#and i’m making that everyone else’s problem
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Toxic!Rafe Cameron x reader
Sinopse: When rafe’s jealousy leads to yn being locked in the Cameron’s wine cellar
Warnings:Toxic Relationships,Psychological Abuse,Confinement/Imprisonment
Intense Jealous, Emotional Manipulation, Control Issues Disturbing Themes
I could hear the lock click behind me, echoing in the dim, musty air of the Cameron's wine cellar. The chill seeped through my thin dress, making my skin prickle as I realized what had just happened. Rafe had locked me in.
"Rafe!" I banged on the heavy wooden door, my voice rising in panic. "This isn't funny! Let me out!"
Silence.
I pressed my ear against the door, straining to catch any sound from the other side. Nothing but the distant hum of the air conditioner. My heart pounded in my chest, the reality of the situation settling in. Rafe had lost it. Again.
"Rafe!" I screamed, my fists pounding harder. "Open the fucking door! This is insane!"
Finally, I heard his footsteps approaching. The door didn't open, but his voice came through, cold and infuriatingly calm.
"Why should I, Y/N?" he asked, the sneer evident in his tone even through the thick wood. "So you can run off to see him again?"
"What are you talking about?, who’s him?" I demanded, my voice cracking with frustration. "I haven't seen anyone! You're making things up in your head!"
“You know, sweetheart… I’m a proactive type of p-p-person, and when we have a problem, we have to resolve it before it gets worse… DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” He shouts
"Rafe... I don't know what's happening. I'm scared. Please let me out..."
"Oh, really?" he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Then explain why you were so cozy with Topper at the party. Whispering, l-laughing. Do you think I'm b-blind?..DO YOU THINK YN??” he banged on the door with force, and I flinched back in fear.
I clenched my fists, trying to keep my anger in check. "Rafe, it wasn't like that. We were just talking. You know how he is, always joking around…plus you know he still loves Sarah” I say
"You expect me to believe that?" he shot back. "I've seen the way that motherfucker looks at you. Like he wants to take you away from me,so don’t worry he don’t even think about my damn sister anymore”
"This is ridiculous," I muttered, feeling tears of frustration prick at my eyes. "Rafe, you can't keep doing this. You can't keep locking me up whenever you get jealous. It's not right."
"I can do whatever I want,"he said “ and y-y-you know why?” his voice hardening. "You're mine, y/n..no one else's. And if I have to lock you up to keep you safe from people like him, then so be it.”
I slumped against the door, my energy draining away. "Rafe, please. I love you, but this... this isn't love. It's control. You need to trust me."
"Trust you?" He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. ". Trust is for the naive doll, people like you… you’ll say anything to get your way…I trusted Sarah once, and look where that got me. She betrayed me. Everyone betrays me."
"I'm not Sarah," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I would never hurt you like that."
There was a long pause, and for a moment, I thought I had gotten through to him. But then he spoke again, his voice softer, almost pleading.
"Then prove it," he said. "Stay here. Show me that you belong to me and no one else."
"Rafe, this isn't the way," I pleaded, my voice breaking. "You can't lock me up and expect me to be happy. Please, let me out. We can talk about this. We can work through it together."
Another long silence. I held my breath, hoping against hope that he would see reason.
"Fine," he said at last, his voice resigned. "I'll let you out. But remember this, if you ever betray me, if you ever give me a reason to doubt you again, it won't be the cellar next time. It'll be something much worse.”
As the lock clicked open, a rush of relief flooded through me, but it was quickly overshadowed by the intensity of his embrace. He pulled me into him with such force that it felt like my ribs might crack under the pressure.
“You have to understand, doll" he murmured, his voice strained with emotion. "I only do this because I love you. I can't bear the thought of losing you, of someone else taking you away from me. You're mine,and I'll do whatever it takes to protect what's mine."
His words were like a twisted lullaby, laced with possessiveness and control. I wanted to believe him, to believe that his actions stemmed from love, but deep down, I knew it wasn't right.
"I love you too, Rafe," I whispered, my voice trembling with uncertainty. "But locking me up like this... it's not the answer."
He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine for reassurance. "I know it seems extreme, but it's the only way I can keep you safe, y/n. You have to trust me on this."
I nodded, though doubt still lingered in the back of my mind. His grip on me softened, and he pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, his touch both comforting and suffocating all at once.
“We'll get through this together," he said, his voice a mixture of determination and possessiveness. "I promise, Y/N. I'll never let anything or anyone come between us again."
#toxic!rafe cameron#rafe Cameron x reader#outer banks fanfic#rafe cameron#coquette#dolette#girlblogging#rafe Cameron being insane#dark rafe cameron#lana del ray aka lizzy grant
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kiss me once and all that
(might clean this up later who knows)
#listen don’t look at me#it’s been 84 years since i’ve drawn either of them#and i’ve never drawn them together#and i’m bad at drawing smooches!!!!#but i have brain worms and im making it everyone else’s problem#i promised shitty drawings and i delivered#i hate their hair btw both of them should be bald#also ignore how sora’s more cleaned up than riku idk man#kingdom hearts#sora#riku#soriku#my art
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Just a reminder that everyone has both a masculine and a feminine side, so don't hesitate to read the feminine version of this pick a card too.
Paid Readings | Botanica | Tip Jar
Pile One 👢
BEYONCÉ- RIIVERDANCE
Someone could be feeling really entitled to your energy. They could be asking a lot from you, where one demand is contradictory to the other demand, which can be very draining for you. Then on top of that, they could be trying to tell you to change certain aspects of your personality that interfere with their gall to have excessive control over you. They could be naturally intimidated by you and use microaggressive verbiage to get you to submit to them. Like if they’re being passive aggressive with you, your tendency to be direct, would make them label you as aggressive. Or if you’re not even the type to use your voice a lot because of anxiety, they could ask you to communicate instead of being avoidant, and then when you do speak up it’s still a problem. Your masculine side is trying to get you to see that this double-edged sword is not an excuse to continue letting others walk all over you and stagnate your life and comfort. You’re in a situation where boundaries simply aren’t enough for this relationship to be balanced, it’s time to cut ties. You must take that control over your own life back and stop placing so much value on what other people say that they want you to do because the thing about people pleasing, is that whether you’re doing it or trying to recover from it, people will never be satisfied or happy with what you do and how you do it. You're always going to piss someone off or be labeled in some way as “not doing enough” of something, and that’s the other message, which is to learn what’s in your control and what’s not for you to control. If you’re dealing with someone who’s exhausting you that you aren’t biologically responsible for, I’m hearing “do it. It’s ok to do it”. Deprive that person of the resources that you’ve given them to remind them of what they really didn’t deserve in the first place, not as a punishment, but as a way to remind yourself that you are the source of your own power and to stop keeping people around who are pulling you down because they convinced you that you need them.
Pile Two 👢
BEYONCÉ- AMEN
Give your body a break. Give away this idea that you need to be fighting all of the time to get what you want and need or that you have to sacrifice yourself to provide for others. That message is mostly for those in my collective who are the eldest child and have to bear the brunt of responsibility. Something needs to be done differently, but it all starts with putting your foot down. Call out what’s being done that’s unfair to you. If there's a double standard with your gender, say that, because you’re not crazy. It’s not the coconut oil to all of your problems but changing your mindset does allow for some shifts and changes to your situation to happen. Acknowledge that you’d rather invest your hard work into something else, like getting your own place or making moves towards something that harmonizes with your ambition, because no matter how difficult it may be to accomplish those goals, keeping your focus on that target is what will help make getting to that goal or goals a lot faster without you feeling a loss of motivation on the way. For others in this pile, you need to allow others to help you. When you’re going through a mental crisis or an addiction, it is heavily underestimated how healing socializing can be. You don’t need to be ashamed or feel less than because you need assistance, having a community is so important because there can be times where your own mind can be your enemy and the way to combat it, is having a friend or in general someone, who cares, to help pull you out of that. Imposter syndrome and intrusive thoughts could be something that’s being struggled with and just know that you are worthy and able to get help with it, but remember, even on your worst days, that you are enough and you can do whatever your mind is trying to create doubt around.
Pile Three 👢
BEYONCÉ - LEVII'S JEAN
If you feel like your love life is nonexistent because it has to do with the way that you look, the answer is both yes and no. You think it’s because people don’t find you attractive, but people find you to be extremely hot, but you know what’s also hot? Your aura, and people don’t want to be burned whether they deserve it or not. Even if you don’t have big expectations in love, you look like you do, or you’re not aware of how you sound when you talk about the things that you like or want. I even have this feeling that if the majority of people who secretly admire you approached you, you would not be impressed with them and that’s ok. Your standards and expectations, even if you don’t think that they are high, are what protect you. Don’t let your curiosity of stepping outside of what you want, be your temptation for something that you could potentially regret. One day you will find that love that you’re looking for and some of you have actually already found it, but you’re not seeing yourself as someone they could have feelings for. You need to start seeing yourself in a better light and having more confidence over your divinely given features, both physical and internal, because it’s so easy to miss out on opportunities in love and your career because you don’t see how gifted you are.
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Chills Right to the Marrow Part 10
part 1, prev part
The next day, the Chief is back looking like a man on a mission. Catching Wayne’s eye while he’s on his way in, but interrupted when the Harrington kid steps in his path. Talking to him in hushed whispers, but tense as hell.
The chief sighs, cocking his head to the side and bringing the kid to talk outside. Wayne isn’t the person to eavesdrop, but after yesterday, after the endless questions with no answers, he is desperate for an explanation.
An explanation why his kid is stuck on a hospital bed while Steve is walking around like he has every right to. Like he isn’t part of the reason his boy was halfway to dead for the past week.
What made his boy protect a person that he seemed to hate? A person who’s had everything handed to him, never had to experience real hardships. Stood on the sidelines while his boy was mocked and taunted. Ostracized for being who he was. Molded into this villain.
Kings look down on villains, seeing them as threats to their status. Their reputation. And the Harrington’s are part of the rulers of this town. Funding the high school extracurriculars, the hospital, the candidates on the ballots. Money that, in the grand scheme of reality, Wayne couldn’t give a shit where it goes.
Until it comes between him, his kid, and their lives. Eddie could’ve died, and for what? So the rich can keep being that? So they can keep coming out on top.
Wayne understands why Eddie would throw himself into danger for Dustin. Hell, he probably would have done the same thing. But Steve Harrington. Wayne’s not so sure that’s the path he would choose.
Taking the last cigarette from the pack, Wayne positions himself near the corner of the hospital. Hearing the Chief and Harrington talking right around the bend. Taking a long drag, he tilts his ear up to listen.
Living in a trailer park made everyone a secret gossip. Wayne just never thought he was going to do it like this.
“What about Owens?” Steve’s not so hushed voice carries around the corner. “He seems to be the one to fix all your problems.”
Wayne can hear the annoyance in the Chief’s voice. “Either still in hiding or avoiding my calls. I’ve had to go through his partner for all of this.”
“We need to fix this, Hop, and fast. Eddie can’t be pinned for this shit.”
“I know.” The Chief takes a deep breath. “But the town needs a fall guy. I can’t take the cuffs off just yet.”
Steve hisses a breath. “He’s been getting better. Doesn’t have the ventilator anymore, could wake up any day now. He doesn’t deserve to wake up thinking the town still hates him for something he was a victim of.”
“Kid, I know but I can’t-.”
Steve cuts him off. “I saw how effected his was by all this, Hop. I saw how upset he was thinking the town thought he could do that to her. To all of them. All of them willing to pick up their pitchforks to hunt the freak. He was terrified.”
Wayne feels the anger start to simmer up again. Hearing this kid put words in his boy’s mouth. Saying that he knows everything.
Maybe he does. Maybe Wayne’s blowing this all out of proportion. But he can’t help it. He’s tired, his hope is running dry. One wrong move and he’ll snap. Harrington’s just an easy target.
“I hear you,” the Chief’s voice raises. “But I really can’t-.”
Steve cuts his off again. “Yes, you can and that is the whole problem.”
“No, I can’t.” The hushed screams turn to louder reprimands. “Until the Feds get what they want, I’m powerless here.”
“But if it was El, that would be a completely different story, wouldn’t it?”
Even though Wayne can’t see them, the silence is so thick not even the sharpest blade could cut through it. Steve pushed the wrong button.
“Don’t go there, Steve.” The quiet anger in the Chief’s voice is enough to make anyone step down.
Steve doesn’t. “I am going there.” Steve’s voice has almost reached a yell. Full of anger of his own. “You do everything when it’s affecting you, and the people you care about. But as soon as it’s someone else that might get the fall, you step back and say you can’t do a damn thing.”
“I can’t do a damn thing,” the Chief booms.
“Yes. You. Can,” Steve yells right back. “If it were El, or Joyce, or Will, hell even Mike there strapped to that table right now, the cuffs would have been off the second you came back. No matter what. You would have taken the fall of that. You would have taken the Fed’s anger about it. You would have fucking done something about it. Why not now?”
Before the Chief can even answer the question, Steve is walking away with a huff. Not even noticing Wayne as he walks right back to the parking lot and slams the door of his fancy car. Driving away faster than he should.
Wayne might be directing the anger that sits in his chest at the wrong person.
But all of that doesn't seem to matter anymore. Almost immediately as his sits back in the hospital room, ready for nothing to happen. Eddie opens his eyes.
tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,
@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,
@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,
@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,
@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,
@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,
@devondepresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,
@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,
@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,
#chills right to the marrow fic#stranger things#stranger things au#wayne munson#wayne pov#steve harrington#jim hopper#pre steddie#everyone lives/nobody dies
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Hii not sure if your requests are open or not- so ignore this if they’re closed! <3
Can I request some Obey Me! Headcanons?
So reader is the 8th sister of the brothers. So she’s the youngest.
Just some general headcanons of her relationships w the brothers
( And some of the side characters if it’s not too much trouble :>)
Thanks <33
I've already done something like that
but I love the concept so I'm just going to build that
🖤🖤🖤🖤
Youngest Sibling Reader Headcannons | Yandere Obey Me
Lucifer
Before I said he was the worst one and I mean it
He’s an amalgamation of someone who understands you but undermines you at every moment
Because he understands, he does listen
He just doesn’t hold your opinions on the same level as his own
But worse
Of course his brother’s constant chatter about aimless things isn’t on his level
But every now and then he’ll enjoy hanging out with them
But not you
Never you
“Ah so you do pay attention to the political atmosphere. Good job.”
Or
“I don’t expect you to know but I’ll tell you anyways.”
It’s degrading
It’s disrespectful
And he does not care
You can cry and yell all you like
it’ll just sound like a tantrum to him
So he’ll treat like one
“If you can’t behave, I’ll have to send you to the attic.”
Leviathan
As previously stated is apart of the group that just misinterprets everything you say
It’s hard to say if it’s delusion or denial
Because sometimes he’ll slip up
You’ll catch him crying or a single mumble in his late night rambles
“Aw my baby is so grown up…I just can’t believe it anymore.”
If you try to address it he’ll pat your head and ruffle your hair (if you have any)
Before telling you it’s nothing for the baby to worry about anyway
It’s incredibly annoying
When he writes off your achievements in gaming as button mashing
Or saying your just a genius so you’d get on his level eventually
Any protests or ‘grown-up’ conversations are often just outright ignore
Now doing things outside of the ‘baby’ image he has of you mostly has him ignoring that too
Unless you come back hurt or specifically crying for his help
He will actually start flooding places and going into an absolute rampage
He won’t listen to you about calming down
Its going to take all the brothers to de-aggro their brother to save everyone from drowning
“Sorry guys I just want to make sure our baby sib is doing okay!”
Asmodeus
Also a part of that ‘doesn’t listen to you’ crew
Accept while he might actually here you his brain literally just never let’s him hear your real voice
“Can you please stop trying to rearrange my closet?! It’s weird to find you digging through my stuff–”
“Okay okay no need to cry what’s the problem baby sib? C’mon you can use your words! Tell big bro Asmo what’s the matter?”
It’s almost a concern when he does it in front of your other brothers
Especially the ones you can hold an actual conversation
“Hey (Y/n) can you pass the salt and the salad.”
“Sure, man.”
“Hey Hey! Why are you bothering (Y/n), they’re trying to focus on eating? Not to mention your being such a meanie, trying to make them reach with their tiny arms!”
“(Y/n) is sitting closer to me than you…”
“So? How do you expect them to know good manners if you don’t show them! Here I’ll show you how! Watch me baby (Y/n)!”
He honestly doesn’t compute when you’re getting older
He’ll celebrate birthdays, milestones, awards
But he doesn’t believe you are growing and can’t see it either
Reprimanding you when you went out with your own car
“I’m all for playing with your toys, but you have to have a chaperone. Okay?”
That being said any advances from others are met with extreme animosity
“Not my little (Y/n)! Try that with someone else’s little baby!”
#yandere x reader#yandere x you#lovelyyandereaddictionpoint#yanderexrea#yanderes#yandere#yandere obey me#yandere platonic#yandere platonic obey me x reader#yandere platonic obey me lucifer#yandere platonic obey me asmodeus#yandere platonic obey me leviathan#yandere obey me x reader#yandere obey me asmodeus
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Hullo to my fellow fandom creators.
How you guys doing? Good? Good.
I just wanted to drop you a little note to say I hope you’re all having fun out here. Because fun is what it’s all about, right? Fun and excitement and hobbies and interests and all that good stuff!
While I’ve been wandering about in my little corner here at tumblr dot com, I gotta tell you, it can be so easy to get discouraged sometimes. Like SO easy. And I dunno folks, I guess I just wanted to remind you (and me!) that when we create stuff for our fandoms, it’s for fun! Because we love it! Because we love making it! We love sharing it! We love the source material and the characters and the world-building and all that other neat stuff!
Sometimes we all need a little reminder, I find. Because sometimes people don’t like what we’re making. Sometimes they’ll be rude or complain and make demands about how fandom "cOnTeNt” (yuck) should be made (double yuck) and act kind of entitled about it. And idk, that gets kind of disheartening. Especially when you’re pouring all your heart and soul into what you’re making, simply for the love of it.
So! Yeah I just wanted to check in with you folks because I’m seeing a lot of that weird entitlement in various fandoms lately, and from one creator to another, I wanted to just say -if I may wax poetic for a moment here- nuts to those people. Nuts to ‘em. NUTS, I TELL YOU.
Not everyone is going to like the stuff you make, and that's okay. The important thing is to remember that their opinions have nothing to do with you or me or anyone else making art or fics or edits or whatever our little hearts desire. Just because what you're making doesn't tick someone else's personal boxes doesn't mean that what you're making is wrong or bad!
If people want specific stuff in fandom, they can make it. If they don’t like what we’re making, they can move on - that's fine. If they want to publicly whine about it and try to make it everyone else's problem, that's their baggage and we don't have to take any of that on board. It’s no reflection on you if someone wants to demand that their own specific tastes be met, rather than actually taking part in the community in a positive way. Because we’re here for fun, aren’t we.
Are you having fun? Good. That’s all that matters.
Go make something cool and fun, and have a great day!
Love you!
#just to be clear this isn’t about any one specific thing or person or even anything that's happened to me#just seeing a lot of v. demanding posts aimed at fandom creators lately and while I get that everyone has different taste and that's fine#there's something to be said for tact and delivery and just generally not being rude about it#anyway. sorry to rant but I woke up and saw 3 posts like that first thing this morning - in varying fandoms#one of them was a fandom I have literally nothing to do with#but it got blazed and I saw that negative whining on my dash like 74 times before I just gave up and blocked the OP#and it just got my goat!#I’m just doing that big-sister-cracking-her-knuckles-in-the-background thing right now#because I feel very protective of fandom creators#so I just wanted to say something because you guys are AMAZING and it's important to me personally that you all know that#fandom#fandom wank#on fandom
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Ok so in another post I talked about all the reasons why Valzhang is better than Caleo, and I wanted to do one on Valgrace as well (lmk if this should become a series).
Bear in mind I am only on HoH- I haven’t read all of the Caleo bits yet, but I know she ain’t gonna treat him right.
I was originally SUPER sceptical about Valgrace (“I ship them platonically” “Jason is the Token Straight Friend”) and while I don’t think it was ever cannon I 100% THINK IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN.
Seriously, my eyes have been opened to Valgrace, to the point where the fanfic I’m writing about them currently clocks in at around 5,934 words.
I am OBSESSED. It is a PROBLEM.
And some of the fanarts/fanfics of them are SO CUTE I COULD DIE- it was hard NOT to ship them after reading some of y’all’s stuff. Keep up the good work.
Anyway buckle up ‘cause I’m ‘bouta write a whole dam essay on this.
1. The whole appeal of Jason Grace’s character is that he sees through your insecurities and lifts you up because he is too pure for this world. So narratively speaking, why is he with the most stable character? Yeah, Piper’s got issues, but compared to the others? She’s doing pretty well for herself. I mean, her parents are ALIVE!! Wouldn’t it just make more sense, narratively speaking, to put Jason with the MOST insecure character??? He can support Leo, help him in his arc, and it would give Jason a time to shine by highlighting his best qualities.
2. Throughout most of the books, Jason is the ONLY ONE who actually consistently sees through Leo’s mask. Everyone else’s POV of Leo is “Haha Leo said something funny and goofy and we’re all trying to be serious here, Leo. Gods, he’s soooo annoying!”, whereas Jason’s POV is like “Jason could see that Leo was desperately trying to keep it together for the good of the group, and he thought that was noble and brave and good and kind and awesome.” Like I said above, he’s able to lift Leo up because he sees him, and knows him. Something Calypso never did. There are several interactions, during TLH particularly, where Jason is just like “Hey, Leo? You are great. You are awesome. You have saved our lives multiple times. Whatever just went wrong, it wasn’t your fault. Stop beating yourself up about everything. You are a valued and respected member of this team. I love and appreciate you.” And Leo still puts up those walls with the jokes and the sarcastic remarks, and Jason is nothing but patient with him. Calypso was never like that.
3. I can’t find the line in the book, but there’s a bit in HoH where Jason’s worrying about the “To Storm or Fire, the World must fall” line in the prophecy, and he says words to the effect of “I like living, but I’d rather I die than Leo, anyway horses-” and seriously?? Rick missed a trick by not making them a couple. There is WAY more potential for angst if there’s that romantic feeling involved, knowing one of them is going to die, and both being willing to sacrifice themselves for one another like this is “Merchant of Venice” or something (I will explain the obscure Shakespeare reference in the comments). Calypso would never give up her LIFE for Leo, and Leo would only give up his because she’s hot.
4. Okay, most of this is copy-pasted from my post about Valzhang, but it still applies, and it applies to them maybe more so. They get so much more time together to establish a meaningful relationship. Their arc carries over all five books, and we get to form connections as a reader to them both, so the payoff is a lot more satisfying. Unlike Calypso, Jason is his own character separately, and not just an add-on to Leo’s arc. Their friendship is a key focus in their chapters, and a key point in their character development, as Jason is the first person Leo ever opens up to about his mom. When Calypso showed up, Leo had already gone through that journey of letting down those walls, so it was a lot less meaningful. They had little to no time to develop a relationship, and we never get a chance to care about Calypso as a person. She’s just kind of a plot point for Leo/Percy’s own development, and never her own character.
5. What separates Leo and Calypso from the other relationships in the series is that they were not written for each other. Frank and Hazel? Written for each other. Jason and Piper? Written for each other. Percy and Annabeth? FUCKING WRITTEN TO BE TOGETHER FOREVER. Cal was brought in during BoTL to cockblock Percabeth, and then Rick realised Leo “needed” a girlfriend, so picked her. But you know what two characters were written to be best friends right from the get-go? Like literally it’s established in the first couple pages of the first book? Jason and Leo. Much like how Valzhang were always meant to be rivals, Jason and Leo were always meant to be best friends.
6. Like I said in the last post, Leo doesn’t NEED a girlfriend. He can heal his trauma with friends and found family, learning to love and accept himself, learning that he doesn’t actually need the attention of a hot girl to be valid. Jason is the best person to help him on that journey, seeing as how his character thrives in uplifting others. The only person who ever loved Leo unconditionally died when he was eight. His blood relatives abandoned him, and he clearly wasn’t treated very well in the foster homes. He constantly feels like he has to work to prove he’s earned his place among the Seven because for him, family has never been a guarantee. Jason cares for Leo even when he’s fucked up, even when he’s a crying mess on the floor, even when he feels most like he doesn’t deserve to be cared for. Leo thinks he needs the attention of a hot girl to give him validation. What he really needs is to find a place among his brethren- and Jason offers him that place.
So, kids, that was it for today’s edition of “Why Literally Any Ship Is Better Than Caleo”. Tune in next time for our fav ✨trauma twinsies✨ Valdangelo!
#percy jackson#pjo fandom#percy jackson fandom#pjo#pjo hoo toa#percy jackson and the heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa tsats#pjo hoo#valgrace#caleo#anti caleo#leo x jason#jason x leo#leo valdez pjo#leovaldez#pjo leo#leo pjo#all da ladies luv leo#leo valdez#pjo jason#jason grace pjo#jason pjo#jason grace#pjo jason grace#pjo calypso#calypso pjo#calypso#valzhang#riordan universe#riordanverse
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I’m considering doing something like an audio drama draw along where I re-listen to a favorite podcast of mine and draw something for every episode. If I do end up doing this, which podcast should I do first?
(DISCLAIMER: There is every chance I will not follow the results of this poll, it’s more to gauge interest than anything. My creative whims strike where they will, and I am determined to make that everyone else’s problem.)
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Ngl I think my biggest problem rn is the fact I don’t see many people also taking into account how awful Yuta obviously feels. Of course Gojo being used and seen as a weapon even in death his heartbreaking. It’s just… Yuta cares about Gojo people be forgetting that. He was the first person to believe in him and give him a chance. He had to not only watch him die. But he also had to become something, and use someone he cared about for the “greater good”. I didn’t know what Gege had in mind, but I think this really did hurt a lot to see. Because not only is this just cruel for Gojo and the parallels with him and Geto. But because Yuta is a 17 year old boy who feels as if this act was all he could do, and is potentially ending his life in the process. Which may be kinder rather than him having to live in his deceased teacher’s body for the rest of his life. I’m just sad. Both of them deserved better. It breaks my heart to see people be so quick to demonize Yuta like he wanted this.
Sorry for the rant I’m just really sad lol.
yes to all of that. people are acting like yuuta never cared for gojo as if he wasn't the same guy who wanted to kill kenjaku so gojo wouldn't have to bear the burden of killing his bestfriend twice. not just that but the panel where he says "what about gojo sensei? gojo sensei isn't important? all of us, haven't we all kept pushing gojo sensei to be a monster all on his own?! if he is gone then the monster has to be someone else. IF NO ONE ELSE WILL, THEN I WILL BECOME ONE!!" clearly he cared so much but there was no else who could do it, he wanted to make gojo's sacrifice worthwhile, my boy hasn't had a day of peace since culling games arc and now everyone hates him??? why? because he chose the difficult decision? that panel of him saying he's also at his limits to shoko while smiling breaks my heart so much. i am just. yeah you and me, us both anon thinking about him hurts my heart.
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Deadly Proposal: Part Three
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader
Word Count: ~1.8k
Warnings: angst, mentions of drug use, drug angst
Summary: Dean agreed to get your sister from jail but her presence makes it tense for everyone, especially you. She is a ticking time bomb that's waiting to go off.
Deadly Proposal Masterlist
Square Filled: free space (2021) for @spnquotebingo
Quote is: "Sometimes it's good to be scared. It means you still have something to lose." from Grey’s Anatomy
Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3
x
Then
You’re sitting in the front of Amber’s 2004 Ford Escort wearing your softball uniform. The only reason why Amber is driving you is because Mom forced her. She was going to book club with her friend and didn’t have time to drive you. You’re shocked Amber didn’t ask for anything in return but when she pulls into a motel parking lot, you understand why she agreed to drive you.
“You’re supposed to be driving me to softball practice,” you sigh.
“Don’t worry about it.” There are two men standing by one of the rooms, one of them smoking something. “Stay in the car.”
She gets out of the car and approaches the two men. Disappointment floods your chest but you don’t say anything. The man who is smoking smirks when he sees you but you sink down into your seat to avoid his gaze. Amber takes the money dedicated to dinner and hands it to the man who isn’t smoking. In return, the man hands her something white in a small plastic baggie. Of course. Why else would she offer to drive you other than to get drugs?
As soon as the drugs are in her hands, she heads back to the car. The men don’t stop staring at you until she is too far away to notice.
“You used the money for dinner,” you say.
“Keep your mouth shut,” she snaps.
“I’m late to practice.”
She doesn’t say anything else and continues driving.
Now
You shouldn’t be here. You should just go to bed and forget doing this. You look down the hall toward your room but your legs don’t move. You’re standing outside Dean’s office debating on whether or not you should knock. No, you shouldn’t. You’re just going to bother him with your problems that he didn't sign up for.
You’re about to leave when the door opens. Dean stands there tall with an annoyed look on his face. You should leave. Just say never mind and go to bed.
“I can smell you. What do you want?”
He turns and heads back to his desk. You step into his office and nervously play with your hands. You don’t know how to start without seeming like a desperate girl.
“So, the reason why I was in that hotel where we met is because I was on my way to pick up my sister in Boston. Um, she’s in jail and she was granted bail. I’m her only hope of getting out. I’d like to get her if it’s okay with you.”
“Where will she stay?”
“Well, um, I figure since you have so much room here…”
“No, she’s not staying here.”
“Please, Dean? She’ll only be a week. One week to get herself on her feet. She’s my sister.”
Dean’s instinct is to say no but then he sees the desperation in your eyes. He wants to say no but when he opens his mouth to respond, something else comes out.
“Fine. I’ll go with you tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you.”
Dean looks down at his hands and sees aged spots darkening. You’re about to leave when he calls your name.
“Come here. I need a sip from you.”
This is why you’re here. You’re here to provide blood for him and nothing else. Still, you feel a little proud that he chose you out of every single human on this planet. You’re the one he wants. You walk over to Dean and allow him to pull you onto his lap. You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. His green eyes darken at the thought of tasting your blood again but you mistake it for something else. Maybe he enjoys you being here more than you think. The more you allow him to feed from you, the more you feel compelled to always be around him.
What are you doing to me, Dean Winchester? Why can’t I stay away? What is it about you that makes me want more?
Dean grabs your hair gently and pulls so you’re forced to expose your neck to him. He peels back the bandage from the last time he bit you, the wounds have not fully healed yet. He’d heal you but then he’d open up a new can of worms that he knows you probably won’t want to be opened. He leans in just as his fangs slide out. You feel the cold shiver before you feel him pierce your skin. Dean doesn’t take much, maybe only a pint. Still, it feels euphoric to you. Your head feels fuzzy, your eyes stay closed, and your mouth parts open.
Dean pulls away from you and replaces the bandage across the wounds he opened. He holds you close and looks down at his hands which are free of the darkened age spots. He licks his lips so there isn’t any more blood before standing up with you in his arms. He takes you to bed and lets you rest for the rest of the night.
The next morning, you’re getting ready to go to Amber’s prison when you notice the bandage on your neck. The only thing you remember is feeling like you were on Cloud 9 after Dean drank from you. You touch the bandage and wince from the soreness of your wounds, and you think about your arrangement with Dean. When you took it a few weeks ago, you were pissed at your sister for landing herself in jail. You wanted out. You wanted a better life for yourself. Dean was offering you all this stuff and it seemed so good at the time.
It still does but there is more at stake than you realize. Him drinking from you is doing something to you. Whether you two want it or not, you’re forming a blood bond. You were scared of Dean at first, but now not so much. You let your hair cover the side of your neck to hide the fact that Dean likes to bite you in the neck. Maybe you should ask him to bite you on the wrist so you can hide it better.
After getting ready, you head down to the kitchen where Dean is. The chef has already made you a meal which is sitting on the kitchen island next to Dean.
“Eat.”
“So bossy,” you grin and do as you’re told. “Listen, there’s something you should know about Amber. I should have told you this before but she’s a drug addict. The fact that she’s in jail means she hasn’t used in a while. She’ll be coming down from one of her highs, so she’ll be cranky. Don’t let her get to you.”
“Sweetheart, I am a vampire. What can she do to me?”
“Don’t say I didn't warn you,” you shrug
Boston is only an hour and a half from Dean’s mansion so it doesn’t take long until you’re at the prison.
“Hi, I’m here for Amber Bishop.” You look at Dean. “We don’t have the same last name. Believe it or not, she was married, and when she got divorced she hung onto his last name. She was in love with him but he wasn’t in love with her.”
“That’s sad.”
“Yeah,” you whisper.
The officer hands you some forms to sign before getting her. As soon as she sees you, she bursts into tears.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” You bring her into your arms and let her cry on your shoulder. “I promise to do better. I just slipped up.”
“I know.”
Dean’s face remains stoic as you two bring her to the car. You can’t help but feel ashamed of your sister’s state. You place her in the back seat and she immediately passes out from exhaustion. Dean is silent for the next thirty minutes as soft music flows through the speakers.
“One week, Y/N. She’s gone after that.”
“Okay. One week.”
Dean arrives at home and immediately leaves you to take care of your sister alone. You let her use your body as support as you take her to one of the empty bedrooms next to yours. She is in tears the second she lays on the bed. You tug off her shoes and socks before moving up her body. You pull off her shirt and give her a sleep shirt to use for now.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry,” she cries.
“I know you are.” You smooth down her hair. “Just get some sleep, okay?”
You can’t help but think about the first time you had to care for her after she took drugs.
You snuck downstairs to get some water after waking with a dry throat. You took a water bottle from the fridge when the front door opened. Amber came stumbling in with red eyes and roughed clothing.
“Amber?” you whispered.
“Y/N, you gotta help me.”
She stumbled over to you and fell into your arms. The water bottle dropped from your hand, and you’re thankful the cap was on. Your parents were sleeping upstairs and you did not want to wake them.
“Come on, let’s go upstairs.” You tried to be as quiet as you could as you snuck your sister upstairs to her room. She crashed onto her bed with tears streaming down her face. “Did you take drugs?”
“I’m sorry, Y/N. I promise not to do this again. I’m sorry.”
You leave Amber alone in her room and go down to the kitchen where food is waiting for you. You pick up your fork to eat but you’re suddenly not so hungry. You set your fork down and move the plate away from you.
“So, what’s her deal?” Dean asks when he walks into the kitchen.
“She ran with the wrong crowd in high school. Even before that. She didn’t start getting into drugs until she was a senior. I remember when I was twelve, I had softball practice that she was supposed to drive me to but she stopped to meet two men. She used the dinner money to buy drugs. Even before that, I remember her coming home after using drugs for the first time. She keeps promising never to do it again and she keeps breaking that promise.” You look down at your lap. “Sometimes, I’m scared I’ll come home and see her dead on the ground or something.”
“So?”
You look at Dean like he grew three heads.
“Sometimes it's good to be scared. It means you still have something to lose. I don’t want to lose her, but I don’t know how much more disappointment I can take.”
“Then why do you help her?”
“You sound like my parents,” you scoff. “She’s my sister, Dean.”
“Let me tell you something. Just because she’s blood doesn’t make her family. You should cut her loose before she brings you down.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
Dean’s eyes darken with something mysterious and dangerous.
“Story time is over. Eat.”
Dean leaves the kitchen immediately, and you grab the fork again. You’re not sure what’s going to happen with your sister but you have a feeling it’s not going to be good.
x
Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)
#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester fic#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester fanfic#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester angst#supernatural#supernatural fic#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural fanfic#supernatural fluff#supernatural angst
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i sorry for saying this but i have to be honest, i dont understand why the LnDs MC having a gender is a problem, i mean, i understand you making a gn OC for some kind of support or representation but not why the MC, who already have a female body (and with that i mean biologically, the old fashion way everyone would visualise in their minds at first when they hear "female body", after all even if we young ones think this patter is wrong it still a pattern old ppl and from different cultures, and almost everyone understand and learned at first at a very young age) and if im not wrong also refered as "she" im the game, cant be described with anything that isnt gender neutral, i also have no idea why someone would be offended or feel not included reading about a MC with a gender, we all are different and is impossible to include everyone, ppl can feel not included for things you cant even imagine would be a problem, and not being able to see yourself on a story once isnt a big problem, you can ignore or jump to the next one, or just see the character like a character or another person that isnt youself.
I hope you dont get mad at this (and was able to understand my point, i usually have problems communicating with others and since english isnt my native language it gets worst), its that i just dont see the point in all this, i understand having a preference or incentivating one but not feeling somenthing bad and being against the other...
I understand what you’re trying to say, nonnie, but I have to point out a few things first. First off, I shouldn’t have to explain my own boundaries because at the end of the day, they are boundaries and should not be discussed. When something makes me uncomfortable, I shouldn’t be negotiating why people should respect that and stick to it without questioning my motives.
However, I understand you have no ill intentions, so I will be answering you—not because I’m obligated to, but because I want to point out where your line of thinking comes to harm marginalized communities.
The very simple answer is this: Because I’m a fanfic writer.
I’m not creating the MC in a game where she physically has a body and an appearance. Otome games were initially made as fantasies for their players to picture themselves in romantic situations. But since most Otome games have female MCs with very stereotypical appearances, most people who do NOT look like that end up having to imagine an OC/someone else in their place. It’s a shitty feeling; to feel left out because game producers can’t be assed to create more diverse options.
Second of all, the “old fashioned way” was already fucked up from the start, because even female bodied people are much less likely to look like Otome game MCs—who are almost dauntingly pretty, have virtually no physical blemishes, have straight hair, big eyes, and are incredibly thin. Now think of all the people who do NOT fit that physical description and are almost always excluded. When I visualize a female body like you say, I don’t instantly picture a perfect-looking skinny fair-skinned girl who looks not a day past 18. Because female bodies aren’t just one thing or the other. It’s a beautiful spectrum.
Third of all, leaving “old fashioned thinking” as it is is already a harmful concept. Should we ignore white people’s racism because it’s how they were brought up in the old-fashioned way? Should we allow sexism & misogyny in our communities because it’s how they were brought up back in the day? Should we encourage fatphobia by not silencing people because being thin and encouraging EDs was acceptable? Should we let homophobic hate crimes keep occurring because that’s what used to happen?
The number one goal of our new generations should be to reconstruct society and dismantle all the harmful practices that were done by our predecessors. Ending the cycle is our responsibility and no one else’s, and to do that, we have to take active measures to undo what they’ve done and erase what is “the norm.” Just thinking it’s wrong isn’t enough; we must take action to cut that shit out.
And because these were the “old-fashioned ways” it’s still the default for almost every writer to create for a female audience. Imagine a fandom has 200 writers. 190 would write for female MCs, and only 10 writers would write for more diverse MCs. Should everyone else that is not female (and, by the way, gender-queer people represent a massive percentage of fandoms online, and males do exist within our fandom spaces) just keep living their lives having to picture other people instead of themselves, because not enough people care enough to include them in their writing?
Here’s a realistic representation of what you’re saying: let’s say there are 2 million LNDS players around the world. 1 million are female. 1 million are not. The second 1 million will never get to see themselves as the MC. Now they can’t even picture themselves in fiction? Should the second 1 million be forced to feel left out in their own fandom space?
The same also happens with race representation in fandoms. Less than 50% of the world population is white. Yet we don’t see except very few people in fandoms writing for Black people, Latinos, Arabs, South-Asians, South-East Asians, Inuits, Native Americans, etc. Why is that? It’s because fandoms are catered towards white people. So should we just let the entire half of the globe never feel included in the art/writing fandom creators make? Do they not deserve representation and comfort too?
So when I write, I write for everyone. And when I say everyone, I mean EVERYONE. Because I think everyone deserves to see themselves loved and cared for by their favorite characters. Because everyone needs that sort of comfort. Because I myself have spent my entire life looking for that comfort in fandom spaces and never finding it. Even if the game doesn’t allow them to do that, I’m giving everyone a chance to enjoy the game through their own eyes, without having to be a stereotypical skinny girl with sleek straight hair and a dainty face. Because we want representation, and if the canon content can’t give us that (even though they claim it’s supposed to be “us”), then at the very least our fandom spaces should provide this. I hope you understand why my rules are there now. They’re a protection for both myself and everyone else in this fandom.
Fanfiction was created by the people, for the people—not just for a certain demographic that fits beauty standards and “old fashioned thinking”—and it should always be for ALL the people.
Being as inclusive as is humanly possible is never a bad thing. Refusing to see why consistently excluding others is wrong IS a bad thing, though.
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Welcome to Silent Hill - Part 2
TF141 x gn!reader
Series masterlist
TW: MDNI 18+, canon typical violence, canon typical horror, threat, body horror, injury detail, mental instability, memory loss
Nothing changes for a while as you walk with the four soldiers down the mainstreet of the place called Silent Hill. A seemingly endless row of dark and empty shop fronts, bars and buildings lining either side of the road, shrouded in the creeping, dense fog. Nothing moves apart from the five of you, and thankfully no radio static begins as you crane your ears for sound that would warn of approaching… things.
Soap, the mohawked man, walks ahead of the group at Price’s order, seemingly to keep an eye out for anything strange. Well, you think to yourself, even stranger than what’s already going on. The baseline for what is weird in your life has been shifted dramatically.
“Cap,” Soap suddenly says, low and urgent, “there’s something in the road up ahead.”
The group slows, weapons raised and they move you to the middle without any apparent discussion about it. You almost don’t notice the way you go from walking beside Ghost, to suddenly being encased in a circle of tall, broad bodies, barely able to see past them.
“That’s… unusual,” Gaz says with consternation. You peer around his shoulder trying to see what’s going on, but fail as Price closes the gap.
“Bloody hell,” Price mutters, “is there anyway around it?”
Eventually they separate and you see the problem. A huge crack in the ground cuts clean across the road ahead, as wide as a football pitch.
“It carries on as far as I can see either side,” Gaz calls back to Price as he peers around the severed edge of a building at the side of the street.
“Was there an earthquake?” you muse, peering down into the yawning chasm that cuts neatly across the street. It’s deep, the bottom swallowed by darkness.
“Can’t have been,” Gaz replies, “otherwise we’d see damage to all the other buildings. A quake big enough to cause that sized crack would have flattened the whole town.”
A stone skitters over the edge and sails down into the darkness below, sent by the toe of Soap’s boot. Your eyes follow the stone’s downward fall, a strange pulling sensation making you lean forward as it goes.
“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” he mutters, listening for a landing that never happens. “That’s a long way down.”
Your eyes water as you feel yourself being tugging gently closer into the beckoning darkness, your muscles obeying some unheard call, willing you to move to the edge and lean over just a bit more….
“Whoa, careful,” Soap laughs, grabbing your arm and jerking you back suddenly. “That’s certain death down there, gotta be more careful.” His blue eyes bore into yours, a wrinkle at the corners of them as he frowns at your carelessness.
“Right,” Price calls firmly, ringing everyone back into focus. “We make our way around this, the road past the hospital is our next best option.”
You follow along, confused by your actions, and feeling the slightest of tug in the middle of your chest. As though a fine thread were attached to you, pulling you back towards that wide open, hungry chasm. A nudge against your arm jolts you from your thoughts.
“You solid?” Ghost asks quietly, his unreadable eyes looking down at you from behind his mask.
“Yeah, yeah I just feel… felt… odd back there,” you reply unconvincingly.
“You’re not going to do anything stupid are you?” he continues, blunt as a kick in the teeth, and you can’t help but smirk. Anyone else probably would have been a lot more gentle asking something like that, but not him it seems.
“No, I’m not planning anything drastic,” you assure him. “I think this place is just getting to me. I feel like something is watching me, its fucking creepy.”
“You’re not wrong, this place is… I don’t know what. Just keep close, and don’t let it get to you,” he tells you, walking a little closer beside you. The brush of his sleeves against your arm is a comfort you didn’t know you needed and you continue to walk close beside him. For a while you simply keep pace, conversation dried up with the increasingly sense of wariness
Twice more your path is interrupted by impossible chasms gouging the earth and tearing wounds into the ground.
“Why do I get the feeling we’re being funnelled somewhere?” Price mutters as a third chasm turns you from your path. Frustration drips from his words.
“It feels like the whole town has been sliced off from the world,” you agree, not wanting to mention the tugging feeling behind your eyes everytime you see one of the pits in front of you. “Between the fog and these cracks, it’s like we are even in the real world anymore.”
“What I’d give for a working radio and Nik right now,” he grunts and glances at his watch. “Keep moving, we’ve got more ground to cover before it gets dark, and I’m not risking being exposed when night falls.”
“What do you think will happen at night?” you ask him, heart thudding as you begin trailing after the bearded Captain once again.
“I don’t know and honestly, don’t want to know. This place is not normal,” he answers cryptically. He chews on a cigar, a habit you noticed he does when his frustration rises.
The noise starts low, barely noticeable over the sound of boots on the road, but it creeps higher and higher until the buzzing vibrates the hairs on your skin. A large building looms out of the fog, the sign over the door reading Brookhaven Hospital in dull, red letters.
“Shit, we’ve got company,” Gaz hisses, grabbing at the radio on his chest to try to turn down the hissing, buzzing noise that signals an approaching nightmare.
“You,” Ghost snaps, grabbing your arm firmly, “down.” He pushes you firmly down behind an abandoned car and stands over you, his legs caging you against the door of the vehicle. You can’t see what’s happening.
“Bloody hell, how many are there?” Gaz whispers.
“I count eight,” Soap answers in a tense whisper, waiting for Price’s order.
“We’ve got limited ammo and no resupply, don’t engage,” Price announces, “we go around them.”
“Price, this door isn’t locked,” Soap calls, the door to the hospital entrance held open in his hand as you peer between Ghost’s legs.
“Move inside, we’ll cut through the hospital and conserve ammo,” Price whispers. Ghost grabs your bicep and drags you with him as they move to the large door of the building and inside. The radios stop making their pained crackling as soon as the door clicks closed behind your small group. The inside of the hospital is much as you’d expect, empty and echoing, uncomfortable and deserted.
The entrance foyer contains the expected rows of seats, a few knocked over and abandoned on their backs. Potted plants sit in pots looking limp and sickly, and the large reception desk sits empty, files scattered on and around it. The feeling of wrongness that permeated the air outside feels markedly more noticeable here, and you swallow down rising bile.
“I don’t think we should be in here,” you say quietly, but no one pays you any attention as they scan the room and check doorways. The walls are painted in a pale green, with dark grey tiles covering the floors. Fluorescent lights flicker on the ceilings, casting a sickly light worryingly similar to that outside in the fog.
“Clear!” You hear them call to each other, until they are satisfied it’s safe. Or as safe as can be.
“Could look for some supplies while we head through to the another exit,” Ghost suggests. “Place like this will have multiple exit points.”
“Good plan,” Price agrees, patting the large man firmly before nodding to Soap to take the lead again. “Let’s go.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you hiss at Ghost, getting as close to him as you can without risking tripping him up.
“It’s all we’ve got right now,” he replies grimly, “sometimes you have to pick the better of two evils and go with it.”
“Is that what you guys do? Pick the less terrible option?”
“Pretty much,” he shrugs, never looking at you as you follow Soap’s lead through the pale corridors lined with medical equipment and empty gurneys and wheelchairs. “It’s what soldiers do in the field.”
“Sounds like a hard life, having to make decisions like that,” you muse, glad to have someone to talk to.
“Humph,” he grunts noncommittally, “you learn to live with it. You don’t get much choice if you want to get the job done.”
“It must leave you with lots of bad memories,” you hear yourself say, but those aren’t your words, you don’t know where they come from. You glance at Ghost and see his eyes boring into you, sharp and cold suddenly at your callous comment.
“Where are you going with this?” he demands.
“I’m…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it,” you stammer and look away from him quickly. Thankfully he lets the conversation drop, and you stay quiet.
“Shouldn’t we have found an exit by now? How big is this place,” Gaz observes after another ten minutes of endless corridors.
“We’ve been going north the whole time, let’s bust a window open and,” Soap begins to say more but stops suddenly, brining the whole group to a stop by raising his arm.
A siren wails, ripping through the still air like a saw blade, making your entire body lurch in panic. The four men tense, weapons raised and eyes scanning the area. Somehow you feel better seeing them react, as for a moment it felt like the noise was inside your skull rather than outside it.
“Is that an air raid siren?” Gaz puzzles. “There’s no way anything’s flying in that mess out there.”
“I dinnae like… wait… what the fuck?” Soap begins to answer him but stops mid sentence, peering at a section of the wall near him. As the siren screams its mournful call, the pale paint on the walls around you begins to peel and curl as if with advanced age. With a lump in your throat you watch as the little clumps fall away from the wall upwards in defiance of logic and gravity, even the flooring crumbles and dissolves, uncovering a dark, rusted metal grate beneath.
The weak lights gutter, the windows becoming grime encrusted and impotent, smothering the disturbing scene in a choking darkness despite the time of day outside.
“What’s happening? Why is everything changing?” you whimper, tears making the unnatural scene waiver even more as the soldiers switch on torches attached to the vests and weapons. The siren drones on, forcing you to press your palms over your ears, but just as you feared, the dreadful call isn’t muffled in the slightest. It’s inside your skull but everyone is hearing it. You drop your hands rather than face the reality of this unreality.
“This isn’t in the field manual,” Ghost mutters behind his mask, shifting his shoulder slightly as though readying himself for something in the dark. Rusted metal grates and sheets or rusted corrugated steel have replaced the faded hospital corridor, the abandoned wheelchairs somehow twisted into sinister shapes, almost organic and pained in appearance now under the torch beams. Unhealthy looking globs of organic material cling to the metal in places, and you try not to look at it too long, in case it begins to move while you watch.
“Fuck this. We don’t need the additional risk,” Price announces, voice eerily calm given the situation. “Forget the supplies, we fall back.”
The others give a chorus of agreement and begin to head back down the corridor. At the back of your mind something begins to whisper and pull at you again like it did in the street, telling you that going back is no good. It only spurs you on more quickly until you walk into Soap’s back.
“How is that possible?” Soap growls. The set of double doors you had passed through a few moments earlier is now a solid wall, your exit cut off. The siren abruptly stops at this point, and the pounding of far off machinery can be heard thrumming through the decaying metal. It’s almost as though a heart is beating, perhaps what is creating the creeping tendrils that twist around the metalwork around you.
“Looks like we keep pushing forward then,” Price says, more quietly this time, and the way he exchanges a look with Ghost isn’t lost on you. There’s a note of concern to it, and it leaches into you, taking hold and feeding your fear. “I don’t like it any more than the rest of you but we’re not just going to sit around here without thumbs up our arses waiting for whatever is doing this to come find us. We move.”
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Part two a)
As someone who went to a girl's high school, I’ve learned a lot about the personalities of different astrological signs/aspects so these are some of my observations :
1. 3H Mars - Riot grrlsss - I mean the people who are always ready to start a riot ( or strike as we call it in my country) at any minor inconvenience by the school. The rebellious types who never followed school rules. Also you can't do anything secretly, every action you take or anything you do is talked about.
2. 12H moons - always in some drama.Always has all the tea about everything and everyone in school.
3. 8H moons - Know a lot of secret things that go on that nobody knows about. They rarely tell tho, you have to be tight.
4. 10H/ 1H Mercury - known for their words/what they say. Good luck spilling secrets or being a gossiper with this one. Everyone will know what you said.
5. Jupiter in the 9H - deeply religious. Will always be involved in religious activities in school. Very strict and serious about their beliefs.
6. Scorpio risings tend to be really short.
7. Lilith in the 1H- Hottest in the room. makes other girls uncomfortable once they express their sexual side. Like twerking when music is being played( other people do the same but they don't receive the same reaction). The silent stares and judgment are extreme. It’s probably jealousy but people do a lot to shame them. Since its a girl's school, a lot of girls want to try you out. ( this needs its own post there is so much to say)
8. Taurus suns -least likely to like school food.
9.Aquarius Mars- social media influencers. Always up to date with trends. Also those people who everyone I the school knows and follows their socials.
10. Venus in the 5H - generous with their items more than most.
11. Leo suns carry themselves like royalty. It's funny sometimes when no one takes them seriously💀 Very big personalities can be too much sometimes. They’re very regal tho in their demeanor. Most likely to join the school pageant (and win)
12. Moon in the 2H - make having money their entire personality. Will tend to respect people according to how rich their family is like a religion. Never broke tho.
13. Lilith in the 10H/6H - everyone wants you but can't have you unless you want them first.
14. Lots of Leo energy, like being a. Leo rising, Leo degrees, - extreme attention seeking. Oh you will not have peace until you give them your attentions.
15. Pisces suns are too scared to live without any form of religion or spiritual belief. They are very indifferent to irreligious people. They pray before doing anything.
16. Best dancers- Gemini mars and Sagittarius mars.
17. Capricorn moons are so focused on their life goals. Will never waste time on something that’s not beneficial to them. Like if everyone is doing something just to pass the time or out of idleness they'd rather read or do something constructive. Their parents are so strict about their grades.
18. Sun conjunct Lilith- I’m sorry you just can't do anything shady and get away with it. Everybody talks and points out your sins. They never let them slide. Tends to be the outcasts in their classes. (not social class) You also can't participate in drama or beef like everyone else when it blows over you're the only one who will be crucified. Very rebellious energy tho, rubs teachers the wrong way. People fell its easiest to pick on you the most because everyone naturally doesn't like you. ( I'm not trying to be mean, sorry)
19. Mars in the 5H - like to fight. Not someone people like to provoke always 2 seconds from throwing a punch.
20. Mars in the 2H - eat a lot. We used to share food communally and you guys were a problem to your table members.
21. Lilith in the 2H - people feel like they deserve your possessions. Like someone would borrow money from you and feel offended if you ask for it back. Or if they want something instead of getting it themselves would feel obliged to take yours instead. On the bright side, people give you things easily, and people who don't have the same luck as you may try to make you feel guilty.
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AHH I’m seriously so jealous of your writing😭 can you write something about carls girl never realizing when people are flirting with her and he doesn’t get jelly but can help but get a little protective? ❣️❣️
OBLIVIOUS c.grimes
☆ WORD COUNT - 2.1K
CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER
☆ SUMMARY - oblivion was your middle name, never seeing the various places flirting came from. but carl noticed. of course he noticed. and with your harmless oblivion, he had to take action into his own hands.
☆ WARNINGS - ditzy + oblivious!reader, ron, flirting, protectiveness, (3) use of y/n, petnames, intended lowercase, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷
carl wouldn't exactly say he had a 'wide group of friends'.
when they moved into alexandria, carl had already been on the road so long that he'd lost interest in people his age. he preferred the strong fighters he stood by like his father and daryl. he didn't seem to have much time for anyone else.
well, anyone but you.
you were the opposite of them, friendly and kind, oblivious as a bat.
rick adored the fact that even in a world like their own, his son had managed to find love. he'd let you into the family with open arms, seeing nothing but pure intentions behind your pretty smile that had half the town whipped. if only you'd glanced around to notice. you were too busy trying to avoid the poles you almost walked into, though.
but despite his love for his sons loving nature of his own, he worried for him. he was constantly on his back about being a 'normal teenager' he was supposed to grow old surrounded by people, not just wither away when you weren't around.
this was what possessed carl to invite ron over. well, technically he didn't invite him over, rick did, and technically, it was supposed to be ron, mickey and enid. however, enid and ron had just recently broke up and mickey was trying to support her through it (they were stealing whiskey from his dad's liquor cabinet.)
he would have invited you over too, if only ron wasn't so... "hey, man, so where's y/n?"
carl couldn't help but roll his eyes before picking up his console controller. the only good thing about ron coming over was the fact that carl got to absolutely obliterate him in console games. which was sort of embarrassing for ron seeing as carl had spent his childhood fighting off the real things they fought against in pixles. "at home." he answered sourly.
cue the oblivion.
you'd been friends with ron longer than you'd known carl. but that didn't mean anything to him. you were friends with everyone. the only problem was that you were completely oblivious to the fact that he was downright in love with you.
carl wasn't exactly jealous, no, he had more faith in you than that.
however, he'd be lying if he didn't find himself bubbling over every time your name slipped from between his chapped lips. ron barely knew you. you were carl's.
"ah." smacking his lips together annoyingly as he sat against the cushion beneath him, cushioning him from the carpet. yes, ron needed cushioning from the carpet. "she's always been like that, a hermit, that one." as if he'd known you for centuries.
carl barely glanced forward, a look of un-amusement on his face before turning back to the screen.
ron stuffed his face with the chips next to him. "what?" voice all muffled.
carl didn't even get to answer for before his lips so much as parted, a sound was heard from the front of his house. he could make out your girlish giggles before he could hear the door open and close. you were such a soft person but there was nothing soft in the way you tossed the door closed excitedly. "carl!" your voice echoed through the house, stopping his heart momentarily.
there was something so regretful about ron perking up on carl's living room floor. your giggles slowed to a stop and carl saw you standing in the doorway, glancing at ron as your smile faded. "hey, baby." ignoring the look across your face.
you weren't sad ron was here, you were happy carl was hanging out with people. it was more confusion, he hadn't mentioned this. you shrugged it off, thinking perhaps it was a surprise visit. you did like surprises. you didn't so much as think twice, the sound of his voice soothing you and turning your brain to mush.
"hi! hi ron." smile suddenly returning. carl always found it funny, how quickly your expressions could change. but he liked you this way, easy to read. "look what I made!"
you were prancing over to where he stood on the couch within seconds. carl watched as you let wool unravel.
there wasn't much to do around alexandria seeing as you worked in the gardens most days and some days it was much too rainy or muddy so you spent most your time in your room and with carl, of course. sometimes both.
when you'd told carl weeks ago that you'd decided to take up crocheting he looked at you funny, wondering what the hell was a crochet.
you'd read somewhere about it and told him it was basically knitting. then he asked why you couldn't simply knit. he didn't get it, you realised.
nonetheless, he'd been awfully supportive as you came about this new hobby. he watched the pink and white wool against the couch, made yourself with some new stitch you'd learned. there were bows on it too which only made the boy smile. he was sure that if he entered his bedroom now, there'd be at least twenty bows he could spot somewhere around the room that you'd left.
perhaps you were marking your territory.
"wow." he gushed at the piece of fabric. "that's amazing, sweetheart." watching your cheeks go pink.
ron watched from his space on the floor, swallowing the crunchy chips in his mouth. you were close with carl. of course you were he was your boyfriend. but even so, you were close with carl.
always cuddling up to him, getting so close. come to think about it, there wasn't much times he'd seen you both in the same room and not touching. if you weren't, you were usually busy wandering off leaving a distressed carl behind you, holding his hat on his head as he searched for your whereabouts.
a 'thank you' was on the tip of your lips, ready to thank the boy for his constant praise. how could he not? you were making blankets now, that could benefit the whole community. and you'd already given away at least a dozen. "yeah, that's really amazing." ron intervened.
truthfully, you'd almost forgotten he was here.
you'd turned your head to him, little guilt swirling in your veins. you were probably interrupting their 'bro time'. "thanks, ron."
"'course, y/n." the way he said your name had carl's stomach feeling off. "can I see it?"
of course you were much too oblivious to think anything of it, the sweet "sure!" leaving your mouth. carl watched you part from his side, sitting next to ron on the carpet, avoiding the chips that were spilling onto the ground and passing him the blanket.
"wow." his praise seemed sort of... forced but it felt good nonetheless. praise from anyone nowadays felt good. "this is just amazing, you have to teach me some day."
his tone was nothing short of suggestive. luckily for carl, he wasn't the jealous type, at least not with ron anderson. he had enough to be thinking about, like a break in on alexandria and someone mauling you in your sleep. he didn't waste a second thinking of you running off with ron. there wasn't a chance in the galaxy. but that didn't help the knot in his stomach.
not jealousy. but he didn't like the way his hands were straying so close to yours.
you were too ditzy to notice anything of it. but that was the whole thing. you didn't take notice of much, always confused, the perfect target for anyone to prey on.
now, carl didn't exactly think ron was a bad person. however, he wasn't so inclined to leave the both of you alone, he was sure that whether or not you were with carl and whether or not he had been with enid, ron wouldn't hesitate to make a move. and you'd be stuck not knowing what to do, too afraid of hurting someone elses feelings.
"okay." you shrugged your shoulders, missing carl's touch too much to think about teaching ron how to crochet. you often did this, letting your mind stray to the things most important.
like carl, for example. you did it at the worst of times. perhaps you were having an interesting conversation with enid but she spent a little too long getting to the point. before you know it, your mind is on carl or something or other. you moved so fast, never grasping what was said to you. carl always found it sort of adorable. especially when it was you that was telling the stories, venturing off to your side quests along the way.
"yeah?" you didn't nod nor did you answer, your eyes were grazing the blanket and carl could tell you were far away. "how about friday?" this snapped you back, though.
you pondered for a brief moment. you thought nothing of the interaction aside from the fact that you'd have to teach the boy to crochet. you couldn't really teach anyone to do anything, much too side tracked.
you didn't pick up on the way his head moved, his lips quirked and his body leaned into your own, eyes flickering up to carl as his own mouth opened.
"she can't." he answered for you. you were lucky, you knew so much. with carl around, you hardly ever had to think. imagine being so comfortable, to not even have to use your brain. you always joked that he was going to make you lazy. brain dead, even. "we're doing something together."
this you perked up at. "we are?" excitedly turning to the boy as you pondered what it was you could be doing this friday. he often took you outside the walls, leaning against his shoulder and listening to him read the comics he stole on runs. you liked the way he imitated the sounds like 'bang' and 'wack' because he'd always yell just to get you to laugh.
"yeah?" ron's tone suddenly changed from suggestive to not curious but something you couldn't quite put your tongue on. it was as if he'd been challenging the boy. "like what?"
carl tilted his head. he had enough of the boy's childish gimmicks as of now. there were many things he could be doing tonight such as bringing you upstairs and throwing on a dvd for you both or perhaps you could teach him to crochet. but jealous or not, carl had no intentions of leaving you with ron.
"like none of your business." this caught you off guard. carl only really had one tone with you and that was lovesick, filled with admiration. but as he gave ron a kind of glare, you wondered if there was a side to carl that you didn't know.
however, the thought left as soon as it came when you spotted the new cushion covers the grimes' couch had recovered.
ron shook his head, teeth grasping at the inside of his cheek. "I think i'm gonna go." practically daring you to dispute, but your mind wasn't even in the argument.
"i think that's a good idea." carl merely answered, eyes focused on the boy.
ron stood from his place, not bothering to take his wrappers with him. it'd been all you'd noticed, how rude of him. "see you tomorrow, y/n."
"bye." you chirped, still oblivious to the tension in the room.
carl watched as ron stood, glaring at the boy, as if he was trying to get some kind of a reaction out of him. would he really have to fight to the death for him to leave you alone? carl couldn't help but scoff, leaning against the couch without the faintest hint of jealousy in his bones, knowing that as you sat against the carpet, all you cared for was him.
most girls liked the jealousy. carl could think of one thing better than that, though.
certainty.
as ron left the house, he made sure to shut the door extra loud. carl's glare hardened against the white wood. "carl?" your pretty voice could be heard, sweet as honey.
he shook his head, turning away. "yeah, baby?"
"what are we doing on friday?" confused as to his plans. carl couldn't help but grin at you, shaking his head. even through his tension face off with ron, you hadn't suspected a thing, mind much too innocent to the silence cruelty of others. when he didn't respond, you frowned. "i'm confused."
a laugh puffed from his lips. "you're always confused." you gave him a pathetic attempt of a glare. "come on, dvd?"
"okay!" you chirped, instantly grinning.
forgetting so quickly.
main masterlist/carl's masterlist
#carl#grimes#carl grimes#carl x reader#carl grimes x reader#carl x you#carl grimes x you#carl x y/n#carl grimes x y/n#carl imagine#carl grimes imagine#carl grimes drabble#carl grimes oneshot#carl grimes smut#carl grimes fluff#carl grimes angst#carl drabble#carl oneshot#carl smut#carl fluff#carl angst#the walking dead#twd#twd x reader#twd x y/n#twd x you#twd imagine#twd fluff#twd angst#twd oneshot
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❝right place, right time❞
VIII. whatever keeps you around.
parts: previously
plot: bruce has a proposal for you.
pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader.
cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, brief discussion of slight suicidal ideation/martyrdom, drug (and the injection of drugs) mentions, you will not guess what trope I managed to include in here.
words: 6.9k.
a/n: plotting this series makes me feel like charlie day pointing at a wall of red string
“…You won’t like it.”
It's clear what you have to do. You'd realized it when Gordon came to you, so of course Bruce did too. If you were going to make this right, you would have to face this head on. "I know what I have to do," you start, "I need to lure him out."
Bruce's expression shifts. Whatever you've said seems to be the wrong answer, "That... won't be necessary."
"What? What else can I do?"
"What did Gordon tell you about Dimitri?"
Your head throbs as you recall the memory, "Uh... he said he believes I'm next on Dimitri's hit list. He also said Dimitri hadn't anticipated me being at the house."
"Right, because Russo didn't want anyone knowing where he was." Bruce turns to his computer and brings up Russo's file, "After his divorce and the death of his son, he holed up and started erasing himself from the internet. As far as his neighbors know, he was constantly alone. You already know how hard it was to find him on your own, and unless Dimitri knew someone keeping tabs, it doesn't stand to reason that he found him any easier. But you, on the other hand," Bruce opens a search engine and types in your name. You're unsettled when the screen fills with results, most of them news articles from the night you'd been held hostage, "your name and face was everywhere after the gang war."
When the reporters had shoved cameras in your face and begged for you to tell them about Batman's heroic rescue, you hadn't thought twice about it, still fresh from the throes of gore and violence in the ER. Friends, family, coworkers: almost everyone you knew had seen it.
It clicks for you then, "If Dimitri planned on killing us both and I was easiest to find, why didn't he come for me first? I mean... it was me and Alex who ruined his life. If he wanted anyone dead more, wouldn't it be me?"
"I wondered the same thing. With the know-how and the right connections, anyone could find where you live just by name alone. Russo, on the other hand, is almost anonymous. It doesn't make sense why Dimitri would target Russo first."
"Do you think maybe it was a warning? Maybe he wanted to scare me."
"If he wanted to warn you, he wouldn't kill the guy in his house where no one checks up on him. Days would've passed before anyone noticed the flies in the windows."
"I don't get it."
"Do you remember how long it's been since you were taken hostage?"
Your mind lands on a weak estimate, "I don't know, a week and a half?"
"It's been over two weeks. According to the wardens, Dimitri stopped being a problem for them after the first few years. Friends with a rough crowd but he rarely got caught up in anything. Didn't have the heart to. So why, after 17 years, does he break out?"
Your stomach drops, "He saw me."
"And realized that while he was rotting away with nothing to live for, you were a hero," the word sickens you to hear, "on the front lines, saving lives, being saved. Your life went back to normal."
You grip the side of Bruce's desk with the sudden urge to vomit up everything you'd eaten today, which, frankly, wouldn't add up to much more than water and crackers.
You'd said it yourself: you'd gotten to live a life that Natalie, Dimitri, and Alex never would. Of course he wanted you dead. "So then I have to lure him out."
"And put yourself in danger? No."
"I’m already in danger, Bruce. What if he goes after the others? My parents? My coworkers? The other cops at the shootout? We have to end it now."
"This isn't the only way."
"It's the best way."
"Last time he had a knife, you could defend yourself. Barely. What if next time, he has a gun?"
"So what, you just want to do nothing?"
Bruce turns away from you. He gnaws on his lower lip, "No, I want to bide our time. Look into him more. I need to know if he's working with the Vipers again."
You watch him as he begins typing away at his computer, but you can't process what he's looking for through the haze of anger that washes over you. You lean on the desk, craning your neck up at his face to make him look at you, to understand how ridiculous he sounds, "We don't have time for that. His grudge is with me. I should meet him now and end this... either he gets what he wants or- or..."
Or what? Your stubbornness peters out. You don't know what. You see yourself standing face-to-face with Dimitri, his knife raised, ready to bury itself into the cushion of your chest. And nothing.
The you in this vision has no weapon.
"You don't think you're going to survive this." Coming out of your mind, Bruce is now looking at you, brows furrowed. He looks... mortified.
You scramble to cover your tracks, "That's not true. I'd have you there."
"But you don't want me there. You want to go alone. You think you deserve it."
"God, what are you? My therapist?" Your words flit out of your mouth in a rush, tongue nearly slipping up to defend yourself. You push away from the desk when you start feeling overexposed.
Bruce follows you, "You're not 16 anymore, this isn't some gang fight where you throw all your chips in because you can't see a year ahead of you. You've made a life. You've got people to lose, you said so yourself. I know what it's like... the survivor's guilt. You relive that day over and over-"
His words are making you feel sick to your stomach again and you lurch forward, finger in his face, "Don't you fucking preach to me-"
Almost as immediately as you'd raised your finger, Bruce snatches your wrist in his hand, yanking you close enough to be imposing, staring down at you with the same power that the Batman had used. It was so sudden that you quickly fall slack, wrist going limp in his grip.
It had completely sobered you of your tantrum, and for better or for worse, you were forced to listen to him, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think. You see this ending with you dead because you want to make up for the shit you did. You think that's what Alex wants? For you to bleed out in an alley like she did?" And just like that, the fire roars in you once more, but your other hand can't slap him across the face before he's caught that one too, "No future? What about all the people you've saved? Could still save? Face it now because you may not get another chance: you're alive. Do you want to be or not?"
You want to hurt him, turn his skin red and give it a place among the other bruises that glitter and glare down his torso, and as your hand shakes in his hold, you are forced to understand that you are angry because he is right.
You'd felt this same anger before. When your parents told you Alex was a bad influence on you. When Russo looked you in the eye and told you that you didn't have it in you to pull the trigger. It was maddening. He had clocked your suicide mission before even you had, had seen you in his mind's eye the way you saw yourself: disarmed, a lamb to the slaughter, a sacrifice for the greater good, a speedbump.
You could see Batman tackling him to the ground over your dying body. You couldn't see yourself getting up the next day.
After the frustration leaves Bruce's eyes, he's looking at you with something softer. You feel known, uncomfortably so, as he waits for you to meet him there.
And when you do, you hate how you collapse into him. Even more, you hate that he takes you up into his arms, holding you steadfast, as understanding as you needed him to be with all your fear of admitting it. The solidness of his body reminds you of the night he'd first held you, and that just makes you cry harder.
It feels different from last time. Where there was armor is now warm skin, the likes of which you hadn't felt in a while. If you had told your past self you'd one day be standing in Batman's cave, hugging Bruce Wayne and crying over the permanence of your mistakes, you might have diagnosed yourself with head trauma.
You screw your eyes shut in a vain attempt to put the tears to rest, your freed hands practically clawing at Bruce's warm back for some purchase, some stability. He doesn't seem to mind. He just holds you closer.
After a few minutes, you force yourself to speak, sniffling away the last remaining tears you'd allow yourself to shed, "You said I wouldn't like it. Your plan. What is it?"
"To disappear."
You wrench yourself back. Bruce is dead serious. "What?"
"I've considered it from all angles-"
"What do you mean, 'disappear'?"
"All but one of the prisoners Dimitri broke out with are still missing. How do we know they're not all working together? How do we know that you luring him out won't draw them out too? You were the easiest target before, not anymore."
"Say what you mean, Bruce. What do you want me to do?"
"I want to hide you here," he winces as he says this, as if aware of his words only now that they're out in the open, "with me."
"You're shitting me."
After a while, Bruce's face hardens, "I told you you wouldn't like it."
Liking it or not liking it was nothing. You'd advanced past "like". You were firmly out of your depth here.
You slip out of Bruce's hold and he lets you, standing rather awkwardly as you rub a hand across your mouth. Despite earlier, it now feels uncomfortably dry. You glance at Bruce and then at his screen, the tab with your name and face plastered all over it hovering in the background. "You want me to disappear off the face of the earth while you track him down. Leave my home, leave the people I care about, abandon my job. You want me to hide."
"I don't know how else to protect you. Not until we figure out what we're up against." Bruce watches you spin away, scoffing into the air, "You noticed it when you fought him off, didn't you? Something was really wrong with him."
You see flashes of Dimitri's feral stare, the way he staggered and swung. He was like a rabid animal in a cage. "Of course there was, he was trying to kill me."
"Beyond that," Bruce insists, "he wasn't right. I've seen it before. He was on something."
"Most people are these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd... I don't know, gotten his hands on drops or something-"
"It wasn't drops. Gordon told me."
"The detective?"
"He said they found a syringe with traces of venom in it. Dimitri's shooting up. That's why he was so strong."
Your mouth drops open in disbelief, "Venom? Great. Somehow worse than Drops."
"If he's on that drug, he's definitely addicted. It also means you won't stand a chance against him. This is why I'm telling you to stay here," Bruce steps forward, eyes imploring yours. You're dumbstruck by the heavy earnestness there, "stay in the tower. Hide here for a few days. Let me handle this."
"If he's on venom, it means he doesn't think he can handle you on his own," you wring your hands, flitting through images of the Dimitri you remember, "he was always really small. Even at fourteen, he hadn't really sprung up. He was scrawny and small and couldn't defend himself. Suddenly Gordon's saying he's almost twice the size of what I remember. Have you ever fought someone on venom?"
"Once or twice, somewhere between fixes. Why?"
"General has this kind of... sedative that we use when we get patients dealing with the effects. It's not perfect, but it does help calm them down enough to help them. Maybe we can use it to help him."
"The strain is constantly changing," Bruce watches you deflate and clears his throat, "but if I can get that sedative, I can use it as a base to make a new one."
"You need clearance to get your hands on that stuff. I'm going with you."
"What part of disappear do you not understand?"
"One, I never agreed to do that, and two, if Batman gets caught stealing from a hospital, that'll make you public enemy number one. You need my help, so let me help you."
Bruce is looking away, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth even as you zero in on him. You're getting flashbacks of that same Bruce from when you'd first met him here in this tower. All tender-eyed, even as he tries to put on a face for you, "And I need a drink," you rub your temple next, catching a glimpse of Bruce watching you from his peripheral, "You've got those, don't you?"
It turns out Bruce has plenty. There's a whole cellar full of them, the kinds you see in MTV Cribs with the low recessed lighting and mahogany shelves gleaming with polish. It makes sense for him to have it, but less so when he tells you he doesn't actually drink any of it.
"You weren't drinking at the party, either. Even though everyone else thought you were." You brush your hand along the shelves, careful not to knock any bottles loose. "Is that a trick to keep people spilling secrets? Or to keep from spilling your own?"
Bruce hovers near the entrance with his arms folded and back pressed to the wall, carefully watching you peruse his selection, "Maybe I don't like the taste."
"That's good. Men in Gotham die from alcoholism at a higher rate than any other city in the state."
"Really?"
"Really. You don't smoke either." Bruce blinks at you, "Just get shot at. And stabbed."
He says nothing.
Your hand lands on a red aged older than your mother and you stand to the side, looking expectantly at him. You're afraid that if you try to pick it up, you might knock down the whole row.
Slowly, Bruce pushes himself off the wall and glides over to you, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and looking to you for approval. You try not to shrink yourself when you nod.
You follow him out of the cellar, flinching when the lights dim behind you and the door rolls shut all on its own. He guides you to the kitchen where night still hangs over Gotham outside the window, but the time on the stove clock warns of early morning soon.
Bruce pulls out two glasses and fills yours with wine and his with cranberry juice from the fridge. You could almost laugh at the pairing.
Once he slides your glass to you, you take a seat at the island and take a sip, "I need to ask you something. I get now why you refused me at the station, but then you came back. Why did you change your mind? I mean, neither of us knew Russo would be dead when we got there. Were you just going to let me hate you?"
"Yes." His simple response draws a quick, stifled laugh out of you.
"Are you always this... chaotic?"
Bruce leans his elbows on the countertop, hunching in on himself, "I always meant to tell you who I was. I just didn't know when. And I didn't mind if you hated Bruce Wayne, but... you trusted Batman. I didn't want to break that trust. Even if it meant telling you earlier than I planned, I wanted to give you some closure."
You think about the fear that had paralyzed you back then, thinking that Bruce Wayne was some big, bad criminal hiding behind polite society. Then you think about the real man, hiding behind a mask. You fidget uncomfortably, struggling with feeling somewhere between grateful and nauseous. Your eyes catch the stitches on his shoulder and you itch to wipe away the dried blood that had dribbled from the cut, "You said you were looking for Dimitri when you got that. Did you..."
Bruce catches your eye when you fail to finish your question. "No," he answers solemnly, "which is only part of our problem." He stands to his full height, flexing bruised knuckles against the counter, "I ran into one of the guys that broke out with Dimitri tonight. That's who gave me this. Dimitri isn't working alone."
You frown, "Is he trying to shake you? Why leave clues at all?"
"Because these people want me dead. The guy from tonight? I booked him a year ago for trafficking women. Earlier led me to a fringe group of Falcone's."
"You've been looking for Dimitri all day?"
"I haven't stopped since we found Russo. I couldn't."
You rub your arms, feeling the room grow chiller by the second, "So... so he's leaving clues to people who hate you. To keep you occupied." Bruce nods. "So he can get to me?"
"After last night, he knows the Batman is on your side."
"Dimitri wasn't out when you got on the scene. Do you think maybe he's taking venom because these guys warned him about you?"
Bruce smirks, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his glass, "As a precaution, sure. And now he has reason to believe I know you. If he's going to go after you, he's going to shoot up each time."
"That stuff is nasty. You're big and scary when you're on it but as soon as the effects wear off-"
"You deflate like a balloon. It's also stupid expensive, so he's either got real generous prison pals or he's being used. It's why I need to know if he's working with the Vipers. They might be supplying him."
How you'd gone from an ordinary surgeon to a detective in the span of mere weeks was beyond you. You're beyond just treading water. You're diving into the abyss.
Your brain struggles to make real what is before you. Bruce, still shirtless, drinking delicately from a glass as he watches the night sky shimmer from the kitchen window. And you, sitting across from him, cracking open one of his family's expensive bottles that, frankly, puts your pantry vinos to shame. Playing vigilantes like schoolchildren. Except the blood on you both is very real.
Your arm throbs at being remembered for once tonight. Bruce notices you touch it, "You need to get some rest."
You know he's right, and you're not arguing for the sake of arguing when you say, "I can't sleep yet." But he can tell there's more on your mind as he waits silently, almost egging you on to lay yourself bare. You swear you're not arguing just for the sake of arguing, "And I don't want to disappear. I want to be alive."
Bruce says nothing. The silence isn't humiliating like you'd think it be, even if the first few seconds leave you feeling just as laid bare as you thought you would. No. It feels acknowledging. Understanding, even.
For the first time, you look at Bruce and feel like you understand him. If he was really Batman, then he would know better than anyone why you would want to put yourself in danger. But beneath that, with the meager knowledge of who Bruce Wayne is, you also think you understand him too.
He'd mentioned the survivor's guilt. While he'd played a much more innocent role in the whole ordeal, you couldn't imagine the weight on one's chest knowing that two people you love didn't get to go on but you did. It's a lot to ask of a child barely coming to understand the mortality of one's own keepers.
The choice to be alive for someone like that is a deliberate choice. Constantly made every morning.
"There is another way," Bruce muses, "but you'll like it even less."
"Don't leave me hanging."
"We could go public."
"What?"
"You said disappearing would mean abandoning your life. And it would. No one could know where you went, who you were with, but there's always the chance someone might slip up. It's the safest option but it's not what you want. So don't hide." Bruce's eye contact is deep and unwavering. Compared to earlier, he seems to trust you're willing to listen this time, "Be mine."
For the nth time tonight, you are rendered nearly speechless. Nearly. "Are you fucking with me?"
Bruce's eyes narrow, "No."
"Did you just... proposition me?"
"I made a proposal."
"You're asking me to date you."
"Publicly. Batman has more enemies than allies, but Bruce Wayne has the people. If you and I are publicly linked, it tells everyone looking for you that the world is watching. It makes you more visible, as well as anyone who comes after you."
"You haven't slept," you reason, "clearly. And you're delirious."
"I haven't slept, no." But he looks fairly sober for someone who hasn't slept in a day. He is a different breed, this Bruce Wayne.
You peer out the kitchen window and see the black sky dipping into a blue horizon, "Then sleep on it and come up with something better."
Bruce rounds the island until he's standing beside you, looking down at your barely touched wine, "There's some spare rooms upstairs. You can take your pick." It dawns on you that you may not be going back home any time soon. "You know your way around."
You suppose you deserve that dig.
Then he's leaving you, glasses abandoned, home for you to explore. You don't realize how thick the air had gotten with him right next to you until he's gone.
You half-expect Alfred to pop up somewhere nearby, but there's nothing. This far up, there is no city to listen for, no neighbors slamming doors. You are in a cold house all alone. You suddenly wish he'd stayed to keep you company, even if the weight of it was beginning to take its toll on you. Left alone, you only had the sunrise.
You watch until the sky has all but chased the night away, and then you head upstairs.
You didn't think you'd get much sleep in a stranger's bed, but you're being roused by a sharp, successive rapping at your door several hours later. It jolts you awake, kick-starting your heart, and you clumsily tumble out of the million thread count sheets to open the door.
Alfred stands there fully dressed for the day, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other still raised to knock. Upon seeing you, he lowers his fist, "Morning," he starts, looking away as soon as he meets your eyes, "breakfast is ready. Come get it before it's cold."
He does not give you a choice in the matter. He's already limping toward the staircase without another word.
After you get your heart to settle down, you follow after him, preening yourself as you pass hallway mirrors and portraits of the Wayne family through the generations. You hadn't come down this hallway when you'd found the terminus elevator, so you stumble to a stop in front of a portrait of a young Bruce grinning ear to ear.
It startles you. His eyes are soft, a gentle humming blue untouched by wrinkle or darkness. He must've been especially young here. Glancing at a nearby portrait of his parents, you find him the spitting image of his father. You look around and realize there are no portraits of Bruce at this age.
Bruce. He might be at breakfast, and the mere thought of having to discuss what occurred last night almost turns you right back around to the guest room, but your stomach rumbling begs you not to. You still walk quietly, peering around corners in case your stomach changed its mind.
You find you're cautious for naught when the only person standing in the kitchen is Alfred, chopping up fresh fruit.
"I hope you don't mind that I moved your things," he gestures with his paring knife to your surgical tools neatly congregated on the counter, "I cleaned them too."
"Oh. You didn't need to do that."
"There was blood, so I'm afraid I did." Alfred places a bit of pressure on "blood", and you quickly take note of his short tone.
Still, all the same, he then gestures to the island and implores you take a seat in front of an empty plate. Without asking, he begins pushing steaming hot food onto your plate, "Tea or coffee?" He asks, barely looking up at you.
"Uh, coffee is fine. Thanks." You watch Alfred pour you a mug and wonder if the awkwardness with him is any more preferable to the awkwardness with Bruce. Alfred is passive-aggressive, Bruce is... aggressive. You remember how the latter had left off your night together and find yourself feeling warmer toward Alfred. "How long have you been up?"
"Since 6, although I woke a few times through the night."
You wince, "Sorry."
"No need to apologize. I did think Bruce had invited you over under different circumstances, so... not as alarming, all things considered." Your grip on your fork slips and it clatters to the marble. Alfred barely reacts.
"He needed stitches." Is all you can get out.
"Yes, I'm well aware."
You glance up at him, "You saw?"
"When he first arrived home, yes. I was the one who helped stop the bleeding."
You stare at the coffee sweating in your cup, recalling something Bruce had mentioned last night, "Bruce said you were the one who used to stitch him up."
"Yes."
"If you were there, why-"
"It's what he pays you for, isn't it?" Alfred almost snaps back at you, slicing a strawberry into quarters with more edge than needed.
You recall something else next. The softness in Alfred's face the day you first came here, arguing with Bruce in the very room next door. You'd wondered what it had all been about.
"I've done alright, haven't I?"
"He said something else too," you start, careful as you choose your next words, "about how much you worry about him." You fiddle with your mug, pretending not to feel the heat of Alfred's eyes on you, "I think the reason he hired me is because he was worried about you."
You just catch the tail-end of Alfred's frown, "Worried about me? Why?"
You probably aren't close enough to either of these two to laugh about this, but you do anyway, "Isn't it kind of obvious?"
"Nonsense. We always discussed... if it would come to it, that if he were to pursue this life further, that he would recruit professionals who might aid him in his work. It was the natural thing to do."
"Maybe, yeah. But would he have really needed me if you weren't already doing everything else for him? You've taken good care of him this long. I mean, the aftercare you gave his bullet wound was exceptional. I accused him of talking to other doctors."
Alfred busies himself with scraping his strawberry halves into a bowl, "It's basic knowledge. You learn that kind of thing in the service."
"Or when you invited me to watch you two spar. You know his body probably better than he does. You're fantastic, Alfred." You couldn't say you weren't also trying to butter him up to better his feelings toward you, but you were speaking truth all the same.
In a very British way, he rebuts your compliments and spoons some fruit into a glass, beginning to layer some yogurt over top them, "Regardless of reason, you are here now, and I'll have you know that every part of your contract covers this. Wayne Enterprises will exhaust every possible legal tool at our leisure if you speak of any—any—of this to anyone. Master Bruce's identity is safely guarded, and regardless of his trust in you, I will not hesitate-"
"Whoa, whoa, hey. I would never tell anyone. Not after all Batman has done for me." You press a hand over your heart for emphasis, "He is just as much my patient as Bruce Wayne is, and he didn't have to pay me to take care of him."
Alfred still stares you down like a guard dog, paring knife still clutched in his fingers. After a moment, he looks away from you and points at your plate, "Eat. It's getting cold."
So you do. It's good so you say as much, counting any point toward his affection as a good thing. If you could get Alfred to trust you, you'd call that a win.
The tension in the air dissipates over time, and after you've licked your plate clean, you and Alfred are sharing coffee together. "Bruce isn't joining us?"
"I've stopped expecting him to be awake this early." You glance at the clock that reads 10:12. "He has adopted a near-fully nocturnal lifestyle."
"The night that he crawled through my window, he was there at the hospital the next morning like nothing happened. He doesn't do that often?"
"Before last year, it was a rare occurrence. While he's dedicated himself to his role more recently, if he can avoid it, he will."
You think back to what knowledge you do have on Bruce's charity work and his friendship with the Mayor. You'd worked shifts just as long, but you couldn't imagine showing up to work mere hours after getting shot in the stomach and having to put on a brave face about it. You almost feel bad for calling him out on it in front of everyone.
But then again, if you hadn't, would you even be sitting here?
You swirl the last vestiges of coffee in your cup, trying to picture a world in which you'd gone and found that empty office to nap in instead of toddling behind Rudy and Em and Alfred and Batman. The Batman.
The novelty of it brings a fresh wave of dizziness over you. You had been exposed to so much information over the course of the last 12 hours that it hadn't fully settled in on you what Bruce was. You didn't think that your brain would process it even if he was standing in cowl and cape right in front of you.
"I suppose you'll be staying with us for the near future, if Bruce has anything to say about it," Alfred stands from his chair beside you and puts your dishes in the sink, "shall I inform your security detail or would you like to?"
You don't know what to say to that. "I'm... I think I should talk this over with Bruce first. It may not need to come to that."
The butler shrugs. "I'll be attending to some house duties for the rest of the morning. Should you stay for lunch, let Dory know, hm?" You give him a weak nod and watch as he makes his way from the sink and heads down another hallway out of sight.
Not too long after Alfred leaves you, you hear the doorbell ring. Bruce hadn't mentioned to you that any guests would be here today, but then again, the two of you had had more important things to discuss last night. You check your reflection in the glass of the kitchen window, wondering if there were any hidden doors in the bookcases that could hide you from whatever Wayne Enterprises exec that was coming to talk business, but you wouldn't trust yourself not to break something in the process.
You hear two pairs of footsteps approaching from the elevator and turn to see who it might be. You first recognize Dory, fluttering between frantic small talk and making sure not to trip in her kitten heels as she guides her guest into the living room. You stiffen as soon as you see him.
Detective Gordon catches your eyes instantly, his own widening. Dory says something about going to fetch Bruce before she quickly ascends the stairs, leaving you and James staring at each other across the distance. In one hand is a notepad and pencil, and the other fixes his tie, almost as if at a loss for words. He greets you, hesitantly leaving where Dory had left him to approach you, "I saw the boys out front but... I didn't expect to see you here."
"Me neither." You reply. "Is everything okay?"
James glances up at the stairs as he passes underneath, "That depends. I followed up on your request."
Shit. Of course a cop would do their job when you least expect it. You slip out of your chair and rush to meet him halfway into the kitchen, "Did... did you find something?"
"I can't say much right now. I'd like to talk to Mr. Wayne, but-" The sound of Dory's heels clacking against the wooden stairs makes James lower his voice, "-you being here complicates things."
Bruce is wearing a shirt this time, thankfully, though you're not expecting him to look as put together this early after what Alfred had said. He towers behind Dory's much smaller frame in a pair of loose black pants and a matching turtleneck, looking in a fashionable state of undress as he pads barefoot into the room. With hair slicked back and stubble freshly shaved, he doesn't look like someone caught unaware. He's fixing the sleeve of his sweater when he extends a hand to Detective Gordon, bright smile and all, "Detective James Gordon, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. If this is a bad time, I can come back." James gestures to you.
Bruce's look at you is empty, devoid of any detectable emotion or thought. It strikes you as unsettling, the same way a cashier at the end of their shift isn't really looking at you, "Oh, no. I was just on my way to work when I felt unwell. I called my doctor over but it was nothing to worry about. A little stomach bug, is all."
You do look like you'd just come over in a rush. You're still in your lounge clothes from the night before, and your medical supplies are still in the kitchen where Alfred had left them. James seems to notice, but he doesn't look any more relaxed. "That's good to hear. I don't want to keep you too long, but truth is, I have some questions I'd like to ask you if you have the time."
"Is something wrong?" James glances between you and Bruce, something the latter doesn't miss, "is it sensitive?"
"It's about the party you threw here the other night, Mr. Wayne. For Mayor Reál. I hear you invited quite a few Gotham politicians to celebrate the passing of the mayor's new bill, correct?"
"That's correct."
"And I understand you're quite invested in Gotham politics in general, much like your father."
"I am. My mother and father were very interested in the city, and Mayor Reál breathed new life into that for me after the election. I do what I can to support the cause."
"And that cause is...?"
Bruce takes the skeptical tone on the chin, smiling wider, "A safer, fairer Gotham. For everyone."
This Bruce was nothing like the Bruce you had all to yourself. He taps into that persona from the party with ease. Watching him is like watching a performance. "That's good, good. I notice you try to make an effort with charities in the city, donations and the like. You recently donated a new wing to Gotham General."
"I did. Increasing access to medical care for the citizens is important to me. My doctor, a talented surgeon at General, knows this well." You flash a timid smile when both Bruce and James look to you.
"And you also financially support politicians in Gotham."
"Occasionally. Anyone I feel has Gotham's best interests in mind."
"And have you found members of Gotham's political parties to be unusually forward in requesting your support, Mr. Wayne? Perhaps a little too pushy, maybe."
Bruce wears confusion well, "Not necessarily. I'm not easily pressured into doing things I have no interest in."
"Of course. How about any attempts to win over your support? Publicly or otherwise."
"I'm not sure what you're asking, detective. I'd love to help, but I don't think I have the information you're looking for."
James nods, holding his chin high, "My apologies. I should've been clear from the beginning. My question is: have any politicians or members of law enforcement offered you anything in exchange for your financial or public support? I have reason to believe there may be someone with high clearance exchanging confidential information with civilians. Especially ones who can pay. I'm just looking for a lead."
James frames his question well, even though any fat cat familiar with the cops could see the hidden question. Bruce frowns, tilts his head, shaking it slowly, "That's awful. I don't currently know of anyone doing such a thing, to me or anyone else. But I can keep an eye out. I can only imagine how dangerous that might be."
"Exactly. We'd like to nip it in the bud as soon as possible."
"Of course. Do you have a card? Perhaps I can contact you if I hear anything."
James fishes out his card and hands it over, "I don't want to put you in a bad position, only pass along what you know if you feel safe enough to do so."
You notice Bruce is flicking the business card between his fingers as a fidget, though he keeps his attention respectfully on the detective. "Absolutely. Thank you, detective. Dory can show you to the door."
The detective nods and follows Dory out of the room. As soon as the two are out of earshot, Bruce's expression softens as he presses his back into the counter. You wish you could sink into the floor. "To be fair," you begin, "I didn't think he'd find anything."
Bruce side-eyes you, "That was you?"
"I thought my criminal boss was going to blackmail me to keep his secrets."
"Criminal boss." You think he's trying to mock you, but his eyes are surprisingly guilty when he looks at you, "Alfred wasn't kidding. I really didn't handle this well."
"No, not really." You don't mean to kick him while he's down, but you can't lie either. Even now, you were still making meaning out of this whole thing.
By all means, you've gone from knowing nothing about him, to understanding even less, to fearing him, to this. With Batman on the other hand, you'd felt nothing but loyalty and trust in him up until the very last second. Now they were both the same person, and the meager hours of sleep you'd gotten hadn't cleared all that up just yet.
You wonder who you're supposed to see now. Batman or Bruce Wayne? Why was the line separating them blurring the more you thought of them?
"So, did you ever come up with a better idea?"
Bruce does not offer one. You'd dreaded that.
"You already know what I think. No matter how we go about this, there's going to be something. So what do you want to do?" Bruce's eyes follow your ever minute expression, laser-focused on you. "Whatever you choose, I will keep you safe. I promise you."
He feels so staunchly Batman in this moment, even with the soft voice of Bruce, watching over you. Through all your uncertainty, this you believe him on.
And you're exhausted, you find. Your arm is beginning to throb again. You crave the reprieve of a bed but not your own, to your surprise.
"I'm going to trust you, Bruce," your voice wobbles as you say it out loud, "I'm going to trust you like I trust Batman."
Bruce holds eye contact with you for a few moments, "Okay."
"Can I ask... why are you dressed so nice?"
"We're going to get the sedative."
"You're going as Bruce?"
"It's the middle of the day. Yes, I'm going as Bruce. I'm not letting you out of my sight."
You fluster, suddenly reconsidering this entire plan. You'd pictured Batman skulking on the rooftop while you Mission Impossible'd your way into the medicine cabinets for what you needed. Walking in with him—the real him—would draw attention you didn't need, "You're only going to make me look suspicious."
"I'm your patient, and more importantly, I'm a donor."
"You will stick out like a sore thumb."
"That means when people are looking at me, they're not looking at you." You open your mouth to argue but he's already cutting you off, "Do you want me to drop you off at your place or do you want me to send someone to get your things?"
You're aware of what he's really asking.
You heave a sigh, "Drop me off. I can't promise Judith won't hurt someone if she finds a stranger in my house."
a/n: mj stop having the reader move in with bruce when their life is put in imminent danger challenge impossible
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These Are Not Our Masks Chapter 7!
@daboyau
@that-0n3-shr00mi3-guy
@iobsesswaytoomuch
@sady-is-secretly-an-alchemist
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Mikey screams again, falling backwards in an attempt to get away.
Leo’s mask tilts and stares him down with the black, soulless part that covers his eyes.
Mikey scrambles back until his shell hits a wall.
“What did you do!?”
Leo’s head turns towards the blood on the floor before he looks back at Mikey.
“It’s pretty clear what I did. Do you need to see it again?”
Mikey shakes his head almost immediately.
“I-Is he-“
“Dead? That’s up to him. If he’s not stubborn and gets himself treatment from an actual doctor instead of trying to fix himself up with his fake degree.” Leo says, voice dripping with disdain.
Mikey did not see any of this coming.
Not by a long shot.
“I-I thought you were working for him-“
“That’s what I wanted you to think! That’s what I wanted everyone to think! Including him. I was biding my time until he finally showed me what I needed.” Leo picks up Mikey’s mask from the floor.
Mikey’s eyes follow the movement.
“The mask…?”
“How to make it. That’s all he was good for. Now we can really complete the set!”
Footsteps signal the arrival of two more people.
Mikey looks up in horror.
Raph and Donnie.
Leo’s body language seems giddy as he twists around to look at them. He sets the mask down on a table.
“Took you longer than I thought to show up!”
Raph snarls at him.
“You come after us for not followin orders and then merc the boss? We ain’t just sitting by and takin it! You’re gonna bring him back and then you’re gonna take punishment.”
Donnie holds out his hands, they’re gloved and letting out sparks.
“Oh please, let me do it.”
Leo’s body shakes like he’s laughing hysterically, but no sound comes out.
“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and say it’s Draxum making you so stupid! You’re outnumbered!”
“Check your math, inferior. There’s four people in this room.” Donnie corrects.
“And only one person fighting a winning battle.” He shakes more.
“Quit playin games.” Raph hisses.
Leo finally let’s out the manic cackling that’s been building up.
“But I love games! I want to play the one where you guess how many bones I’ll break!”
“No! Leo! Don’t!” Mikey screams.
“Aww, of course Leo won’t.” He promises.
Raph comes at him first, fist cocked to connect with Leo’s jaw. Leo doesn’t move an inch, opening a portal right in front of him. Another portal opens next to Donnie, causing him to get hit hard enough to make a dent in the floor when he falls.
“Artemis will.”
Mikey screams again. His throat is starting to hurt from how much he’s doing it. He stands up and tries to get to Donnie, but Leo shoves his arm hard across his plastron.
“You know that feeling of wanting to help that you keep making everyone else’s problem? Take it and shove it down deep inside or I’ll make you, got it? SUCK IT UP ALREADY!” Leo hisses, moving his hand grabbing Mikey’s head before tossing him to the ground again.
Mikey lands on his shell, yelping in pain.
Raph goes into a frenzy.
He starts attacking without any real strategy or direction. Raph just wants to hit him. Leo ducks and weaves, not moving quickly, but just enough to keep Raph’s attention trained on him and only him.
“What’s wrong, Atlas? Afraid for them? Ah ah ah, what did you just say about not behaving correctly?” Leo hops back.
Mikey doesn’t have a single clue about what to do right now. Is Leo on his side? Should be help Raph and Donnie? He can’t exactly escape, Leo is way too fast and ready to hurt him if he tries.
Can he really just watch and do nothing?
Does he have a choice?
Leo hides his hands behind his back and makes another portal. Mikey can see how he slows down slightly, hands appearing in a portal again. He doesn’t know what he’s doing until he sees the movement of Donnie’s gloves being pulled off his hands.
Raph slashes at Leo with sharp claws only for his body to start jolting at the electricity running through it. Leo has a glove pressed to Raph’s neck and holds it there until the snapping turtle falls to a knee.
“This is the way you’ve always been, huh, Atlas? Stubborn to a fault, and for what? Nobody appreciates what you do. A defender, a protector, former leader, wasted in a rage filled beast who can’t bare to be alone. Go to sleep. I’ll be taking over the show.” He presses the other glove to him.
Raph falls over completely, twitching.
Leo tosses the gloves into yet another portal.
Donnie pathetically drags himself over to Raph once he has an ounce of consciousness and lays over his arm.
Leo giggles, the sound echoing in Mikey’s ears.
This isn’t Leo. It’s not by a long shot. It isn’t Draxum either, it’s a completely different evil that’s more heinous than anything they’ve encountered before.
Whatever it is has his brother under its grip.
He can’t get anyone back if Leo is like this. He won’t let him.
An idea pops into his head.
There’s one thing Leo has tried to stop this entire time, even when it hasn’t made sense, especially when he said he wanted it to happen.
While Leo is distracted by having Foot ninja come in and remove their injured brothers, Mikey shakily grabs the mask.
Leo quickly spins around as he hears metal move off the table. His head tilts once more.
“Icarus, what do you think you’re doing?”
Mikey swallows hard, hands still shaking as he holds it in his hands. He can feel the evil radiating off such a deceptively cute mask.
“Y-You don’t want me wearing this yet. T-Tell me what you’re planning. Wh-Why you’ve gone against Draxum. Wh-Who’s actually in control!”
He wishes that he could be as tough as nails as he needs to be when demanding such a thing, but it’s so hard to muster that after what he’s seen and who he’s talking to.
Leo stares at him.
Mikey feels his nerves on absolute edge.
Leo starts circling around him.
Mikey gets the odd sensation of being a fish in a fish bowl while a cat tries to figure out a way inside.
Or a way to get the fish out.
“Finally….” Leo mutters.
“What…?”
“FINALLY! I’ve been trying to rip your heart out from your brain this whole time! You still went way too soft but I can work with that!”
Leo grabs Mikey’s arm and starts pressing the mask closer to his face.
“Leo!”
“What!? I thought you wanted to threaten me! Take a good look at what’s going to happen to you!”
Mikey barely manages to keep the mask from being put on. He’s always been strong, but Leo is on another level right now. He shouldn’t be able to do this.
Mikey can see the tendrils reaching out towards him. It makes him sick to his stomach. This is the last thing his brothers saw before they lost themselves.
Think Mikey, think!
He said he wanted everyone to assume he was working for Draxum, but why? He said he needed to know how the mask is made to complete the set, but his mask finishes it!
Doesn’t it?
Why didn’t he want the mask on him before?
Why didn’t he hurt April or dad?
Why isn’t he trying harder?
Is he….stalling…?
His eyes widen as he pauses his struggle.
“You….you want to mask them too!?”
Leo rips the mask away.
“Ding ding ding! You finally get something right! That’s all I’m going to give you. Want some bonding time? No? Too bad.”
Mikey feels the ground under him vanish as he falls through a portal. He lands on a cement floor and groans in pain. His eyes are drawn to the bars in front of him. Leo really put him in a cell. He’s gone full supervillain, if that wasn’t obvious enough already.
Directly across from him, he sees that Donnie and Raph have their own, separate cells. It makes sense he’s keeping them apart. The way they are, they’d probably attack on sight.
Can those bars hold Raph back?
He hates how he has to hope they can. It’s not right to be this scared of his oldest brother. That’s only reserved for when he’s truly angry, lecturing about missed training or reckless behavior.
Raph is supposed to be the one who makes a scary world so much more bearable. The moment Mikey goes into his shell he knows who will be one of the first to grab and hold it tight, not letting go and silently promising to take care of him when he’s too overwhelmed.
He’s taken it so much for granted. He knows that. Mikey always assumed that he’d just have Raph doing things for him for….ever. He thought he’d always have Raph period.
His eyes move to Donnie next.
He’s still out cold.
When will he wake up?
He will wake up, right?
Raph hit him pretty hard.
Donnie would probably hate Mikey thinking like that. He doesn’t want to be seen as weak. He already covers up the shell he was born with to ease the anxiety of having it at all.
Donnie wishes he was as gruff and tough as he tries to make himself out to be. Behind every evil laugh and joke about hurting his brothers, there’s a longing to be more connected to them. To understand each other.
Mikey starts whining and whimpering. Two of his brothers are right there in front of him and he feels more alone than ever. He can’t be brave. It’s impossible.
“…Icarus…..” A soft hiss draws his attention back.
Mikey rushes to the bars, grabbing them and pressing himself close enough to squish his face.
“Donnie! Donnie, are you okay!?”
He’s sat up, gripping the bars tightly himself.
“What do you think!? That pathetic, sniveling rat avoided punishment now but I will make him understand what it means to suffer!”
Mikey sighs.
Really, what was he expecting?
“You sat there and did nothing! You coward! Weakling!”
“Leave him alone….” Raph grumbles from his place on the floor.
Of course he’s-
Wait, what?
“R-Raph?”
“Ica-….Mikey….”
Mikey gasps, desperately reaching his arm through the gaps. Raph is way too far away for him to actually ever reach him but he wants to try anyways.
“Raph! Raph! Are you actually you!?”
Raph grips the mask on his face. It’s slightly loose, he attempts to pull on it but it only earns him a loud grunt in pain.
“I-I’m tryin to be. I-It’s hard.”
“It’s okay! It’s okay, I know you can do it! I just need to know how! You have to tell me why your mask is loose!”
Raph grumbles, still in pain and unable to think as clearly from the damage done to him.
“Shock, the shock, made….made everything hurt….it started….making it let go….but it’s coming back. It’s healing. It wants me back.”
“No! You have to fight it! Don’t let it take you again, please! I need you! I can’t do this by myself!” Mikey pleads, near tears.
Raph smiles at him. It’s genuine, but pain is written all over it.
“You….you can, Mikey. I know you think I d-don’t trust you, y-you think I won’t let you go on your own because I-I look down at you, but i-it’s not why. It’s m-me. I’m scared. F-For you. I….want to protect you….I need to….I have to….I believe in you!”
Mikey’s tears flow freely now.
He’s losing him.
Again.
He blinks the tears away hard as he watches the mask slip itself more into place, taking his brother away and leaving something awful instead.
Raph hisses and clicks, Donnie responding to it in turn.
Mikey knows now what he has to do.
It will hurt them, it’s going to be incredibly difficult at best, and it might kill him at worst to try.
He still has to to try.
#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt#these are not our masks fic#tw angst#tw electrocution#2018 tmnt#rise of the tmnt#tmnt 2018#rise fanfiction#rottmnt fanfiction
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