscular arm are all familiar to you, because he’s not a stranger at all. Memories of last night come back to you slowly.

Images of your partner offering you his bourbon, and you gratefully accepting. The pleasant conversation you had together, no arguing or superfluous challenging, just meaningful stories and gentle banter. You remember your partner’s flushed face, the timid smile he tried to hide against his glass, his dark eyes pulling you in. The drunker you became the more you gravitated towards him, until you were pressed up against him, moaning against his lips as his tongue explored your mouth, and you begging him to fuck you. No no no no no.

A wave of mortification and humiliating arousal hits you. You shove your partner off you.

“What the fuck!” Yoongi’s head is pounding, and your punches are not weak. It’s too damn early to be fighting with you already, Yoongi thinks. He pins you down, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He yells, not understanding why you’re here or why you suddenly decided to attack him.

The way his hands pin your wrists brings on another wave of memories that invade your mind and makes your face burn hot with embarrassment. He looks down at you and notices the purple bruises littering your neck and chest, your chest that is absent of a shirt, and your very naked body, against his very naked body. He let’s go of you in his shock. You scoot away from him, pulling the bed sheets up to cover yourself. He stares at you, mouth wide open, trying to place the pieces of last night together. “Oh fuck.”

“This will never happen again.”

His eyes scan your body as his hazy mind replays the events of last night, his face goes red at thoughts of you writhing under him. Yoongi was so desperate to explore your body, make you moan his name. He prays you were too drunk to notice how badly he wanted you. “Never.”

---

You spot three guards in front of the door, ‘a little excessive,’ you think. You grin to yourself as you run through every possible take down you can use against them. They’re big men, and big men always underestimate women.

Yoongi sits patiently, the blindfold doesn’t permit him to see, but he smirks to himself as he hears the sounds of struggle outside.

He hears the door open and close, feet circling him. He struggles against his restraints. Suddenly he feels a weight in his lap. The blindfold is pulled off and he meets your self satisfied face smiling at him.

“Took you long enough.”

You pout. “I should leave you here.”

You press your lips against his. Pulling him close by the hair. He grunts into your mouth. You press yourself down on him, grinding into his hardening length.

Yoongi struggles against his restraints, wanting to pull you closer to him. “Untie me.”

There’s a glint in your eye as you pull away from him. You kiss his neck instead, sucking hard on the sensitive skin behind his ear.

“You’re going to regret not listening to me, kitty.” Yoongi growls.

You laugh against his skin, working to undo his belt. Yoongi groans as you grip his length.

“I thought you were supposed to be rescuing me.”

“I am,” you lick your lips, “but then you had to go and let yourself get tied up.” You hop off his lap and kneel between his legs, Yoongi flexes his arms against the ropes, watching you intently. You bring the head of his shaft to your lips and kiss. The chair shakes as he pulls against his restraints groaning, you give him mercy as you suck him into your mouth, enjoying the way he struggles to keep his composure.

“You’ve had your fun,” he tries to hold in his moans, “you’re going to get yourself captured too because you're such a needy slut for my cock.” He thrusts his hips up, making you choke. It doesn’t deter you, as you press yourself deeper, your nose against his stomach, he shudders and the ropes dig into his wrists as he pulls harder against his restraints.

You pull off of him and look at him with a smirk. “I took care of the guards.” As if you already know Yoongi's next words you say, “I took care of all the guards.” Bringing your mouth around his length again, you suck him hard. You suck him down until you gag, over and over again until you can feel him swell, close to release, and you pull away. If looks could kill, you would have been added to Yoongi’s headcount. You jump to your feet and start cutting away the ropes that bind him.

“I’m untying you only because we are running out of time, not because you asked me to.”

He grunts, thinking of all the ways he’s going to use your body. “Noted.”

When free, Yoongi brings you into a crushing kiss, wrapping his hand around your neck. “Dangerous girl, you deserve to be punished.”

---

You allow yourself to rest against the cold concrete floor, making yourself comfortable in the dirt and grime. Your muscles are sore, and you’re tired. You’re tiredness doesn’t just come from surviving the mission, you’re sick and tired of it all. You were the first to make it to the scheduled rendezvous point, maybe the only one left. You hear footsteps and turn to see your partner jogging towards you, his equipment bag slung over his shoulder, he’s winded, skin covered in dirt from his hasty escape. When he sees you, he runs over to you, his eyes scan over your body but he doesn’t touch you. Your clothes are drenched in blood, but it’s not your own. You look like the walking dead, and you think you deserve to die, you’re a monster.

Yoongi sprawls out next to you, massaging his sore muscles. “If you had let them live your identity would have been compromised.” He knows you had no choice but to kill them. “You did what you had to do to complete the mission.”

“Stop talking, please.” You stare at his dirt covered face, you’re glad he made it out alive, and you wished you hadn’t. Your target had brought his wife and daughter, the agency didn’t warn you, or maybe they knew and didn’t care. You think about the love they must have had, so great he couldn’t be apart from them, and you not only took their lives, but took that love and destroyed it. You knew you were a killer, but you never thought you’d be a villain. You reach for your partner’s hand. He grips you tightly, his fingers are black with dirt, yours are stained with blood. You feel the weight on your chest become even heavier. You wonder if he could ever love you like that, you wonder if you’d just end up destroying that as well.

You lay asleep in Yoongi’s bed. His fingers run along your arm that rests on his chest. During the twilight hours, while you drift off to another world in your slumber, Yoongi allows himself to fully love you. He intertwines his fingers with yours and kisses the soft skin of your wrist, wrapping his arms around your sleeping frame. He let’s himself pretend you’re not in each other's company only for convenience, but because you love him as much as he loves you. He shouldn’t love you, love is too dangerous for people like him, love is a risk too big to take. But until the sun comes up again he gives in to his weaknesses. When you wake, he’ll be strong for you again, he’ll be your shield and protect you from everyone including himself.

---

“So you don’t want to work with me anymore?” You barge into Yoongi’s workspace. He keeps his face emotionless, choosing to ignore you.

So you press on, “I’m with Petrov now, I didn’t request a new partner, so it had to have been you. Why? Answer me!”

Yoongi leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, “You’re overreacting, he’s new, they probably want you to show him how it’s done-”

“Don’t fucking lie to me!”

“There’s a good reason-”

“You’re lying, you’re doing that thing with your hands when you lie!” You yell.

Yoongi shoves his hands in his pockets, his anger getting the better of him, “Fine, maybe I don’t want to be your partner anymore!” You stay silent. “You’re reckless, you never listen to me, you almost died on our last mission. I’m...I’m tired of worrying about you.”

Your chest tightens in pain, his words sting more than any blade or bullet you’ve ever taken. You try to meet his eyes, but he refuses to look at you. ‘Coward,’ you think. You scoff, “Fine...Good...I don’t want to work with you either.” You turn on your heels to leave.

“Wait!” Yoongi stands from his desk and rushes after you. When you refuse to listen, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you against him. “Please, stop,” he whispers in your ear.

You place your arms over his, let his warmth envelope you. You don’t understand him, he’s holding you like you’re about to break in his arms, but he’d let you go off into a mission without him? How could he do this to you? You thought you were a team, you thought you were...friends. You used to feel safe in his arms, now you just feel betrayal. You bite your lip, your sadness turns into bitterness, your bitterness into anger.

You dig your nails in his arms until he hisses and lets you go. You give your partner one last look before exiting his office, you give him one more chance. If he takes it, you’ll find a way to forgive him, to fix whatever it is that made him angry enough to break the bonds between you. But he stays silent, his silence speaks volumes, “Like you said, you don’t have to worry about me any longer. I'm not your problem anymore.” You slam his door shut.

Yoongi’s body is shaking. He slams his fist against the door. He rests his forehead against the wooden surface and swallows down the growing pressure in his throat, processing everything that just occurred. He made the right choice, this was for your own protection, he wouldn’t allow you to care more about his life than your own, he knows he’s right, so why does he feel so sick?

Your reputation precedes you, the tigresse, a top agent. You pull off impossible missions. Maybe it’s because you just don’t care if you can finish the job or not, you’ll choose the riskiest plays, find yourself in the most dangerous scenarios; you’ll choose the more daring escape route, and because of that people are afraid of you, even in your own agency. No one wants to work with you for too long, and you don’t want them to either, so you finally get what you wanted, to work alone. You’re at the top, all alone, there’s no congratulations in your line of work, no happiness.

Yoongi doesn’t have to worry about anyone anymore, even himself. On missions he used to view his sniper rifle as an extension of himself, now he feels just as cold and hollow as the barrel of his rifle, he’s become an empty killing machine. He can’t sleep at night, he wakes up to nightmares of you dying over and over again. Eventually, when he can’t take it anymore, he convinces his superiors to let him act as your backup without your knowledge, they only allow it because you’ve become too valuable to lose. He still can’t sleep at night, slowly losing his mind in solitude, trapped in a cage of loneliness by his own doing. He becomes a shadow, a ghost, making sure the legacy of their best agent survives.

You search for cover, the bullet holes in your body make every movement slow and painful. The holes in your leg keeps you on the ground. You pull yourself through the sea of dead bodies as bullets fly through the air.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, you start to aim your pistol.

“What are you doing here?” The gunman ignores you as he pulls your bloody body into his arms and runs.

Yoongi watched you from his post get shot, one, two, three times until he couldn’t take it anymore. When he couldn’t protect you from a distance anymore, he left his post, his decision as instantaneous as a traveling bullet.

He hides you and him, holding you close, looking over your wounds. He tries to put pressure on the bullet holes, but there are just so many. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I was supposed to protect you.”

You touch his face, you can feel the warmth of his skin against your cold fingers, he’s real. “You’re here.”

Yoongi’s trained ears listen to the gunfire as it becomes louder, a sign he needs to move again. He reloads his assault rifle, heaving you up to your feet. You groan as more blood gushes from your wounds. Yoongi uses his assault rifle to make another path for you and him. Your ex partner drags your body along, hiding again to reload.

“You need to save yourself. I’m not going to make it.” You say as you cough up blood. Yoongi pulls you up again, ignoring your words, refusing to accept he can’t save you. As he runs a stray bullet hits his shoulder and you both go down. Yoongi shoots to where he thinks the bullets came from, but his shoulder makes it difficult for him to aim.

“Stop! You can’t die too!” You aim your pistol at the two men advancing upon you from Yoongi’s blind spot. You manage to shoot one, but your blood loss makes your vision hazy and your aim too wide. The second man’s bullets hit Yoongi’s side. Yoongi adjusts his rifle and takes quick revenge. He doubles over in pain.

You grab his hand, your breathing is too shallow to tell him all the things you want to say. “Save yourself...”

“And leave you again? Never.”

Yoongi holds you until you take your last labored breath, and holds you still, until his own blood loss becomes too much.

---

Yoongi doubles over, crashing into you. You try to hold the rapper up, but you are faring no better, your body shakes in phantom pain. His entire weight is on you, you move against the wall for support as both of you try to catch your breath, his head leans on your shoulder, and he groans in agony. You grip his arms. Should you push him away? But you don’t want to. You want to pull him closer. You grip his arms harder, frozen, your mind and body remembering, remembering everything, and it takes every last bit of your willpower not to react.

Finally, after your breaths have settled, he steadies himself on his feet, still pressed against your frame. He lifts his head, you can feel his breath on the side of your face. He laughs weakly against you, “I don’t regret it.”

“What-“ his eyes pierce through you. You realize he hasn’t moved away from you still, you stare back into the idol’s eyes, it all feels so familiar, too familiar...

His nose brushes against your cheek, you hold your breath at the sensation, it’s so familiar. His lips ghost over yours and when you don’t pull away Yoongi presses his lips firmer onto yours.

You feel electricity in every vein, to the tips of your fingers, to the ends of the hair. Emotions that felt like distant memories scorch through you. Your legs buckle.

Yoongi had only meant to give you a quick kiss, just to see how it would compare to his wild memories, but the feelings that came over him overtook every sense of reason left in him. He deepened the kiss. You pulled him closer to you, it was automatic.

He felt his sanity slipping away with every inhale of your scent, a sprouting desire burst through him, a need everlasting lifetimes, it made him desperate to devour you. He pushes his leg in between yours to hold you steady when he feels you falling against him. You yell against his lips, his touch is too overwhelming and you feel yourself slipping away, you try desperately to stay in the moment, remember who you are to him actually. You push him away to catch your breath. “I shouldn’t have done that. I-“

You both jump at the pounding from the door. “Both of you need to come out now.” His voice is muffled, but you’d recognize the distinctive cadence of the BTS leader anywhere. Yoongi mutters words you don’t understand. You yelp as he grabs your hand, leading you to the door.

Namjoon is greeted by the sight of his bandmate and you looking particularly guilty as you leave the bathroom. The way Yoongi holds your hand does not go unnoticed by the leader.

You walk in between the rappers, security following behind you. You can tell Namjoon is annoyed, the way he glances at the nonexistent space between you and Yoongi and clenches his jaw. What are you supposed to do, not hold Min Yoongi’s hand? The firm hold he has on you is the only thing that’s keeping you from falling apart into an anxious puddle on the floor. So instead you spend the walk mentally screaming at yourself.

Namjoon opens an unmarked door and walks in, Yoongi follows directly behind him, pulling you along. You realize where you are as five more pairs of eyes meet yours.

They are all staring at you. You want to run and hide. You move behind Yoongi instead. He hasn’t let go of your hand, and every man in the room notices it.

Namjoon goes first, “We all need to talk.”

---

“So now do you admit it!” Jimin looks between Yoongi and you with a frown.

“He promised he wouldn’t touch her.” Jungkook whines to Namjoon.

“I didn’t promise. I said I wouldn’t...I changed my mind.”

You listen to the group argue glancing over Yoongi’s shoulder, you make eye contact with Jin. His eyes are still red, like he hasn’t stopped crying. For the first time since he grabbed you, you wanted to let go of Yoongi’s hand. Jin is the first to break away, he turns around, overwhelmed. Your face is still perfectly clear in his mind. Your words replay like whispers in his ear, ‘find me.’

You break away from Yoongi and address everyone.

“Uhh, I don’t know...” you start, “I don’t know how any of this works, or why it’s happening in the first place. But it is happening right? It happened to you too?” You look around at their faces, you look into Jimin’s eyes, “You saw me too, I was with you, you looked different, but deep down, it was you.” Jimin shifts uncomfortably under your eyes, he feels his chest tighten at your words, “and you saw me in her too.” You turn to J-Hope. “Right? Please tell me I’m-” you whisper the last part, “I’m not crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.” Hoseok answers you immediately, looking at you with a guilty expression.

Jungkook is nodding up and down at you rapidly.

“I was with you..” Jin walks over to you, but stops before he gets too close, “It felt so real...I was there with you on the cliff…” his eyes are so sad it makes tears well up in your eyes.

“How is this even possible…” Jimin speaks up, “I just don’t understand.” Jimin looks upset. He doesn’t want to believe any of this, none of it makes sense to him.

You can see the pain in their faces clearly. You feel like you’ve done something horrible. All you wanted to do was meet your idols and thank them for making your life better, but you ended up making their lives worse, and you don’t know how or why.

You rub your eyes before you start crying again, “I’m sorry. I should go home, it’s-" you check your phone screen. “One thirty in the morning?! I should leave!”

You jump as the room fills with protests from the men. They all quickly stop as soon as they start. You all stare at each other.

Namjoon takes charge. “How did you get here? We can have a driver take you home! We have to go to the hotel now, before you go home, we can finish talking there.” There is a finality to his words.

You stand there wide eyed, ‘hotel’?

---

So now you sit alone in the back of a large car with four managers. They have given you forms to fill out. A stack of papers full of NDAs. You felt like you were signing your life away. You wanted to tell them to take you home, but you stayed silent, you didn’t want to cause anymore trouble.

You follow the managers through the hotel into an elevator, to the top floor. They lead you into a massive penthouse and shut the door behind you. Jungkook is already inside waiting for you. He’s still in his fanmeet clothes, the other men were still showering and changing, he couldn’t wait any longer to see you again, for a chance to be with you alone.

You stand in the center of the room, unsure of what to do. Alone with the idol, your nerves skyrocket again.

Jungkook slowly makes his way closer to you. He stands in front of you, mirroring much like the way he stood in front of you at the fanmeet, his arms rock nervously by his sides. He bends down a little bit closer to you, and offers you a lopsided smile. “Hey beautiful.”

You shut your eyes, you can’t bear to look at him, you can’t accept that he just said that to you. His words make you ache inside.

The idol waits and gives you space, feeling shy. You can’t take it, his words throw your thoughts into a whirlwind, you want him back, you want what you had together again. You and the idol are worlds apart, but the Jungkook you had felt when your hands touched, he was your entire world.

“Please.” You beg him, offering your hand to him. You don’t know what you’re asking for, you don’t know what touching him will accomplish. You feel just so alone, exhausted from fighting against everything you’re feeling, Jungkook all but gave you permission to give in.

He smiles at you, places his palm against yours. It feels so good, so warm. He clasps his fingers around yours, reaches for your waist with his other hand and pulls you against him with one fell swoop. You already know why, you wrap your free arm around his neck and hold him to you. You can feel his heart beating wildly against you, you know he must feel yours as well. He rests his forehead on yours. It’s there again, that spark that explodes inside you, threatening to detonate all your sense of reason. Neither of you move, frozen in dance. He begins to hum a tune, a tune that pulls a smile from you-

The door opens and you jump to sit on the edge of the couch, much to Jungkook’s displeasure.

The rest of the group files into the large hotel room, they are all changed into more comfortable clothes. They look clean and refreshed, you realize just how tired and achy your body feels, you want to take a shower too.

Namjoon gives the youngest a hard look, “You didn’t change. You were in here the whole time? After we said we’d speak to her all together. How long were you alone with her? I told you-“

“I arrived only a couple minutes ago, nothing happened.” You interject, feeling the need to defend the youngest member.

Namjoon looks at you surprised. “Your Korean is good.”

You start to feel shy again, “Not really,” you speak in English instead.

“Okay, so let’s figure this out.” Namjoon starts, “Jungkook, do you want to go first?”

“Wait!” Taehyung interjects, “I thought-Joon don’t you want to hold her hand?”

You stiffen. Namjoon goes red, “I-first let’s gather information.”

Taehyung goes to stand. You recoil in your seat. You turn to Namjoon, pleading, “I can’t-I can’t do it again.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Tae-”

“Says you, you already got to touch her-”

“And that’s why I’m telling you not to do it-”

“No one is touching her-”

“Joon, can you please talk some sense into them-”

“Can we please focus-”

“If you get anywhere near her I’m punching you in the face-”

“Can we all just calm down-”

“I’ll punch you in the face-”

“No one is punching anyone!”

“I thought we were supposed to be talking this out, not starting fights-“

“I knew this was a bad idea-”

“How am I supposed to talk it out when I don’t even know what it is-”

They all talk so fast and over each other you can barely understand anything they are saying, but you know it’s not anything good. This is getting nowhere. “I-I’m so tired, I should really go home. I need to shower. Today has been...a long day.”

“You can stay in one of the rooms! We have the whole floor-Ow!” Jimin hits Jungkook in the shoulder.

“I-I need to go to the bathroom.” You feel trapped again. You go to stand and you feel a hand tug on yours, it’s Yoongi. “Take a deep breath. Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. You should at least rest before we take you home.”

You bite your lip, looking around at the men. Jungkook looks at you with hopeful eyes.

“....Okay.”

“I’ll take her!” Jin, Yoongi, and Jungkook speak in unison. They look between one another. Jin, stands up, “I’ll take her.”

You silently follow him out, hearing the boys start conversing again behind you. You stay behind him as he walks down the hall. Your face heats up again as you stare at the idol’s back. Is this really happening to you? You should leave.

Jin takes a keycard out of his pocket and opens the door, holding it open for you. You walk in, it’s smaller than the other room, still larger than any hotel room you’ve ever been in. Jin picks up the suitcase from the middle of the room.

“I’ll find another room to stay in.” You feel your chest tightening again at his words. “Rest now, y/n, and then we can get to the bottom of this in the morning,” he smiles down at you. His eyes linger on you, about to speak again but he decides it’s better to wait.

You tug at his hoodie as he goes to leave. “I…” you want to tell him not to leave you alone, “I don’t have any clothes to change into.”

“Oh, I can give you some of my clothes!” You bite your lip as you watch Jin set his suitcase on the bed and rummage through his clothes. He pulls out a collection of hoodies, shirts and pants, way too many clothes for one sleeping outfit.

“Thank you…” you walk with him to the door. He lingers there with you.

“This...this is a good thing.” You cock your head to the side, Jin pats your head, “I found you after all.” And with that he leaves you to your thoughts.

---

After showering you feel so much better. You stand in your towel, looking around at the room. 'This must be a dream,' you think. Your hands run over the stack of Jin’s clothes. This stack probably costs more than all the clothes you’ve ever bought in your entire life, you think. You sigh and pull on a shirt and sweatpants, and decide to throw on a hoodie too for good measure. You start to laugh as you look at yourself in the hotel room’s mirror. You’re sure you're going to wake up tomorrow and this will all be a wild dream. You’re about to settle into bed when you hear a knock.

Jungkook stands in the hallway. He stares at you with wide eyes before looking at his feet. “I brought you clothes to wear.”

“Oh,” you look at him shocked.

“I see someone already gave you theirs,” he looks crestfallen.

“Yeah, Jin took care of that.” You pull on the strings of the hoodie in embarrassment.

“Oh well for tomorrow morning, you can wear this.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him Jin gave you enough clothes to cover an entire week. “Thank you. I’ll wear it tomorrow.”

“Okay...good.”

You hold your breath. You want to keep talking to him. “Your English is good, you sound like an American now.”

Jungkook smiles, too shy to meet your eyes. “Thank you.”

“You can speak in Korean too, I understand. I am not that good at speaking it, but I guess now is the best time to practice.” You laugh. Jungkook nods at you, his smile growing wider.

“Goodnight, beautiful.” He winks at you. You feel your heart tighten at his words.

“Jungkook!” He turns back around. “Um, sweet dreams.”

Jungkook looks you over. “Can I?”

“Huh?” He steps closer to you, you stay still. He reaches his arms out and wraps them around you in a hug. His head rests on the top of your head as he holds you close to him. It feels like you remember, his embrace feels the same. You grip onto the material of his long sleeve shirt. He holds you closer. All you can smell and feel is Jungkook.

Jungkook holds you close to him. He doesn’t know how to feel. His heart aches in anguish over the thought of losing you again. He doesn’t want to let you go.

In his arms you feel so safe, you relax against him. A wave of sleepiness crashes over you. Jungkook helps you into bed.

“I’ll come get you in the morning.” He runs his hands over your forehead. The intimate gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you're too tired to react. Your heart is full. Is this what true love feels like?

---

You stretch in your bed. Your muscles ache, you feel good after a night's rest. You snuggle into your pillow, it’s so fluffy and soft, softer than you’re used to, you pull your covers closer to you. You notice the large sleeves of your hoodie, and your sleepiness drains away. It’s not your bed, and that’s not your hoodie. You sit up, looking around the unfamiliar room, you feel like you’ve been doused with cold water. Everything from the night before comes back to you. You pull the covers over your head, so much for a good morning.

You grab your phone. You have a text message: ‘call me when you get home <3’ and two missed calls. You bury your head into the pillows. You're about to call back when there is a knock at the door.

“One minute!” You change into Jungkook’s clothes, a black long sleeve shirt and black sweatpants. Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you decide to change your pants for one of Jin’s joggers.

“Hey!” You expected Jungkook to greet you, this was not who you expected.

"Hello." The deep voiced singer stands in front of you. You stare back at him. He walks into your room and takes a seat on the bed. You close the door behind you and walk over to Taehyung.

“I’m so sorry about last night! I would have never touched you without your permission. I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable, I’m so sorry. I just-I just needed to find out. I have to. I know you’re scared, I’m scared too...Jungkook and I talked last night and he told me what happened, he said it was more than just memories, it’s like...an awakening. I mean, that’s so cool. If we had another life together, wouldn’t you want to know? Please y/n, I feel like I’m going crazy not knowing-“

“Speak slower please, I’m still a beginner!” You laugh.

“Sorry! Please y/n, please. Before the others wake up.”

You sigh, sitting next to him. “I think Jungkook is leaving out very important information...”

You continue, “We not only lived, we died.” You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around you, “I’ve lived and I’ve died 5 times now. It’s horrible, it’s heartbreaking, it’s not something you can just forget.”

Taehyung sits quietly. “Do you regret it?”

You bite your lip. Do you regret it? You feel it still, the warmth of their love for you. The way they loved you, the way you loved them. Would you give that memory up? Even the lingering feelings in your body are stronger than anything you’ve ever felt in your lifetime. Could you let it go now that you know what you’re missing?

Taehyung presses, “Jungkook says he's happy it happened.”

You inhale sharply. You have to make him see. “Jungkook died in my arms. He died after we tried so hard to run away together.” Taehyung eyes widen. “He was murdered...” You shudder, Taehyung stays silent. “Is that the kind of ‘awakening’ you want?”

He raises a hand to his mouth, stroking his chin. “He didn’t tell me about that...” And then he says something that makes your heart stop. “And he still said he's happy it happened, that he doesn't want to forget about you y/n.”

“Please, I want to try, I think it would be worth it, you’ll be worth it.”

‘Why did he have to say that,’ you wince, looking over at the idol. He is beautiful, way out of your league, above you in every way, and he’s looking back at you like his whole world hangs in the balance. How could you reject him now. You groan.

You stand up. You place your palm in front of his face, your fingers splayed out, you can see his wide excited eyes in the gaps between them. You look at him expectantly. Taehyung nods, places his palm to yours, interlocking your fingers together.

---

Uh-oh the boys don’t want to let you go now! I hope you liked this chapter as much as I liked writing it! It’s kind of cool, all the different worlds. I neverrrr thought I’d write an actiony spy enemies to lovers AU ever, trust. I had to get a lot of help with all the specific terminology, like me - guns - what - totally clueless, I just hope I did the story justice.

Hopefully this tides you over for awhile because we have a problem...I don’t remember anything about Tae’s handshake! Cries. I know what’s supposed to happen, but I also have no idea what happens lol. I know movie, but not movie name, if you get what I’m saying. Please bestow some patience on me for the next chapter. Asks are always open, maybe you can give me some inspiration! <3

#bts soulmate au #bts fantasy au #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts angst #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #reader x ot7 #bts enemies to lovers #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #min yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi angst

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