#no canonical murders that anyone can PROVE
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✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩
All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.
Miraculous Ladybug
Open My Eyes by buggachat
Adrien smiles as he eats breakfast with Nathalie, smiles as he walks through the halls of his new lycée, smiles as people stop him on the street and tell him time and time again what a "hero" his father was.
(Adrien wishes he could've been a hero, too. He should've been. Maybe then his father would still be alive.)
(But he's surviving. Everyone may be treating him as though he were made of glass, but he can still go through the motions, he can prove them wrong, he can still smile.)
“And you’re… happy,” Marinette spoke carefully, a nervous tilt to her voice, “... right?”
(Adrien has some things to find out.)
DC
the good, the bad, and the power hungry by konan_konan
dim trake ☑ @timdrakeceo・8hr
if one more person tweets about #superlex unironically im gonna end it all
391K Views | 200 Retweets | 13 Quote Tweets | 22.1K Likes
j-son of a bitch ☑ @jsntdd・8hr
↳ replying to @timdrakeceo
hurr durr these are the consequences of ur actions bitch
201K Views | 109 Retweets | 4 Quote Tweets | 18.4K Likes
or: lex luthor makes bad choices. and then, so does everyone else.
call me cute and feed me sugar by suzukiblu
Tim Drake had absolutely no intentions of ever becoming anyone's sugar daddy when he met Superboy.
This would have worked out better for him if Superboy had ever had an actual legal identity or an actual legal guardian or just . . . literally anything whatsoever in life. Ever. At all.
Just a bank account, even.
how big, how blue, how beautiful by merils
Kon-El is not good with medical settings. One could even say he's quite bad with them. How bad, exactly?
Well, let's put it this way: Very few things in the world can make him scream for Superman to save him.
(Superman will save him. That's what family's for, right?)
Clone Wars
The Kenobi Chronicles by WobblyCat
General Kenobi isn't actually dead. Someone should really tell that to his troopers, though.
Or: The clones under General Kenobi's command have a groupchat dedicated to him. Cody wishes his subordinates weren't so fucking stupid.
SVSSS
Shen Yuan's Forced Shen Qingqiu Redemption Arc by SpicyReyes
The System's OOC function won't unlock all at once - instead, character traits have to be added individually, through quests.
This leads to Shen Qingqiu having to jump through endless hoops just to complete enough side quests to unlock the ability to be a decent person - all while avoiding the effects it has on those around him.
If only the cheapskate System wouldn't keep changing the cost of point values - he needs to know what the hell Yue Qingyuan told the others about him that makes them all look so sad when he does manage to be nice! He's breaking his back here, can't we just appreciate his work?!
second-hand alibis by nex_et_nox
"All right. I’m in Proud Immortal Demon Way," he says, once he's had a chance to compose himself again. He sits back up, tossing his stupidly long hair back over his shoulders where it belongs; he is totally calm and ready to grill the System for more information. "Who am I supposed to be?"
Please please please don't let it be someone who Bingge violently murders.
Though given the fact that he's a man in PIDW, his chances are already skewed, and not in his favor. Ugh.
[Bound Role: Shen Yuan, Rogue Cultivator. Weapon: the sword Heng Li. Starting B-points: 100.]
or: Shen Yuan transmigrates as a rogue cultivator, one completely unconnected to any canon characters or events. Right, System? Right?
#my laptop broke :(( can i get an f in the notes#i'm using my super old one from high school rn and i am Struggling#my posts#weekly fic round up#fic recs#svsss recs#dc recs#sw recs#ml recs
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☀️Yandere!Apollo with a Female!Gojo!Reader☀️
This is from a poll I made. This was the most voted on that poll (God's School Aphrodite!Reader and Mitsuri!Reader both tied for second, but I'll do those as well.)
The first part is told in the narrator's pov, then it's in your pov.
This won't follow the original plot, so in this, Geto is on Gojo!reader's side!
Reader is 28, which is Gojo's canon age in the series (This won't contain spoilers from the manga, so don't worry!)
Also, thank you @forbidden-sunlight for helping me think of a plot for this!! Appreciate it! 👍
Hades hasn't felt this stressed out over anything in his life.
Multiple reports stated that these creatures called Curses have been the source of his stress. Not only were they killing thousands of humans, but they were also destroying the bifrost, the gate that only the chief gods can access, himself included.
He's tried to take care of them himself, but he couldn't exactly get rid of them. So he resorted to letting sorcerers kill them since they were one of the only ones who can effectively take them on.
(Y/n) Gojo is one of the strongest sorcerers he has, so she was the one who was constantly working. She's one of the only sorcerers who can take down even the strongest curses with ease.
She refused to do so, unless he lets her three students go with her so they can grow. He was against it at first, seeing how they were teenagers, practically kids! But (Y/n) wouldn't have it any other way. Hades reluctantly let her three students go with her.
Yuuji Itadori, a 15 year old boy who was the host of the king of curses, Ryomen Sukuna, Megumi Fushiguro, another 15 year old boy who seemed to be Sukuna's interest and Nobara Kugisaki, a teenage girl.
During the three months of eliminating curses, her students have continued to grow stronger.
They were her precious students, and she won't allow anyone to separate them from her....
"How long until we find this curse?" Nobara complained, already feeling bored from the long walking. Megumi rolled his eyes and continued looking around. Yuuji didn't complain at all and was helping Megumi.
"Relax, we'll find that curse!" Yuuji said, smiling at Nobara.
"He's so handsome." A female said to herself, catching the three teenager's attention, as well as yours. The female revealed herself to be a nymph, but as soon as she was visible, the curse had appeared and brutally murdered the nymph. Megumi immediately summoned his wolves, the black and white ones ready to fight the curse.
A certain god with long, pink hair was nearby, wanting to take a break from the nymphs. Apollo had heard the commotion and went over to see what was going on. The god saw three teenage kids fighting a curse along with a grown woman with a blindfold over her eyes.
But this curse proved to be too much for the three teenagers and you had to finish it off, which you did with ease using black flash.
"I've never seen a human perform such a technique. It's.... Amazing."
Unbeknownst to the four of them, the same god had watched the whole fight, more focused on you. You're very beautiful, and he knew it.
A man your age with long black hair with parts of it tied up came over, asking you to go relax, even for just a bit. At first, you refused because you didn't want to be separated from your students, but they managed to convince you.
You lifted your blindfold up, revealing one of the most beautiful eyes Apollo has ever seen in his immortal life. Multiple sparkles of lights reflected brightly in your sky blue eyes, layered by white eyelashes.
"Her eyes.... They're like the blue skies themselves...." Apollo thought.
"Sure. I can also take a load off for a bit." You replied, putting the blindfold over your eyes. You urged them to go ahead, while you follow behind. When they were far enough, Apollo decided now was the time to get the woman's attention.
"Hey!"
You turned your head, seeing the pink haired God approach you with a smirk on his face. You now looked slightly disinterested, though it was hard to tell.
"I assume you're Apollo?~" You asked, folding your arms. Apollo felt his confidence grow from your acknowledgement of him.
"I am. But that's not why I'm here." Apollo replied, flipping some of his hair back.
"Make it quick then." You said.
"I've seen your beautiful techniques and-"
"Not interested. I've already did what I needed to do for now, and I'd like to relax." (Y/n) replied, turning back around and started walking away. Apollo was surprised at her answer, just watching her leave.
"What?- You-"
"Besides... You're too weak~" You finally spoke, looking back with a grin and looking forward. Apollo knows he should be angry at the audacity of this woman. But he couldn't. Instead...
He was more attracted to her.
And so began his little quest to win your heart. Ever since then, he's been watching your every step, figuring out your likes and dislikes and more effective ways to get closer to you.
Whenever he meets you in person, he later found out that you were oddly playful and nonchalant, despite your cruelty towards curses. Your interactions slowly grew, even if Apollo had to do it first. At first, you didn't want anything to do with Apollo, but he keeps coming to you, so you just let him do whatever.
But doing that only increased his love for you.
Apollo has always seen you with the man with long black hair, whose name is Geto Suguru. From your interactions with him, he has a strong connection with you, and it enrages him. He hates the way Suguru gets close to you. He didn't like the attention you give Geto. You always greeted with a playful smile, and he wishes he was the one you smile at.
He has to get rid of him, so you can only give him the attention you give Geto. Geto Suguru.... Has to go.
So that you'll have no choice but to love him and him only~
#yandere record of ragnarok#yandere record of ragnarok x reader#yandere apollo x reader#gojo!reader#finally i finished this!#hopefully it's good enough
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Your Love, My Religion
|Pairing|: Wednesday Addams x gender neutral reader
|Warnings|: Ooc! Wednesday Addams, childhood best friend! Wednesday Addams, canon-divergence because there's no Tyler, it's Parent's Weekend but this detail is useless, Pugsley LOVES you, kissing but weird 'cuz you'll see, author is in their experimental phase.
|Summary|: It only takes half a semester away and a stupid (yet surprising) school event to get Wednesday quit being a coward.
|A/n|: This was requested by my wife @wol-fica and reposted because yesterday the tags hate me.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Bewitching.
You were that in so many ways.
And now, as Wednesday locks eyes with you from across the quad—past all the bustling crowd of students and parents of Nevermore Academy—she realizes the fact hasn't changed, not one bit.
Her foot took a step forward for her. Then another. And another. Before she knew it, she was already heading toward you—bumping and trampling past the people she couldn't care less for—her heart hammering wildly against her chest.
You've always had that effect on her.
When your parents brought you for a playdate years ago, Wednesday had locked you in one of the rooms of the Addams family mansion. But instead of crying or screaming for help, all she heard you do was mutter a small okay and bye-bye.
And she was content to let you rot and die a slow death, but when she pressed her ear to the wood and heard your faint giggles, she had to open the door to see what had brought you glee amidst her kidnapping.
She found you—sitting with your legs crossed on the floor—petting Nero, her pet scorpion on your lap, with a fascinated look on your face.
Ever since that day, 5-year-old Wednesday Addams would invite you to playdates every week without fail with excuses like, "Nero loves your pets more than mine," or, "Nero wants you to come over."
Even after the scorpion's tragic death a year later, she allowed you to continue visiting her weekly. Your title had changed from 'playdate partner' to 'study partner' as soon as both of you went to the same elementary school, and you've been joined by the hips with the Addams girl ever since.
The weekly visits grew into daily ones, and soon, Wednesday would spend nearly every waking hour of the day with you, filling her childhood with memories of endless thrilling adventures.
She'd never admit this to anyone, but she respects you for not judging her for who she is. Other people had called her a freak, a menace to society, and Wednesday couldn't care less about them, especially when you look at her with so much kindness and passion every time she talks about torture methods or unsolved murder cases.
You were there when Pugsley was born, and Wednesday blames you for the tender personality his brother would later develop. In a way, you raised Pugsley just as much as she did, and it proved to earn you an unbreakable bond with the boy.
And that's why as she gets close enough to you, she can see Pugsley standing on your side, holding your hand—a perfect mirror of the picture she had seen a thousand times growing up.
Her breathing quickens, and so do her steps; Wednesday was basically sprinting at you with butterflies in her stomach. But she didn't care because you met her halfway and embraced her with a ferocity that nearly matched hers.
"I missed you so much," You whisper, and Wednesday swears to memorize the sweet sound. She hadn't realized how much she had missed hearing your voice until now.
"You came."
"Pugsley invited me for this Parent's Weekend thing," You mumbled into her shoulder before pulling back to look at her face properly, "I know it hasn't even been a semester since you moved, but I have to see you again."
Wednesday almost melts then and there at the intensity of your words and how you look at her with so much compassion and trust—like you knew she'd never hurt you or betray your devotion.
And she wouldn't. Not when her lips are so close to yours, with your breath fanning her face, nose scrunched adorably.
You look perfect, like the last time Wednesday was in the same position with you, the night before she had to leave for Jericho and this damned school that has cursed her entire being.
Last time, she acted like the coward she was, turning her face away from your longing gaze, heart too weak to leave you if she'd kissed you goodbye.
But now, as Fate has presented her a second chance, Wednesday grabbed your jaw and pressed her lips to yours. Unlike last time, her move was sure as she felt your soft silken lips on her chapped ones. And when you kissed her back—with the same tenderness that she finds in your eyes, words, and touch—warmth fills her pitch-black heart, luring her deeper into your spell.
She kisses you like a prayer—your lips the altar, your love her false God—and Wednesday now understands how man can sink so deep into their religions; to die for their Gods.
Because she would die for you, kill for you, live for you, and unlike last time, she'd gladly sin over and over again, redeeming herself on the lips that perfectly match hers.
The bewitching you; her life was a living testament to that. And she'd never let you go.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Tag list is in the comments or else this post breaks.
|A/n2|: I am never posting this day of the week ever again. Also I forgot to say thank you to 700 of you! 🥲💖
Edit: NOW I FORGOT TO ADD TAGS TO MY POST HELP WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME-
#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday addams x you#wednesday addams fanfic#wednesday addams imagine#wednesday x reader#wednesday series#jenna ortega x reader#wednesday addams#wednesday addams x fem!reader#wednesday netflix#wednesday x y/n#wednesday x you#wednesday#wednesday 2022#spotify#wednesday fanfic#fanfic#fluff#my story
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bloodsport – III
prologue | part one | part two | next
characters: vladimir makarov
summary: after a successful escape, you try to convince yourself that the prison and makarov are behind you. things just never seem to go to plan, though.
genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)
warnings: not proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, poorly written combat, allusions to trauma and stress, mentions of typical murderous behavior from makarov (∶__∶), OG mak's backstory bc we don't know shit about the reboot lol
word count: 5.9k
note: my birthday's on the 3rd, so pls take this as a gift from me to you :) the support on this series has also been insane 😭 you guys are so sweet!! <33
also big shoutout to @roosterr bc i completely copied the way she writes texts in fics LMAO i hope it's okay with you bestie ilysm
"anyone else would be dead already."
what the hell does that mean?
you're lying on your back, absently staring up at the ceiling, those words replaying in your mind over and over again. yet another week has passed since "the incident," as the guards in the corridor so kindly put it.
clearly makarov had given his men a new order after you killed the younger doctor. not only did they avoid touching you, but they hardly even looked in your direction outside of required monitoring. doctor tarkovsky was singlehandedly providing your medical care, as well. the next time you saw the doctor - the morning after the incident - proved to be an interesting experience. while treating you, he made a comment about "the commander seeming angry."
you add it to your ever-growing list of questions.
blaring alarms interrupt your somewhat peaceful pondering. you shoot up, instinctively reaching for your belt to grab your gun, only to be reminded that you're unarmed. the guards in the hall are shouting at each other, appearing just as surprised as you are.
carefully, you rise from the bed and cross the room, trying to listen to what they're saying. if there was one benefit to your captivity, it was the small bit of russian that you've picked up on. amongst the frantic chatter, you can make out a few words:
attack. small team. breached. combat. prisoner.
your chest tightens as you step back from the door. the base is under attack, and whomever is leading the charge is enough of a threat to raise the alarms. a small team could never hope to contend with an entire ultranationalist stronghold, though. there's only one man, one team, that could succeed despite being so heavily outnumbered.
the one-four-one.
it has to be them. they're the only ones bold enough to stage an attack, and the only ones capable of pulling it off.
even if it's someone else, they're your ally now, and your only hope of making it out of here alive.
you can see the guards scrambling outside your cell, frantically following whatever orders were being barked at them through their radios. for now, they seem to disregard your presence in favor of organizing their forces to combat the threat, but you know it won't last. contrary to the size of the prison, you're the only captive being held here; any mention of "prisoner" is referring to you.
the area quiets down as most of the men rush to aid their fellow soldiers, leaving only the alarm to keep you company. you mentally curse as you consider your very limited options. without a set of keys to escape this cell, you're stuck here.
a purposeful set of footsteps rapidly approaching makes the decision for you. quickly, you dive just out of sight of the door, pressing your back to the wall. the person stops just outside and grumbles to himself as you hear the sound of keys jingling in the lock. the iron door swings open, and you bite down on your bottom lip to keep quiet as he stares into the empty space, confusion evident in the grunt that leaves him.
a second passes before he steps into the room, scanning the far side of it. your eyes fall to the knife on his belt, easily removable if you're fast enough, and you dive for it before he can turn around.
you tear the blade from its sheath and swiftly plunge it into the side of his neck, ripping a strangled cry from the soldier as he reacts too slowly to save himself. you pull him to the ground and lay his body flat, releasing a sharp breath once you confirm the kill. temporary relief floods your system, hastening your movements as you collect as much of his gear as you can.
immediately after you secure the last strap of the armor vest, you hear voices calling out from somewhere close by. searching for the guy you just killed, you assume. with one final gear check, you move to the same spot against the wall and wait for the group to get closer.
the first of the bunch steps into the room and freezes at the sight of the other man, and you take the opportunity to drop him with the rifle you had collected. the remaining members, two or three men, are quick to respond once the gunshots ring out. you peek around the corner as they rush forward with their guns drawn, electing to start the gunfight yourself.
you manage to shoot one down before the others notice you. a bullet whizzes past your head as you aim down the barrel and shoot another, forcing you to duck back into cover.
"you're cornered. come out and i'll let you live." the final soldier says, frustration lacing his command. you sit still, lying in wait until his impatience overpowers his better judgement. a tense silence fills the air between you, only broken by the soldier groaning and coming to you instead.
he circles the corner, weapon at the ready, but scans the room in too wide an arc. you finish him off and peek out into the hall again, finding it completely vacant.
the radios on the soldiers bodies suddenly come to life, and you hear a familiar voice on the other end. you pick one of them up and attempt to decipher the question to no avail. however, there is one word that you understand. prisoner.
"you should've sent a bigger group," you speak into the radio, feeling your lips twitch into a smile at the way makarov stops short.
he merely chuckles, though, and the smile drops. "you continue to impress me, lieutenant. let's see if you can escape." he replies, relaxed as ever. he switches channels, and the radio goes silent.
you travel down the path you took the first day, when makarov was accompanying you. there's little resistance beyond a few stragglers that you dispatch with ease. most of the forces are focused on the invaders, too busy to properly deal with you as you attack from behind. the number of enemies ahead of you increases the further you go - a sign that you're heading in the right direction.
eventually, you reach an exterior door and push it open.
to say the situation is chaotic would be an understatement. soldiers are hurrying across fields, arming themselves and their allies, shouting out various commands and information. you duck low and stick to the shadows, doing your best to avoid a firefight now that the enemy solidly has the advantage.
you make some distance and perk up at the sounds of gunfire. you've stumbled across the main battle. with a renewed sense of hope to push you forward, you go towards it, ending up crouched next to an APC as you search through the chaos for any friendly faces.
one of the nearby vehicles erupts into flames moments later, catching you off-guard and stealing your attention from the fight. scrambling to your feet, you stiffen as something smooth and cold is pressed against the back of your skull. the barrel of a gun. you raise your hands in surrender and pray that the person holding the weapon can be reasoned with.
"wait," a deep voice, husky and all too familiar, speaks from behind you. "petra? 's that you?" the man, captain price, lowers his gun, allowing you to spin around and look at him.
you're almost ready to shed tears upon seeing his face, equal parts concern and relief etched into his hard expression. he grabs ahold of your shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze as you nod, silently answering his question. a dark figure emerges from behind one of the vehicles at price's back and catches your eye.
the stark white skull mask instantly gives away his identity: ghost. he stops at your side, eyes crinkling behind the mask, and you can tell that he's giving you a happy look.
your eyes leave the pair and scan the area, hunting for the last two members of the team. there's no movement aside from the fighting and chaos in the distance. your gaze flits back to price as a lump begins to form in your throat and every scenario that you've cooked up during your captivity floods into your mind.
"where's soap and gaz?" you ask, voice sounding meek compared to the way you spoke earlier. price, clearly sensing the deeper meaning behind your words, pats your shoulder in a comforting gesture before withdrawing his hand.
"they're here, no need to worry," he starts, motioning for you to follow him. "the sergeants are protecting our backsides, making sure the chopper has a clear path. we're gonna meet 'em at the southside of the prison and exfil from there."
you fall in line with the two, muscle memory all but taking over as you repeat your prior strategy; keep to the shadows and only engage the enemy if absolutely necessary. the location that price described isn't terribly far and shouldn't be difficult to reach, so long as you don't get caught up in too many fights.
ghost contacts the sergeants as you move, updating them on your position. you learn through the conversation that the team came for you, and only you - makarov isn't a concern of theirs, even once you inform price of his presence. we'll slot the bastard once you're back on your feet, he says.
"we're gettin' close, it's just up here." ghost mutters lowly. you tighten your grip on your gun, anticipation steadily building inside of you the closer you get to the rendezvous point. you're this close to freedom, this close to putting this hellish place in the past and reuniting with your team. al-mazrah, the missile, your capture, makarov– all of them would sequester themselves to nothing more than memories.
a black hawk flies overhead before touching down at the designated spot. one of the back doors swing open just as it lands, revealing gaz's smiling face. he steps aside to allow the three of you to board, giving you an eager side-hug as you shuffle past him.
"petra, happy to see you in one piece!" soap's exclamation startles you as much as it overjoys you to hear, and you're suddenly swept up into a bone-crushing hug by the scotsman upon passing gaz.
"soap–! johnny, you're squeezing me too hard–!" you gasp out, still attempting to hug the man back despite your bones being turned to mush from the pressure. he releases you almost as quickly as he scooped you up and mutters an apology. said apology barely registers in your head due to the sight he greets you with, though.
there's a nasty scar over his left eye, jagged and obviously still in the process of healing. soap hardly seems to care about it, instead grinning at you like you were revived from the dead. you tap the area below your own eye to signal to him, brows furrowing in confusion. his hand mirrors your action and his face lights up, an audible "oh" falling from his lips.
"got it in al-mazrah," he says, waving off your worried look. "makes me look pretty cool, right?" he adds with a glance around the cabin, earning an affirmative hum from price and a shrug from ghost.
gaz snorts, slumping down on one of the seats and giving him a thumbs-up. "looks wicked, mate."
you collapse into another seat with a breezy laugh. "i'm just thankful that you're alive, all of you. i was starting to doubt whether you'd come." you confess, sharing a somber look with the rest of them.
ghost breaks the mood with a shake of his head. "'course we came. we're a team, no man left behind." he keeps his gaze locked on you as he talks, bringing an appreciative smile to your lips. your attention shifts to the window at your side, watching the stronghold fade away as the helicopter lifts off the ground and departs. you refuse to tear your eyes away until it disappears over the horizon, allowing you to take a deep breath for the first time in weeks.
⋆⋆⋆
upon arriving in safe territory, you're almost instantly pulled into a brief, but strong hug by laswell, who was waiting on the airstrip as the team landed. you're ushered into the base's medical wing by her and price for a proper checkup, which, thankfully, goes by swiftly. you've had enough of doctors and medicine to last you a lifetime.
"you're sending me home?" you ask, practically jumping up from the examination table you were sitting on. your gaze darts back and forth between price and laswell, irritation boiling under your skin as they try to placate you.
"y'need to rest, petra. you've just been through two weeks of hell." price responds, putting his hand on your shoulder and urging you to sit back down. you shrug it off and shake your head.
"captain, i was given a clean bill of health!" you argue while waving your arms in front of yourself. your wounds from the missile had mostly healed, reduced to minor marks on your skin and a raised scar on your side that was gradually fading. "i just want to get back in the field– i've been out of commission for weeks!"
laswell steps toward you, meeting your gaze with a sympathetic look. "it's protocol, lieutenant. you may be fine enough to work for now, but we can't put you or the team at risk." she counters, crossing her arms over her chest. "you need to recover." she adds a second later, earning a frustrated huff from you.
you know you'd be saying the same thing in their position. if it was price, ghost, soap, gaz– if any of them were captured, you'd be forcing them to take time off, too. you can't shake everything that's happened, though. you don't have much to show in the way of torture-related injuries, but the isolation alone was enough to make your head spin. you never felt safe, always waiting and anticipating makarov's next move. the longer you went without seeing or hearing about him, the more your suspicions grew.
a break would give you the chance to collect your thoughts and break yourself out of the doubt that's been stewing in your head ever since that first meeting. in the field, you need to be confident and decisive. there's no room for hesitation and self-doubt.
"we'll keep you updated," price starts, regarding you with a reassuring smile. "and, this won't be forever. just long enough for you to get your head on straight, yeah?"
you deliberate on it, eyes falling to the floor, and nod slowly. he's right. you're not reliable in this state.
"okay." you concede, focus shifting back to the two.
you're heading out again by the evening, saying your goodbyes to the squad on the very same airstrip that you landed on earlier in the day. soap nearly crushes you in another hug, forcing price to yank him off before you suffocate, gaz reminds you about ten different times to call if you need anything, and ghost runs down a lengthy list of relaxation techniques whilst loading your bags in the helicopter.
it's nigh-impossible to be upset about the situation when it's made clear that they don't want you to go, either. after two weeks of constant stress, everyone just wants to be together again.
you get so caught up in your impromptu partings that you fail to notice the unidentified soldier watching you from across the field. even the ever-attentive captain price misses the soldier dialing a number on his phone, his eyes narrowing as the chopper lifts off with you inside.
⋆⋆⋆
you step foot in your flat well after the sun's gone down. it's silent, save for the soft padding of your socks against the floor after you kick off your boots. your bags are abandoned at the end of your bed, something you'll unpack later, and you shed your jacket before tossing it on top of the pile.
makarov... what's his story?
with a low sigh, you rub at your tired eyes with the heels of your palms and try to erase the question that's been plaguing you for longer than you'd like to admit. between laswell's intel and the stories price has told, you can paint a picture of who the man is.
a person ruled by his ambition, you've determined. while price's stories were more focused on his own experiences with makarov and his allies, what laswell provided was concrete: he massacred civilians like it was nothing. what could possibly drive a man to that point?
the trip back home proved fruitless, with most results online simply listing information deemed "safe" for the public. you need to know more about him - you need a source that isn't going to sugarcoat or hide the ugly truth. most importantly, you need someone who can get you personal details.
you fish your phone out of your pocket and scroll through your contacts list. laswell is an option, but she's not likely to give you anything while you're supposed to be taking time off work.
a name - or rather, a codename - pops up in the list. your thumb hovers over the contact, debating on whether or not to call.
you give in and click the "call" button after a moment's consideration. the line rings until a cheerful voice greets you.
"ah, lieutenant!" nikolai beams, sounding far too energized at this hour. "price told me about the successful prison break, congrats on surviving the ultranationalists."
"thanks, nik." you chuckle at his enthusiasm. "is there any chance i could ask you for a favor? i need information, stuff that i think only you can get." you nervously shift your weight while asking the question, worried that you might be hitting a dead end.
"information? about what?"
"makarov."
nikolai goes quiet, and you think he's going to deny your request. but, just as you open your mouth to justify it, he speaks.
"you want private informaton, yes?" he mutters, causing you to let out a deep breath. "price hasn't told you everything, and you want to research the man that captured you. that is to be expected."
"give me a little time, i'll send you whatever i can find." he continues. you can hear typing in the background after, signaling that he was following through with it. you tell him goodbye with a small "thanks" and hang up, an immense weight lifting off your fatigued shoulders.
a hot shower would be nice right now. you haven't had one in weeks, and nikolai said that gathering everything would take a while. you might as well use the break instead of sitting around and twiddling your thumbs while waiting for him.
you trudge to the bathroom and turn the water on, stripping out of your clothes and leaving your phone on the counter. you hop in the shower and feel your aching muscles relax as soon as the warm water washes over them, soothing weeks of pain and discomfort. when you get out and wrap a towel around yourself, you finally feel relatively at ease for the first time since your escape.
your phone buzzes from nearby, and you blink at the screen after picking it up. a message from nikolai stares back at you.
sent what i have, hope it helps
22:43 pm
thanks, appreciate it!
22:43 pm
i'll let you know if i find anything else
22:44 pm
you quickly dry off and get dressed in more comfortable clothes, grabbing your laptop as you stroll into the living room and get settled on the couch. it only takes a couple minutes to access the files that nikolai sent, and upon seeing a page of folders to look through, you're left shocked at the sheer amount of information he gave.
it's overwhelming, just how much makarov has done in his career - if you can even call international terrorism a "career." you decide to begin at the top of the list, shaking off the uneasy feeling that settles in the pit of your stomach.
the contents of the folder go from typical, almost expected, crimes from someone like him, to acts that make you understand why price is wary of him. you sift through each file, studying the contents as if you're going to be quizzed on them, each word acting as another nail ripped out of your coffin.
the list of crimes seems endless. kidnapping, torture, trafficking, bombings, assassinations, mass murder... not only are you lucky to be uninjured, you're lucky to be alive. the privilege of being a "special" target, you presume. if not for your position in the task force, you'd be lying dead in a ditch or tortured to the brink of insanity. your stomach churns at the thought.
eventually, you reach a folder named "personal." it lives up to its name, as when you access it, the files are all details about the man himself. some of the basic information is known to you already, but most of it is entirely new - stuff you're sure was intentionally hidden away from curious eyes.
what you can find of his life before he began his reign of terror both answers your questions and adds more to the list. he was a paratrooper, a captain in the spetsnaz, regarded as a master in the field despite the list of complaints on his file. many of the men under his command considered him a natural leader; charismatic, cunning, but harsh in his methods. he received several comments from the higher-ups about his alarming behaviors, but it all came to a head when he was investigated for war crimes. he left the military to avoid the charges.
somehow, the crimes that got him discharged seem mild compared to what he's done since. you can't wrap your brain around why makarov treated you so... kindly, given everything you've read. he should have ended your life or made it a living hell, but instead, you got regular medical treatment, decent conditions, and mostly left alone during your imprisonment.
you sit back from the screen, sluggishly running a hand down your face. makarov didn't fight to keep you captured. if anything, he was happy to let you escape. it doesn't make sense. he went through the effort of capturing you alive and gained nothing from it. for a man that favors the zero-sum game, he's not playing it well.
unless this is his gain. getting in your head, confusing you, forcing you to think about him when you should be focusing on recovering. he's bogging you down, preventing you from being reliable for your teammates.
or, maybe you're looking into things too deeply. overestimating just how clever one man can be.
your phone buzzes from its spot on the cushion, and you blink at the bright screen, squinting to read the notification. it's a text message from an unknown number. a few different people flash through your mind, potential allies that could have changed their numbers recently, but no one stands out. you exhale and click the notification to open up the message fully.
feeling well?
12:35 am
you stare at the message for a minute. it can’t be price or any of the boys, you already have their phone numbers. you highly doubt that laswell changed hers without updating you, and nikolai probably hasn’t change his in the two hours since your last conversation. just as you go to type a response, two more messages pop up.
recovering at home is preferable, isn't it?
12:36 am
much more comfortable than a medical wing.
12:36 am
who is this?
12:37 am
take a guess - m
12:37 am
a chill creeps up your spine as the realization dawns on you. it's makarov; not only does he have your phone number, but he knows you're not at base. he's managed to track your location in less than six hours.
you drop your phone on the coffee table and shoot a wary glance around the room before checking to make sure your front door is locked. once you're sure of it, you start to pace around the room, wringing your hands together. the smart decision would be to call someone - price, laswell, one of the boys, someone that can get here quickly or send a person in their place.
you're not defenseless by any means, but there's no telling what makarov knows. he could be halfway across the world or in the very same city, and you have no way of finding out without putting yourself at risk. you may have gotten lucky in al-mazrah, but you can't rely on luck.
your phone lights up again, and from your position a few feet away, you can just barely make out what the screen says.
let's talk, lieutenant.
12:40 am
no fucking way. you're not entertaining the madman that you just escaped.
you need to get out; take a walk, clear your head. makarov knows where you are, but that doesn't mean he's actually here. for all you know, it could be a lucky guess. you throw on a jacket and slip on a pair of shoes before shoving your phone in your pocket, hastily stumbling out the door. the crisp night air hits you the second you step out, making you draw your jacket tighter around yourself as you start down the sidewalk.
your brisk - practically panicked - walk does little to calm your nerves initially. you have to force yourself to slow down, strolling along at a more leisurely pace. after a couple minutes, your shoulders droop and the panic begins to dissipate.
the late hour means that you're the only person out right now. all you have for company is the occasional breeze that sweeps past, and you think that you prefer it this way.
until your phone buzzes. you stop dead in your tracks and pick it up, letting out a relieved breath at soap's name flashing on the screen. you answer the call with an easy smile.
"hey! i didn't expect you to pick up," soap laughs on the other end. "realized how late it was after dialin' your number." he adds, pulling a chuckle from you.
"haven't been able to sleep, so i figured i'd take a walk." you shrug, as if he can see you.
"ah, figured you'd pass out the second you landed." he concedes while you absentmindedly toe at the ground, eyeing your surroundings. "just wanted to check in– make sure everything is going okay with you."
for a moment, you debate on mentioning the messages from makarov. logically, it's the right thing to do; your team needs to know about any potential threats. however, there's a little part of you that hesitates to say anything. you feel the urge to keep it a secret, to wait and see what happens. makarov's given you useful intel before, maybe you can get more out of him.
"yeah, i'm doing all right," you mutter, reassuring soap. "just want to get back to work as soon as i can. i miss you guys."
soap gives you an appreciative hum. "y'just gotta heal up quick, l.t.! we're all missing you here. ghost and price are meaner than you are."
"they're not 'mean,' they just don't tolerate as much nonsense from you and gaz as i do." you counter with a playful laugh, pulling a groan from soap.
"it's not nonsense, it's– what?" soap suddenly stops talking, and you hear a voice in the background of the call. he says something to the person before exhaling dramatically and speaking into the phone again. "sorry 'bout that, it was price. apparently we've got somethin' to handle– a wrecked shadow company transport, i think. i'll send a message after we're done, yeah?"
you wave your hand while talking, again, as if he can see you. "don't worry about it, just stay safe out there. let me know how it goes."
the two of you exchange quick goodbyes and you end the call with a smile still plastered on your face. your brows furrow as you immediately receive another call, though. the number that flashes across the screen makes you grip the phone tighter, your knuckles turning white from the strain.
makarov, of course. you decline the call with an irritated sigh and spin on your heel, heading back to your apartment. another one comes through seconds later, which you choose to simply ignore this time. you speed up the short walk to your front door and slam it closed behind you, locking it just as quickly.
"you are surprisingly difficult to get ahold of, petra."
you whip around and press your back to the door, locking eyes with the man you tried so desperately to avoid. makarov stands in the middle of the room, a smug grin on his face, his arms loosely crossed over his chest as he stares you down.
"how the hell did you find me so fast?" you sneer at him, hand tightening around the set of keys in your palm. he's wearing a thick vest and armor plates - they won't save you, but the keys might buy you enough time to reach the gun in your bedroom.
"i have my ways," he tilts his head to the side, moving to lean against the back of your couch. "i needed to speak with you, and you weren't answering the phone. this was my only option."
you scoff at the claim, briefly loosening your grip. "no, you also have the option of leaving me alone." you argue, stepping further into the room. "besides killing you, we don't have any business to discuss."
"is that so?" makarov chuckles, glancing over his shoulder. you follow his gaze and land on your laptop. it's turned on again, with one of the pages detailing his personal history displayed on the screen. "you'll be very interested in what i have to say, lieutenant."
you bite your tongue, shifting your weight and dragging your focus back to him. "fine. tell me, then."
makarov straightens, his gaze flitting back to you. the edges of the keys dig into the skin of your palm, the bite of the cold metal keeping you grounded as he stalks toward you, like a predator approaching a prey animal. those alarm bells start going off in your head again, every instinct screaming at you to preemptively strike or run.
when he's a few feet away, you lunge. jabbing your keys forward, you try to hit one of the weak spots of his vest, aiming for the one of the gaps near the straps.
the training he underwent years ago is made readily apparent as makarov easily grabs your wrist and twists it, disarming you in one smooth motion. you try to use your other hand to break free, only to end up with both hands in his iron grip. you're spun around and shoved against the wall with your hands behind your back, trapped between your bodies.
you struggle, but that only encourages him to tighten his grip, firmly pinning your hands. he presses forward, using his own body weight to prevent you from fighting him off.
"you're predictable, petra," he mutters, the comment making you thrash against him. "you can't see past yourself– i am freely offering you information that your allies would die to gather themselves. take advantage of this generosity."
"i hate you," you seethe, writhing and trying to break free of his hold. he doesn't budge even a little, chuckling softly next to your ear as he leans in closer.
"good. i like that." makarov murmurs, his voice low and controlled, warm breath fanning over your skin. heat floods through your veins when he speaks, which you attribute to anger towards him.
until he nudges you again, his upper body falling almost perfectly in line with the curve of your back, his hands loosening slightly and providing your red-marked wrists with some relief. it just now occurs to you how close he is, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your spine forcing your own staggering breathing to calm itself and match his. his cropped hair tickles the side of your ear as he hovers next to you, his side profile visible in the edge of your vision.
you bite your tongue again, though for a different reason than earlier. holding any feelings but hatred and contempt for your enemy - you might as well mark yourself as a traitor if that happens. you can't allow yourself to fall for the games that he's definitely playing with you. the task force needs you, and they need whatever intel makarov can provide you with right now.
"i can be civil," you concede, barely above a whisper. "i won't attack if you don't." you add a moment later, pursing your lips.
you can see the edge of his lips twitch from the corner of your eye. makarov releases your wrists after a beat and steps back, giving you enough space to turn around and face him, pressing your back flat against the wall.
"do you trust the commander of shadow company?" he asks, bluntly. you narrow your gaze, huffing at the thought.
"graves? not by a longshot. i can trust him enough to shoot your guys before he shoots me, but that's it." you reply in an equally blunt tone.
"do you believe he is attached to the general's plans?" he says, and you deliberate before shaking your head. it wouldn't make sense, given graves' recent allyship with urzikstan. makarov continues, appearing satisfied with your answer. "you're correct. the shadow is not aware of shepherd's plans any more than your team is."
"how does this help me?"
"you will need him to cooperate in order to take down general shepherd," makarov asserts. you tilt your head curiously, urging him to elaborate. "which means, unfortunately, that you will have to work with him. my men can handle the general's lap dogs, but commander graves is the only person that can locate the general himself."
of course. your catalogue of enemies that you have no choice but to work with just keeps expanding.
"i see." you mumble, fingers twitching at the prospect of working with graves. tolerating his soldiers is one issue, but the commander is a whole other ballpark. "i still don't understand– why are you giving me all of this?"
makarov finally tears his gaze from yours for the first time since you separated. he walks over to the front door, right next to your spot against the wall, and unlocks it with a small twist of the lock. he turns toward you, though his eyes do not lift to yours again.
"the enemy of my enemy is my friend," he utters, swinging the door open. "we'll be in touch. do not ignore me next time i contact you."
you nearly miss his eyes flicking up to your face, the action so short that it feels like a trick of the light. he walks out of your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud, stopping you from watching him as he disappears into the night. you don't think you want to know where he goes, but one thing that you can say for certain is that it won't be the last you see of him.
you'll be seeing him even sooner than you can imagine.
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#call of duty#cod#cod mw2#mw2#call of duty x reader#cod x reader#mw2 x reader#makarov x reader#vladimir makarov x reader#cod makarov#vladimir makarov#sylph.writes
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It's crazy how literally everything about why Bad is fucked up can be linked to Atlantis. I don't even think the Federation is half of his trauma.
He lies compulsively about everything, but his whole identity is built on a lie. He's just made of lies. Yes, he lies because he's mischievous, but I don't think he can stop lying. He is so fearful of his past catching up to him, that, for 11,600 years, he's been lying about not being a demon. Telling someone what species you are is just introductory level knowledge. And Bad cannot even reveal that much to others. When we're starting with this much repression, is it really a surprise that he can't ever be truthful? And this, of course, all began because he's terrified that people will find out he destroyed a city.
He has a "family first" mindset that isn't exactly original, but it is unusually intense. He is very much the type to burn the world for his loved ones, and he's very willing to act on it. Every parent had heavily grieved the loss of their kids, and many of them unleash this grief in destructively. No parent has swung so far dark that they actively tortured another being. This is NOT to say Bad loves his children "more", this is only to prove that Bad's extreme is just so far removed from everyone else's. This can all stem from the fact that Bad's relationship with loss has, in my opinion, permanently fucked up the way he forms attachment.
So, everyone in Atlantis dies. Great. Bad tries to live. He forms friendship with more mortals. They die. He forms new friendships. They die again. This repeats for thousands of years. The only exception to this rule is Skeppy, and his relationship with Skeppy borders on co-dependency. His "obsession" with Skeppy feels so foreign to other islanders, and it should be from a mortal standpoint. But Bad has to be careful about who he lets in to avoid loss, so if he can love one person freely, then of course he will love them with everything. The same can be said for Dapper and Pomme. They're his children, and he loves them without any of the paranoia he subjects to anyone else. And then every single attachment gets taken away from him. He doesn't have an anchor anymore. It's not surprising he's forming an unhealthy dependency on Ron, and he's not going to give a fuck about anyone's feelings or morals if it means getting his family back.
The same can be said for his paranoia. He's overly paranoid because he was forcibly summoned to a place where everyone around him died. This is canon, confirmed by cc!Bad himself. He's been like this BEFORE getting dumped on murder mystery island! And if his paranoia is worsening because of the island, then of course his "worse" is going to feel drastically more intense than others'. Everything here is just validating pre-existing habits.
All of this is a cocktail for emotional disaster. Bad has been hard at work repressing everything for 11,000 years, and is losing everyone he uses to keep himself sane. I'm not even sure how he can heal from the loss of Dapper and Pomme, even if temporary, because he hasn't even begun to heal from Atlantis. It makes his friends' desperation to save him that much sadder. They're out of their depth with this one, the first step has to be made by Bad himself, and nothing he has done has convinced me that step will happen.
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far too young to die - anthony lockwood
summary: three things happen on the day you decide to solve your problem:
your tea-making skills get lauded
you get the biggest history lesson of your life
everything goes wrong.
you should have expected this the moment lockwood & co got involved.
a/n: this got away from me but twas very fun to write and protective lockwood is becoming my lifeblood lol<3 enjoy and remember kids: fuck netflix
wc: 5.7k
warning(s): canon typical stuff, mentions of murder and throat slitting, implied/sort of described domestic abuse, hurt/comfort. reader panics a lot. suspend your disbelief please and thank you. reader also has a last name of holloway just for convenience
Reading the newspaper was impossible this morning.
Your leg wouldn’t stop bouncing up and down, and the envelope on the far side of the table drew your eye every five seconds, and your neighbor did not need to be cutting his lawn at the moment, and all the while that presence was there. It always was, whispering illegible things to you and taunting you through the shadows and making your life a living hell you couldn’t prove.
An unwilling shiver ran down your spine, and you tamped down on it.
After today, it would finally be over.
Hopefully.
The doorbell rang, and you about jumped out of your skin. You took a deep breath, calming your heartbeat as you set your cup of tea back on the table, and went over to the door. When you opened it, you were met by three teenagers about your age, and the lanky, dark-haired boy in front gave you a small smile.
“We’re here for Edmund Holloway,” he said. “Have we got the right address?”
“You do—I’m his daughter,” you said. “You’re the agents?”
The boy nodded. “Anthony Lockwood of Lockwood and Co.” He held out his hand and you shook it, and once you released it he gestured to the other boy and girl standing with him. “These are my colleagues, Lucy Carlyle and George Karim.”
You nodded again, wringing your hands together as you let out a shaky exhale and said your name. “Anthony, Lucy, George— nice to meet you all.”
“Lockwood is just fine,” he said, and you nodded.
“Are you the one who put out the ad?” George asked with a frown. “It doesn’t look like your father is here.”
You shook your head. “My father put out the ad. He’s on a business trip at the moment.”
Anthony frowned. “Why isn’t he here?”
“He doesn’t handle ghosts very well,” you said wryly. “Gives him an awful fright.”
“Most people don’t,” Lucy said. “That’s why we’re around.”
“Forgive my bluntness, but it doesn’t seem very smart of him to leave his daughter in a haunted house,” Lockwood said. “Even if agents are clearing the house.”
“He doesn’t exactly… know I’m still here,” you admitted sheepishly. “My father expected me to stay at a friend’s house until today, give you all the payment, and then make myself scarce until the problem was solved.”
“Why in the world are you here then?” George asked.
“...Because I need to know that this ghost is gone,” you stated. “I need to see with my own eyes that it’s over.”
Lockwood eyed you cautiously, and you cleared your throat as you stepped aside. “Come in, agents. I can explain over tea.”
You closed the door as they filed inside, and you wrought your hands together as you followed them. “I’ve got Earl Grey and chamomile, if anyone’s interested,” you said as you began filling up your kettle.
“Chamomile would be lovely,” Lucy said, her eyes wandering around the interior as she took a seat next to George at your table.
Lockwood, however, stayed standing. He pointed at a painting hanging on the wall and glanced at you. “Starry Night?”
You nodded. “My grandmother painted it when she was younger. She specifically left it in her will for me.”
He smiled. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is, isn’t it?” You pulled a tin of loose tea out of your cabinet and set it on the table. “I’ve never been much of a painter myself, but I’ve always wanted to learn like her.”
“As interesting as this is, you said you would explain your poor choices,” George interrupted. “And your history.”
“Blunt as he is,” Lockwood said dryly, “he’s right.” He took a seat next to Lucy, leaning back in the chair. “Tell us everything you know about this house—anything that could be causing the haunting.” George cleared his throat and his lips twitched. “And why you’re still in the haunted house alone.”
You nodded, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “To answer the question on all of your minds, I have no idea who the ghost could be. My only guess is some fellow from decades ago, back before the house was in our immediate family.”
“You inherited it?” George asked.
“From my grandmother,” you said, “the same one who painted. She died a few decades ago, and she left the house to her son in her will. After my mother died, my father and I moved here to get away from the memories.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Lucy said softly, and you managed a smile.
“Thank you.” You folded your arms across your chest. “And before you ask, no—it’s not my mother’s ghost. She died far away from here, and she’d have no reason to stay behind.”
“Do you know when this house was built?” George asked. “A lot of the architecture looks Victorian.”
“Sharp eye,” you said with a slight smile, and you stood up from your spot against the counter as the kettle started to whistle. You poured the water into three mugs and added your handmade tea bags before you looked back at them. “It was built in the 1850s, I believe. I think it’s been in our family since then, but I’ve only been aware of it since my grandmother.”
“Could it be your grandmother’s ghost then?” Lucy asked, and you shook your head.
“She didn’t die here. And she wouldn’t have any reason to stay either,” you said. “Which is why I’ve had no idea who it could be.”
“Strange indeed,” Lockwood agreed, suddenly speaking up. His gaze pierced into you. “You’ve got such a connection to this ghost and yet you don’t even know who it could be.”
Your cheeks burned. George huffed a laugh.
“That’s right,” he said. “You haven’t even told us about why you’re still here.”
“The ghost hasn’t just been haunting our house,” you murmured, staring down at the floorboards. You’d have to clean the dirt between the cracks later. “It’s… it’s been haunting me too.”
Lucy frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It’s always around me,” you said, and even then you could feel the chills all over your body. At this point, though, it might’ve been your own design. “I— I can always feel its presence, I hear it whispering to me constantly, and it feels like every time I touch something old in here I get a damned vision, or voices in my head, and—”
You stopped, realizing your voice had risen without you noticing, and you took a deep breath.
“And I feel like I’m going insane,” you finished, your tone much quieter than before.
“You’ve got Touch,” Lockwood concluded, something different in his eyes. Lucy’s expression had softened, and George just looked even more interested than before when you nodded.
“Talent that strong and you’re not an agent,” he said. “Why?”
“I’ve never wanted it,” you said dryly. “And after dealing with this ghost for the past few months, I’ve got even less desire.”
“You should consider it,” he said. “Maybe then you won’t have a ghost in your backyard.”
“This ghost has been toying with you for months, but it hasn’t even tried to harm you,” Lucy said. “It’s definitely a Type 2 based off your description, so I’ve got no idea why. What’s the point?”
Lockwood shrugged, and he gave a nod of thanks as you placed the mugs of tea in front of them. “Maybe it’s related to you after all. I’ve heard cases of relatives not harming their own, especially in more sentient Type 2s—it’s rare, but it happens.” He looked at you. “If this house has been in your family since the 1800s, surely there’s been at least one violent Holloway death worthy of the Other Side.”
“Is your theorizing always this fun?” you asked as you crossed your arms.
“Usually more,” he said helpfully. Lockwood took a sip of tea and hummed. “We should get chamomile more often.”
“I’m always telling you to,” Lucy said. “George is just insistent on making his own black tea.”
“That’s because it’s far superior!” he exclaimed. “You should be thanking me for it, honestly.”
Lockwood took another sip and looked at them. “She makes a great chamomile. It might just change your mind.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation,” you said, arms still folded as their heads all snapped to you, “but we’ve only got two hours until the sun sets, and this house is still very much haunted.”
“Right. I guess that means we should start preparations.” Lockwood stood up, smiling at you. “Thank you for the tea and your information. We’ll take your keys, vet the place, and hopefully have your ghost vanquished before morning comes.”
“You don’t need my keys,” you said. “I’m staying.
George laughed. “You can’t be serious.”
He looked at you, completely serious, and then at Lockwood, who wasn’t immediately objecting, and his eyes widened. “You can’t be serious!”
“I want to help,” you said plainly. “It’s my house, it’s my ghost. I want it gone, and I want to be there when it happens.”
“You’ve got no training,” he said. “You’ve got Talent, sure, but zero training. You’ll just—” he looked at Lockwood— “she’ll just slow us down.”
“…You do know this place better than anyone,” Lockwood said, eyes still on you. “Right?”
You nodded. “Lived here for the past ten years. I know all its nooks and crannies, and I could guide you through it blindfolded.”
“You’re not an agent,” George said.
“You said it yourself that I’ve got Talent,” you said, “and an obvious connection to this place and whatever’s haunting it, seeing as the ghost won’t leave me alone.”
“Lucy, you can’t seriously be okay with this,” he said, glancing at her.
“…I have some Touch too. I can help her, see if we’re picking up the same things. Besides,” Lucy said with a shrug, “you all took me in on a whim before I was fully certified. It’s just one job, in her house of all places.”
“I won’t impede your work—I promise.” You looked at Lockwood, desperation mixing with resolve in your eyes. “For months, this house has haunted me from within. I want to be with you when you destroy it.”
Lockwood’s lips quirked up in the slightest of smiles as he nodded. “Alright, then.”
You immediately broke into a wide smile of your own as George sighed. “DEPRAC is going to have a field day with us if anything goes wrong. Allowing a completely uncertified girl to help us.”
“If anything goes wrong, I’ll personally take the blame for it,” you said. “I’ll say I forced you into letting me work with you all, and I will pay any fines.”
“Once we got fined 60,000 pounds for burning a house down,” he deadpanned. “Are you alright with that?”
You frowned. “Should I really be hiring you all?”
“Come off it, George,” Lockwood said, and he collapsed his hands together. “Nothing like that will happen today, I assure you.” He smiled wryly. “As long as everything you told us was the truth, that is.”
“It is,” you said. “I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”
Lucy huffed a laugh. “You’d be surprised what some people do.”
“Another reason I don’t want to become an agent,” you supplied.
Lockwood picked up their bags and set them on the table, and he pulled out a bundle of chains then he tossed it to you. You caught it with a slight grunt.
“Do you know how to use those, not-an-agent?” Lockwood asked wryly.
You rolled your eyes, though not without mirth, and nodded. “I read, Mr. Lockwood.”
“Good. Those are for your protection. We’ll protect you, of course,” he gestured at his rapier, “but it’s a last resort.”
“Let’s try not to get there, then,” you said.
“One thing you should know about working with us is that things rarely go to plan,” George said.
“That is not true,” Lockwood rushed, but that only proved that it was most certainly true.
You sighed as you finished the rest of your tea from before, having gone cold. You were certainly getting yourself into something with these agents.
“Right, then,” Lockwood said, clearing his throat. He pulled out his rapier, that small smirk showing itself again as he looked at all of you. “Let’s catch ourselves a ghost.”
-
You didn’t think your house had ever been as intimidating, as tense, as it did now.
You creeped through its hallways alongside the agents, the chains icy cold in your grip, almost scared to even breathe. Lockwood and Lucy had their rapiers drawn, and George held a net in one hand with one of their bags slung over his shoulder.
They carried themselves differently than any of the teenagers you’d been around, with an air of eerie confidence completely foreign to you. It was admirable in a sense. Scary to think it could have been you.
“No death glows yet,” Lockwood muttered. “Hear anything, Luce?”
“Very faint yelling,” she murmured. “I can tell it’s an argument—there’s two different voices, but that’s all I can make out.”
Lockwood looked at you, but you shook your head. “Not ringing a bell.”
“Where?” George asked. “Arguments are a good sign.”
Lucy edged past Lockwood so she was in the lead, and you moved up the stairs. She paused at the top, her eyes closed and her brow slightly furrowed. “It’s even louder up here. I feel it all over, but it’s stronger around here. It’s a couple, a man and a woman—finances, jealousy, general unhappiness…” Lucy opened her eyes and looked at you. “Did your grandparents argue while they lived here?”
“They argued like any other couple,” you said, “but as far as I know, they were completely happy. They loved each other.” You frowned. “And I don’t know why regular arguments would be so strong around here after so long.”
“Time isn’t the biggest aspect for sounds,” Lucy explained. “They can linger for decades and be as strong as the day it happened.”
“And maybe they weren’t just regular arguments,” George suggested, your stomach sinking at the thought.
“Could it be your grandfather’s ghost?” Lucy asked.
You shook your head. “No. He’s alive, and he doesn’t even live in England anymore.”
“Move around and touch some things then,” George said. “See if you get anything.”
And so you did. You handed the chains to Lockwood and laid your hands on various things around the hallway and some of the rooms while George and Lucy went off on their own—the walls, certain objects, the beds. All you got were memories from your first few years here, and a blur of the decades between your grandparents. It was overwhelming, and you had to pull away after you touched your grandfather’s watch in your dad’s room.
“Do you feel alright?” Lockwood asked. Though George and Lucy had gone off on their own, Lockwood had stayed with you to, one, make sure you were protected as his client, and two, keep track of any information. “You’re stumbling a bit.”
“Yeah,” you murmured, “I’m… I’m fine. I’m just not used to using my Talent on purpose like this.”
“On purpose,” he repeated wryly.
“I try not to do anything with it,” you said. “I told you, I don’t want to be an agent.”
“There’s a lot of people out there that would kill for a power like yours,” he said. “Kids stuck on night watch, agents with fading Talent, adults who can’t see for shit. Seems strange to just… ignore yours.”
You shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not ignoring it now, am I?”
“No,” Lockwood said, “I suppose you’re not.”
Eventually, you made it to another room, your grandparents’ old bedroom that you’d ended up turning into your father’s office, and when you opened the door Lockwood whistled.
“That’s a bright death glow.”
You grimaced. “So this is where they died.”
He nodded. “By the look of it, it wasn’t pretty.”
“Great,” you muttered, and you walked inside.
“Lucy! George!” Lockwood called as he followed you in, craning his neck to look behind him. “Get over here—we’ve got a lead!”
“What is it?” you heard Lucy asking, her voice getting closer.
Though you started to answer, you didn’t get the chance to finish as the door slammed shut on its own, separating you and Lockwood from the others. Your eyes widened as you whirled around.
“Don’t panic,” Lockwood said immediately. You nodded shakily despite the blood pounding in your ears, and at your confirmation, he yelled out. “Luce? George? Are you alright?”
“We’re fine!” Lucy shouted, and there was the rattling of the doorknob. “Is it locked on your side?”
You moved forward and tried to turn the handle to test it, but a scream was ripped from your throat as you stumbled backwards. Your hands flew to your neck, splaying across the skin as you expected to feel blood, but there was nothing. The cold metal pressed against your skin, the sharp edge of the knife tore across it, but there was nothing. Centuries flashed behind your eyelids but there was nothing.
Lucy and George called out your name, but you couldn’t respond, your eyes wide as dinner plates as your whole body shook.
“God, are you alright?” Lockwood caught your shoulders before you could run into him, and his hands stayed there when he realized how much you were trembling. When you turned to look at him, your hand still pressed against your neck to stop invisible bleeding, his eyes were filled with concern. “What did you see?”
“I… I—” You tried to voice it, but the words stuck in your throat as the tremors continued.
Lucy yelled your name again and there was a bang on the door, and Lockwood looked up. “She’s okay! She felt something when she touched the handle— Lucy, see what you can get on your side!”
“Got it!”
“It’s okay,” Lockwood said softly, his attention turning back to you. His hands on your shoulders grounded you, and he was a surprisingly welcome presence. “Whatever’s here, I won’t let it hurt you. You just have to tell me whatever it is you saw when you touched that doorknob.”
“I didn’t see anything,” you finally managed. “I— I heard them yelling, screaming, threatening to leave each other, and then—” You forced your breathing to still, but it hardly worked.
“And then what?” His voice was still just as soft, and he didn’t move away from you or take his hands back. He just stood there, waiting for you.
“And then he killed her, Lockwood,” you whispered, your hand falling to his wrist. “She threatened to leave him, and he slit her throat.” You still felt the blood dripping down your neck. You wanted to crawl out of your skin.
He was alarmingly good at keeping his emotions in check, the only sign of his shock the slightest pause before he asked again. “Who?”
“I— I don’t know,” you said. “I just— I felt it, and it’s the same presence I’ve been feeling for months.”
“So it’s our ghost,” he said. “Obviously, but we just need to see if Lucy can…”
His words phased through your ears as the air in front of you shimmered, blue light coalescing into the source of your endless tormentor. One image, one woman, one ghost, the face of someone you never thought was an option, and you could do nothing but stare.
“Lockwood,” you croaked, and he turned around. Immediately, his expression hardened, and he said your name as he moved forward and in turn pushed you behind him.
“Don’t make a sound,” he uttered as he slowly drew his rapier, and he handed the chains back to you. You took them as quietly as possible, and with his arm braced in front of you, he moved the two of you back a safe distance. “Do you recognize her?”
You nodded, but you couldn’t speak. All you could do was stare up, wide-eyed at the ghost above you. You’d been expecting a monstrous apparition, a cruel face to put to the presence that had been haunting you all this time, but it wasn’t. It was familiar, and perhaps it was cruel all the same, because the ghost was—
“Now would be a good time to say it,” Lockwood said dryly.
You nodded again, your voice barely a whisper. “I guess I was wrong.” Your throat bobbed. “Because that’s my grandmother.”
“Ah,” Lockwood said placidly. “The ghost really is your grandmother. Lovely.”
“I never knew,” you whispered. “I didn’t know she died here, that she was murdered—”
“You’ve got to stay calm,” Lockwood interrupted. “You’re not going to be any help to me or yourself if you’re not calm.”
You didn’t know how you were supposed to stay calm in the face of your murdered ghost of a grandmother, who looked far younger than she was supposed to because she was murdered—
“Do you hear me?” he asked, his voice more assertive than before. “I need you to stay calm for me.”
Your vocal chords decided to work this time, though just barely. “I— I’ll try my hardest.”
“I’m sure you know this already,” he said wryly, “but don’t let her touch you.”
And then, George’s voice rang out.
“What the hell is going on in there?” he called, and the ghost lunged.
Lockwood pushed you back all the while slashing his rapier at your grandmother, her screams filling your ears and penetrating your body to the bone. It stole the breath out of you, even as her body dissolved from the metal, and Lockwood latched onto your arm as he backed to the edge of the room with you.
“We’ve got a Type 2 in here!” Lockwood yelled, his sword brandished and his arm still protectively in front of you as his eyes darted all over the room, breath held as he waited to see where she would appear next. “George, work on getting that lock open! Lucy, find the source!”
“Do you have any idea what it is, or am I just on a wild goose chase?” Lucy asked frantically.
“The latter,” you responded, and you heard her groan as she ran off.
“I don’t know if a lockpick will even work,” George said, voice muffled through the wood. “Ghost powers don’t respond well to science.”
“At least try,” Lockwood said. “I’d appreciate it knowing you’re on the case.”
“As long as you try not to die,” he grumbled.
“No promises.”
You shook your head as shaky breaths rocked through you. “Your sense of humor is a bit morbid.”
Lockwood winked, somehow smiling even now. “We’ve got to cope somehow.”
You huffed a laugh, only slightly unhinged. “Sorry about this, by the way. I really didn’t know that it was my grandmother. Honest to God, I had no idea she died here.”
“One of the less egregious problems we’ve had,” Lockwood said. His eyes sharpened as he looked across the room, and your grandmother’s ghost suddenly appeared again.
His grip loosened on your arm as he pulled away, handling his rapier with the skill of someone twenty years his elder. You lashed out with your chains whenever she got too close, staying behind Lockwood every time he shifted or twisted or moved around the office, but in such a small space—all the while dealing with her screams and the constant dread just being near her filled you with—you were beginning to grow tired.
“Do you have any idea what her source would be?” he asked. “Or— or where it would be?”
“No!” you exclaimed. “I thought we’d just be dealing with some bloke that was killed a few decades ago, not my grandmother and her vicious murder that I knew nothing about!”
“Try and think, then!” Lockwood thrust forward with his rapier, preventing the ghost from advancing on the two of you for a moment as he continued to move back. “I know that this is shocking, but we’ll have time to deal with that later. Right now, you have to focus! Use your talent!”
Your heart beat like a hammer, the blood pounding in your ears, and you nodded. “Keep her away from me.”
Before Lockwood could question anything, before you could second guess yourself, you lashed out with the chains and darted past your grandmother’s ghost. You latched onto the doorknob again as you screwed your eyes shut, and it hit you all at once.
You weren’t immediately dead, so you assumed Lockwood was doing his job. But centuries of memories flashed before your eyes, and you were living through years simultaneously.
The first time your grandparents toured the house together, your grandfather closing the door behind him as he took a moment for himself. He knew then that was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
When they decided to buy the house and crossed the threshold for the first time, him carrying your grandmother all the way up the stairs and to their bedroom, her falling onto the bed with a delighted squeal.
Your father was born, and your grandfather’s hand slipped off the doorknob as he carried his newborn baby into the room, cooing and rocking him while he walked over and sat on the side of his bed.
He lost his job, closing the door with a hand running down his face as he slammed his fist into the wall. The wallpaper dented beneath his knuckles, but he didn’t even notice.
Your grandmother carefully closing the door behind her, padding over to the desk, opening the drawer and finding letters. Undistilled shock and barely bridled anger, the stench of betrayal.
An awful argument, the worst yet. Screaming so loud it rocked the walls of the room, insults and threats and accusations flying through the air without a second thought. She went to leave, put her hand on the doorknob, but he went mad with rage. He slashed her throat from behind before he can even think, and your grandmother died with her hand still on the handle before she collapsed.
The doorknob, and—
“Her brooch,” you muttered, and your eyes widened as you slammed your hand against the door. “George, the brooch! Tell Lucy to get the brooch!”
“What brooch?” he yelled back.
“My grandmother’s brooch!” you shouted. “My grandfather gave it to her as an anniversary gift. It’s emerald, Georgian cut! You’ll know when you see it— the vanity in the master bedroom on the first floor! You don’t have time to get her, just go!”
His footsteps ran off, but you didn’t even get a moment to relax as you felt that awful presence again.
You whirled around and your breath caught in your chest, frozen stiff as you stared back at the face of your grandmother.
It wasn’t that cruel, demented thing you’d seen when she attacked at first. This was just… her. Beautiful and fair-faced, late thirties having no effect on her. The eyes of your father, elegantly braided hair. You recognized the style of her dress, one that had been passed down to you.
She looked like… like you’d imagined yourself in a decade or two.
God, she was so young. Young and in love and betrayed.
The world grew dimmer, your surroundings taking on a crystalline sheen. Everything was cold and your muscles were made of lead. You heard distant shouts, but it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered.
You were so tired.
And then it all shattered. You crumpled to your knees, an overwhelming stabbing in your head as your breath came back to you in haggard waves.
Lockwood was over you, his rapier forgotten on the ground, and he shook your shoulders as he said your name over and over.
“…Lockwood?” you managed, your eyes barely open as you looked up at him.
His smile was one of pure relief as he nodded, and though he stopped shaking, his hands still remained on your shoulders. “Yeah. You’re alright.”
“What happened?” you murmured.
“You were ghost-locked,” he said breathlessly. “I tried to fend her off, but she was only focused on you. George must’ve gotten to the source right before she could get you.” He smiled sheepishly, but there was clear-cut fear behind those eyes. “Sorry about that.”
“I nearly died,” you said. The words tasted like plastic on your tongue, unusual and stiff.
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”
Lockwood went to say more, but the door busted open suddenly, drawing the attention of both of you.
George and Lucy were both completely out of breath when they barged in. Lucy’s rapier was drawn and George held your grandmother’s brooch in his hand, wrapped ten times over in a metal net.
“Are you all okay?” Lucy asked, her eyes wide as yours. “I could hear her all the way downstairs, and—”
“We’re alright,” you interrupted, and you looked at Lockwood. He got the hint, and he helped you up from the ground. The energy had been completely drained from you after being ghost-locked, so he kept his arm around you.
“Looks like you were right,” George said, holding the brooch up. “Half-right, the ghost being your grandmother and all, but you’re right where it matters.”
“Pretty good time to be right,” you said shakily.
“Last minute save.” Lockwood laughed breathlessly. “You fit right in here.”
-
Lockwood helped you downstairs, and he insisted on making tea for you while you sat at the table with George and Lucy explaining what had happened.
Your grandparents were happy, you hadn’t been wrong, but one too many things went wrong beneath the surface. They got married young, but he never felt like he was good enough for her despite her reassurances. He lost his job a week before your father was born, and with the stress, the finances, the jealousy— it all built up. Your grandfather snapped, so your grandmother did as well.
“...and he killed her,” you finished quietly. “She found out he was cheating on her, they had this huge argument and she actually meant to follow through on her threats of leaving him.” You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “It turns out she never got the chance, and my grandfather’s been lying to us and the world ever since.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lucy murmured, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.”
You nodded thankfully, and you smiled up at Lockwood as he placed a fresh cup of tea in front of you. It warmed your bones when you took a sip, and you already felt your strength coming back from the ordeal.
“You all might get some calls from the police,” you said. “I’m going to call my father tonight and tell him everything, and then we’re going straight to the authorities.”
“We’ll back you up if we get any,” Lockwood assured. “We’ll tell them everything you told us.”
Lucy and George nodded. “I got some visions of my own that corroborate your story,” she said, “so don’t worry about proof.”
George held up your grandmother’s brooch, still wrapped in the net. “I’ll hold onto this if they need it for evidence. Soon as it’s done, we’ll take it straight to the furnaces.”
You nodded gratefully, and after another sip of tea, you stood up. Your legs didn’t shake, so you took another step and looked back at them. “Come on. I’ll walk you all out.”
After the three of them gathered their things, you followed them to the door, and your smile was the most genuine it had been since this all started.
“I can’t thank you all enough,” you said. “Lucy, George, Lockwood—you’ve put an end to my misery, you’ve finally put my grandmother to rest, and you’ve helped bring a murderer to justice.” Your shoulders felt a whole lot lighter as you handed the envelope to Lockwood. “I’m forever in your debt.”
“I wouldn’t say forever in our debt,” George said. “You’ve just paid that off.”
You cracked a smile as Lockwood swatted him with the envelope, then he looked back at you with the same charm as always.
“We were happy to help. And we appreciated yours as well.” Lockwood dug into his pocket and pulled something out, pressing it into your hand. He lingered for just a moment too long before he pulled away and cleared his throat.
“Your business card,” you realized as you brought it up closer. “What for?”
“You’re Talented,” Lockwood said, “obviously. Even though you haven’t honed it at all, you’ve still got some pretty impressive raw ability. If you ever find you want to put it to use, learn the ropes of being an agent… give us a call.” He smiled. “Lockwood & Co would be happy to have you.”
You looked over at Lucy, almost as if you wanted her approval. She gave you that faint smile. “You’re good when you’re confident, Holloway. And it would be nice to have another girl.”
George, next. He shrugged.
“You held your own,” he said, “mostly. I wouldn’t be opposed to it if you got some training. We can’t expand our agency for just anyone.”
“And you already know what I think,” Lockwood said with that same smile.
You couldn’t help a slight one of your own, and you looked at the business card again before shoving it into your pocket. “I’ll think about it.”
Lockwood nodded. “35 Portland Row. Remember it.”
“I don’t think I could forget,” you said with a soft laugh.
His lips twitched into a smile. “Good.”
Lockwood nodded at you one last time, something passing between you for just a moment before he turned around and his crew followed him. You watched the three of them get into the taxi and drive off before you closed the door, allowing yourself a deep, deep sigh.
And despite all the chaos that had just occurred, despite the life-changing revelation that was brought forth, despite your near-death experience and the shift to your axis and the tainting of your family tree, as you walked back inside and picked up the phone to dial your father…
You felt more at peace than you had in a long, long time.
You took the business card out of your pocket, staring at it as you waited for the number to connect.
…Maybe, you thought wryly.
Just maybe.
-
perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77 @simonsbluee @kwyloz @masteroperator @louderfortheback
#anthony lockwood x reader#anthony lockwood x you#lockwood x reader#lockwood x you#lockwood & co x reader#lockwood & co#x reader#reader insert#sadie writes
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Tomura's Kill count in Canon
I'm done with people calling Tomura a "sadistic genocidal mass murder who killed millions" BECAUSE HE ISN'T.
So, i finally decided to prove it my self.
So today I'll be listing EVERY person Tomura killed! With his reasons too.
1- His father, his first intentional kill and one of the few he felt a thrill or pleasure, justified since he abused him.
3- The two thugs, he killed them under AFO's pressure, and if you pay attention, he was wheezing during it the same way he did during his panic attacks.
Time skip to the present:
USJ had no kills (despite his attempts), Stain's arc had no kills either (except some papers and a binocular, RIP). No kills even during Kamino, as he seemed to not even want to kill Bakugou.
Tomura's first kill, chronologically, in the entire series, is ironically, only on the 4th season, and 11th story arc (Shie Hassaikai Arc)
4 kills so far, one of Overhaul's man, this kill was literally self defense (and revenge)
5- The cop driving the police car, guarding the ambulance Ovehaul was in (we don't know if he died or just lost his hand though, it might not have even been intentional considering he aimed to the steering wheel)
Then we have the Overhaul arm snatching scene, the only moment Tomura is shown as actually sadistic so far.
Totally owned though, Overhaul shouldn't have threatened him, killed and injured his friends
Then, we move to the MVA arc, where the real kill count starts
First, we have a unknown number of kills, when the league visits Creature Rejection Clan, there was around 20 visible members, assuming the kills where shared equally though the League, we can say Tomura killed around 5 or 6 of these guys.
Which he did with no Sadistic glee, actually, so far, he either kills with no emotions, or seems bothered by it (Also, racists, so owned 💅)
Anyways, around 10 kills by now.
2 kills, then i could count 32 people, so 44 kills.
Considering Deika had 110,000 Meta Liberation members, and that good part of these people had died by GigantoMachia, Twice, Dabi and others.
We don't know though, how many where killed by Tomura's decay wave.
In the end Hawks had reported around 9,946 MLA members dead
I don't know if the kill wave should be counted though- since they weren't direct intentional kills
So by far Tomura has killed around 7,000 people, but none of them where innocent people (except that cop rip)
People left alive:
Now we move to the Paranormal Liberation War Arc
First kill being X-less, then once again a unknown number of both heroes and villains killed by the decay wave, let's count the visible/shown deaths.
Crust, these 2 guys, some of the list- around 15 kills by Tomura
Since the city was evacuated, no one died besides a few heroes.
Tomura didn't kill anyone else during his fight against Endeavor and Izuku, so now we move on, with a kill count of around 61 visible kills and hmm.. 8,000 off screen?
I won't count any kill during the Tartarus scape since these where clearly by All for One
So we move to Stars and Stripes! Since here Tomura and AFO's personality where already half way, i'll count thise ones too. So more 2 kills here
Then the final arc begins, but despite the absolute mess the fight against Tomura in the UA cage was- it had no deaths besides Bakugou.
FINAL COUNT:
On screen kills by Tomura: 61 kills
Kills counting ShigAFO: around 64
Kills counting off-screen deaths: around 1,000 to 9,000
Bonus: Nine lol
Ngl, owned too
Now you're probably thinking: uhh- that's still a lot of people.
But the thing is, he killed much less than it looks like, literally all kills where out of self defense or necessity, very few in the list where innocent people, the vast majority are villains, and he never killed for pleasure or in a act of sadism.
Actually, he had very good reasons to kill each one of them.
Yes yes, he did attempt to kill much more, but he didn't.. Even if he did kill "millions" because of Deika- he's still not the monster he is portrayed by some.
Like come on, if you had an entire city trying to kill you, you wouldn't try to defend your self in your way to rescue a friend? If someone threatened you and had brutally killed your friend and taken another's arm, you wouldn't feel joy in vengeance?
Anyways, Tomura is innocent
"The reason why he killed them or how he felt doesn't change the fact he killed them!"
If so same for Gran Torino's "killing is a form of saving" ass!
Like come on, look at him!
Anyways, my job here is done 😌
#shigaraki tomura#tomura shigaraki#shigaraki#bnha#mha#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#tomura#mha thoughts#mha analysis#bnha analysis#mha shigaraki
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Call This My Funeral
For Dick Grayson Week, Day 1: Dick's Undervalued Competency
@dickgraysonweek
Summary: Sometimes, Dick remembers how it felt to kill the Joker and wishes that monster had stayed dead. After Blockbuster, he knows that his hands are already bloody. He should be brought to justice, and, well, he might as well go out with a bang.
Or: Dick breaks into Arkham to kill the Joker. He won't let anyone stop him—not some measly defense systems, not his baby brother, and not this mercenary who seems to be trying to break the Joker out.
Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, The Joker
Warnings: Borderline suicidal thoughts, murder, non-consensual drug use, very vague allusions to canon rape
Nightwing is dead.
It’s the truth of it, even if the world has yet to catch up. Nightwing is dead. He died the second that bullet entered Blockbuster’s skull and then he was buried on a rooftop in the rain.
It takes a while to come to terms with it. He thinks about trying to stop Deathstroke, but every time he stares at his Nightwing suit, he just…can’t. He killed a man. He killed a man. And maybe, if he stopped immediately afterwards, maybe he could have put the suit back on. But he had stayed Nightwing. He had fought villains with Tarantula and returned to Gotham and pretended, and then he’d gone undercover with the mob. And somewhere along the line, the illusion broke, snapped, shattered into a million pieces that dug deep into his skin. When it came time to put on his suit, he couldn’t manage it. He stared at it. Ran his hand over the Kevlar. Held it up to the light, but all he could see was blood.
So he pulls out of the operation. It’s a slow process, and he ends up having to plant evidence and set Black Mask up, but he does it. It won’t hold for long, will only put Mask out of the running briefly. But it’s enough that Dick is able to leave without anyone the wiser.
Dick rents an apartment. His lease is for one month. He thinks about signing another lease at the end of the month and he feels sick. Nightwing is dead, and Dick Grayson is empty.
He should be in jail. If he was in jail, if he served his time…at least that would be justice. Even if Dick can’t take it back, at least that would be right. The proper consequences. But Amy wouldn’t allow him his atonement.
Dick runs that series of thoughts in his mind over and over again, as he lies in and stares up at the moldy ceiling, listening to the sound of the rain outside. He wishes he could set things right. He should be in jail. He tried to put himself in jail, and it didn’t work.
He could frame himself. It’s not like it would be difficult. Dick is a murderer already; all he has to do is make sure others see his true face. Find a body someone dumped somewhere, make sure his fingerprints are on a conveniently-placed weapon with a record of his purchase, and then call 911 with a voice modulator describing himself as the attacker fleeing from the scene of the crime. There are more sophisticated methods, of course. Any would do.
But Bruce…Bruce wouldn’t accept it. Bruce would know that Dick wouldn’t just go out and kill someone randomly, even after Blockbuster. Bruce would at least know that Dick wouldn’t be that sloppy, if he did decide to commit murder. He’d find a way to prove Dick’s innocence.
So then how can Dick do it? How can he make the world see him for what he really is? How can he show them once and for all that Dick Grayson is dirty, despicable, poisonous?
Really, it’s a wonder he didn’t notice earlier how everyone in his life seems to suffer. He corrupts everyone around him. Hell, if he hadn’t left, Jason never would have died in his colors and Bruce never would have had to grieve his son. It’s a wonder he hasn’t managed to destroy Tim yet.
And Dick had known what he was capable of. He can still feel the sting on his knuckles as he beat the Joker again and again until the laugh was frozen on his face and his heart. Stopped.
Sometimes, Dick wishes that the Joker had stayed dead.
Of course, there’s something he could do about it.
Dick shudders, but he can’t push the thought out of his head. He’s a murderer. His soul is already dirty, his hands are already drenched in blood. Bats don’t kill, but he’s not a Bat, not anymore.
If there’s one last thing Dick does as a nominally free man, it can be this. He can put an end to all the suffering and pain the Joker has caused and bring himself to justice. Dick won’t pretend that it’s right. But he’s already wrong, and he can’t betray what he’s already broken.
Dick watches as his roof cries thick drops of acid rain and decides that the Joker will die.
---
The thing is, Dick knows he could get away with it. He’s been hunting criminals for almost two decades; he knows how to commit the perfect crime. He could hide the evidence, make sure the Joker’s body was never found, frame someone else, anything he wants. Bruce might be suspicious, but Dick thinks he wouldn’t be. And he certainly wouldn’t be able to prove it.
If Dick didn’t want to hide from Bruce, he could set up a situation where killing the Joker would be considered self-defense. Right place, right time, a registered firearm, and no jury in Gotham would convict him. He probably wouldn’t even be charged. He could go back to the Blüdhaven Police Department, draw the Joker there, and kill him in uniform. Amy would give him back his badge, if he tells her that he quit Nightwing—she already tried that with Blockbuster and he hadn’t even quit then. It would be easy enough to draw the Joker to Blüdhaven. Easy enough to find him on a raid. Internal affairs wouldn’t bat an eye.
Hell, if Dick promised to draw the Joker out of Gotham, Deathstroke would take care of him easily. He’d probably be thrilled that Dick is going down this path.
It would be so easy to get away with it.
But he won’t.
Dick Grayson will kill the Joker in cold blood. He will confess and take the first plea deal offered. And then he will go to Blackgate. He’s not stupid enough to think that he’ll survive there, as a former police officer and the former ward of Bruce Wayne. Justice will be served. Dick won’t poison anyone else, and the Joker won’t destroy his family again. A parting gift, if you will.
It takes Dick only a few days to plan the operation. Arkham has improved, but it still remains disturbingly reminiscent of a cardboard box, given how frequently its inmates escape.
Dick feels his stomach turn as he pulls out his suit. He feels like he swallowed something slimy, and it squirms around in his stomach. He doesn’t ever want to see this suit again. Just a little longer, he tells himself. He brings the suit to an abandoned warehouse, treats it with some chemicals, and burns it.
It should feel horrible. Dick created Nightwing. Nightwing is his. It should feel like burning a piece of himself.
Instead, it’s liberating. As Dick watches the flames eat away at Nightwing, all that’s there is relief. Dick hates it, with the blue bird spread across its chest like some sort of symbol. Like he’s worthy. He’s so glad it’s gone. Dick has never been anything close to worthy.
He returns to his apartment. The stairs creak on the way up. He eats his last can of soup cold. Dick drifts off to sleep and awakens with phantom gunfire ringing in his ears.
---
Everything is in order. Nightwing is gone, with no evidence left to trace Dick to the vigilante, and thus nothing to connect Bruce to Batman. Dick hasn’t had contact with Bruce for long enough that he doesn’t think Bruce will have to deal with anything more than a brief police interview. This will be on Dick, and Dick alone.
Dick needs to make sure that the way he breaks in doesn’t imply that he’s Bat-trained. He can get away with a reasonable display of skill, as a former BPD officer and a former world-class acrobat, but nothing that indicates access to other resources.
Dick’s plan is divided into three segments: enter Arkham, reach the Joker, and kill the Joker.
Part One is relatively easy. Gotham city’s government is corrupt enough that it leaks like a colander, and it’s easy enough to find a full map of the sewers. If you know the right places to look, it doesn’t take any more than an SQL injection for login information, a homemade browser plugin, and a couple URL guesses. It’s an unnecessarily complicated method, too clunky for a Bat to ever consider, but Dick isn’t a Bat anymore.
He leaves the public library, resisting the urge to wave at the cameras, and takes the subway to the edge of central Gotham. Dick enters the sewers as close as he can get to Arkham Island. It smells absolutely foul, even with the cheap Wayne Enterprises rebreather he has over the bottom half of his face, but he’s smelled far worse than Gotham City’s waste.
Dick moves as quickly as possible, disabling all of the sensors that were marked in the sewer plans and checking for extras every few feet. It takes an hour, but he eventually reaches his destination. Dick takes the time to slowly disable the alarms on the manhole cover and climbs out under the grey sky.
From here, it gets more difficult. If Dick had his grappling gun, he could scale the building easily. Unfortunately, all he has is a regular gun. That’s why he disabled the alarms; he’s going to need time.
Arkham Asylum is old building, and the wear and tear on its stones is just enough to let Dick inch up its walls in one of the cameras’ few blind spots. It’s slow-going. If he falls, Dick knows that there will be nothing below to catch him, and he can’t die before he finishes this. Hand over hand, he balances on the tiniest of footholds. The wind whips at his hair and the cold bites at his ungloved fingers. He thinks it would have been easier to bribe a guard, but there was no guarantee they wouldn’t have just turned him in for a reward. He isn’t a Rogue. He isn’t frightening. No one knows how poisonous Dick Grayson truly is.
He doesn’t enter through the first window he reaches. Dick knows that he’s no match for bulletproof glass and steel bars. So he keeps climbing. Up, up, up. The grey sky grows darker and darker as night draws near. His fingers are turning numb. He climbs.
When Dick reaches the rooftop, he knows that he’ll register on the cameras. It’s unavoidable. But from here, he doesn’t need much in the way of time. He throws himself onto the roof and clocks the single guard in the face before she even has a chance to react. She falls unconscious and Dick catches her before she hits the rooftop. No need to cause further damage.
He takes her walkie-talkie, and reports that a figure in an orange jumpsuit was seen fleeing towards the bridge. There’s enough turnover at Arkham Asylum that no one questions the difference in voice. No one knows who’s supposed to be where, and that works well enough for Dick.
It’s easy to find the guard’s keycard and the small note tucked into her pocket with the code to the door. There are too many codes at Arkham for most people to memorize, and it’s been a safety consideration that Bruce has been working on. Apparently, he hasn’t found a solution yet.
Taking a deep breath, Dick enters the Asylum. He’s probably going to be noticed soon, even with the distraction, but he’s able to get into the elevator, swipe the keycard, and then override the protections to go straight to the maximum security ward. Dick clenches his fists and waits.
He expects to find guards when he steps out of the elevator. Instead, he finds Robin.
Dick freezes, watching as Tim’s face sets itself in determination. The kid has his bo staff extended, but he isn’t attacking, not yet. Just…ready to.
For the first time, it hits Dick that he’s not just betraying Bruce and Batman. He’s betraying everyone. Alfred. Tim. Even Jason, who had looked up to Dick in life. Is he going to make his little brother fight him?
If he has to. Dick needs to do this. He has known for a long, long time that someone has to kill the Joker, and it couldn’t be a Bat. He’s the only one with the skills and will who is already tainted. This is his duty.
The Joker won’t hurt anyone else. Dick may be betraying Tim, but only to keep him safe.
“Dick. You don’t want to do this,” Tim says slowly, as the two stare at each other.
“I do,” Dick says. Can he convince Tim to back down? Surely Tim, with his brilliant and practical brain, can understand why Dick has to stop the Joker.
“The cameras are off,” Tim pleads. “If you stop now, no one will ever know.”
Dick has avoided justice once. He won’t do it again. “Turn them back on,” he orders.
He watches as Tim’s grip tightens on his bo staff. “Bruce—”
“Don’t,” Dick hisses. “You have no idea what I’ve done. What I am.” He sighs. “I have to do this. Let me past, Tim.”
“I know you turned yourself in for Blockbuster’s murder.”
Dick nods tightly. “Then you know that I’m already a killer. Turn the cameras back on. When I’m done, Tim, you can arrest me yourself.”
“No,” Tim insists. “You didn’t kill Blockbuster. You didn’t shoot him.”
“Are you sure about that?” Dick asks, tilting his head. He draws his gun from inside his coat. The magazine is full. The safety is on, for now. He doesn’t point it at Tim—first rule of gun safety, don’t point the gun anywhere you don’t want to shoot—but it’s a demonstration. Dick is carrying a gun and has carried a gun for months, even if his fellow Bats have tried not to think too hard about it. Tim’s confidence in him is baseless.
“You didn’t kill Blockbuster,” Tim repeats.
Dick sighs, tucking the gun away. “I let him die. That’s close enough. Amy disagreed.”
“I disagree,” Tim says. “Bruce, too. Come on, Dick. Stop this and come home.”
Dick laughs. “I killed a man, Tim. I failed Bruce, do you really think I’d be welcome?” But even then— “Do you really think it matters?” Dick doesn’t want reassurances. Doesn’t want Bruce to accept him, because even if Bruce was willing to put aside his morals, Dick would still know what he is: rotten to his core. “This isn’t the first time I’ve killed someone, Timmy.”
Tim inhales sharply. “What.”
“You watched me,” Dick says. He lets his stance open. “I beat the Joker to death.”
“That doesn’t count,” Tim says, but he sounds uncertain. Dick feels his heart twist in his chest. He hates that he’s hurting his baby brother, but it’s better this way. It’s better that Tim realizes what Dick is before he can get poisoned too.
“I beat the Joker to death, and I was happy about it. Bruce made a mistake when he revived him. I’m just going to correct that mistake.”
Something flashes across Tim’s face. “This isn’t you, Dick.”
“This is me,” Dick says. “I killed the Joker, I killed Blockbuster, and now I’m going to make sure the Joker dies permanently.”
“You’re going to regret this. I can’t let you do something you’ll regret.”
“You don’t have to let me,” Dick says gently.
“You won’t hurt me,” Tim insists. “And I’m not going to let you past.”
It’s true. Dick won’t hurt Tim, not really. But they both know that Dick can incapacitate him without doing any significant damage.
Tim’s face falls. “If you really think that letting Tarantula shoot Blockbuster makes you a murderer, how can you expect me to let you kill the Joker?”
It’s a good question. But the answer is easy. “Because I could have stopped her.” Dick takes a deep breath and forces his hands to unclench. He hadn’t even realized that they’d formed fists. Dick looks up and meets Tim’s eyes through the lenses of Robin’s mask. “But you can’t stop me.”
“I have to try,” Tim says.
Dick watches as his little brother finally moves his bo staff into a fighting position. He could stop here. He could accept Tim’s offer and go back to the Manor and see if Bruce would forgive him.
But he’s a murderer, twice over, and he’d always know that. And he knows that he can never be Nightwing again. There’s only one way left to atone.
“I know,” Dick whispers, and Tim launches forwards.
The fight is far more fierce than a spar, at least on Tim’s part. Tim is willing to do damage, anything to stop Dick from moving forwards. He thinks he’s saving Dick. And Dick, well, he appreciates it, but doesn’t Tim know that it’s already too late? Dick is a murderer. This is nothing new.
Meanwhile, Dick is trying to pull his punches. It’s not a fair fight, not in the slightest. But Dick has almost fifteen years of training on Tim, and while Dick is determined to win, he can tell that Tim’s heart isn’t in it. As much as the kid has the obligation to try and stop him, they both want the Joker dead. After all, if Tim really wanted to beat him, all he’d have to do is turn the cameras on, and Dick wouldn’t be able to plausibly beat Robin. But the cameras stay off.
Dick doesn’t call him out on it. Tim probably just hasn’t let himself think of it, and Dick will never give Tim the guilt of knowing that he could have won.
Dick dodges Tim’s first strike and dances around his second. He redirects the momentum of the third and tries to sweep Tim’s leg. Tim leaps out of the way. Dick ducks a blow to the head. Tim might not truly want to win, but the kid fights viciously.
It’s difficult. Dick doesn’t have the time to just keep dodging, so he throws out a light punch. Tim twists away, but can’t avoid the kick that throws him sideways.
“So you’re serious about this?” Tim asks, panting. Tired, surprised, but not injured. The Robin uniform should’ve caught most of the force.
Dick still feels bad about it.
It’ll be better in the long run. The Joker will die. He will never kill another Robin, never tear another family apart. Tim will be so much safer. It doesn’t matter that he’ll never forgive Dick for this, because the Joker will never be able to hurt Robin again.
Tim throws out another strike with his bo staff. Dick catches it and rips it away, taking the kick to his stomach and letting himself fly backwards. He slams into the wall, and oh, that hurts. But it’s fine. Tim flies at him again, and Dick neatly sidesteps. With an elbow, he’s able to throw Tim off balance and catch him in a chokehold, wrapping his arm around Tim’s throat.
Tim tries to tuck his chin down, kick Dick in the shins, claw at Dick’s arm, but all it takes is a few seconds and he’s out like a light. The utility belts are keyed to their gloves, so Dick snatches one of Tim’s gauntlets and removes the handcuffs from his utility belt. He cuffs Tim, and then uses the zipties he brought for good measure. If Dick was being particularly careful, he would use a tranquilizer from the belt and lock Robin in a cell, but he’s absolutely not going to leave Tim in Arkham, unable to defend himself. This is supposed to keep Tim safe, not put him in more danger.
Dick waits a few more seconds and watches as Tim stirs. He can’t help the relief that washes through him when he knows for sure that Tim is okay, that he didn’t hurt him. Even through the mask, Dick can tell that Tim is glaring.
“You can get out of that,” Dick says quietly. “But I’ll have a head start. If you don’t want to watch me kill him, you should wait a couple minutes. I’ll stick around in the cell so you can arrest me. Now, how do I turn the cameras back on?”
Tim tilts his head to the side. His face shifts from annoyance to confusion. “Do you want to get caught?”
Obviously. Dick shrugs. “I’m breaking the law. I kill the Joker, and then I go to Blackgate. Seems like a fair trade, doesn’t it?”
Tim shakes his head. “Dick, you’re not thinking this through. You can’t be Nightwing from prison.”
It’s obviously a delay tactic while Tim works on the handcuffs and zip ties, but the statement is so out of place that Dick has to respond. Does Tim seriously think that Dick would go back to Nightwing after committing cold-blooded murder? “Tim,” Dick says. “I’m not ever going to be a vigilante again.”
“But you made Nightwing!”
Dick did make Nightwing, and he’ll regret it until the day he dies. “Nightwing is dead,” Dick says harshly.
Tim flinches. “Then what is this? What are you doing, Dick?”
Dick turns around and starts walking down the corridor. He doesn’t want Tim to see the way his face twists. “Call this my funeral.”
---
A minute later, Dick stands outside the Joker’s cell. He’s not going to be able to guess the twelve-digit code, even with a UV light, so he just takes his gun and slams it into the keypad. The thing cracks, but the door doesn’t open. Well, security did at least one thing right.
Dick pries the keypad away from the wall and takes a look at the wires behind it. He fiddles with it for a few minutes, recalling training sessions with Batman standing over him as a timer ticked the seconds by. Dick could do this in his sleep. He refuses to let his hands shake as he crosses the last pair of wires and the cell door slides open.
Dick takes a step in, only to find that someone else beat him there.
The Joker is lying on his cot in a white straightjacket, but standing over him is a figure in a black motorcycle jacket. When the figure turns around, the harsh florescent light reflects painfully off of his bright red helmet.
Dick runs through the list of known Gotham villains in his head before drawing a blank. His knowledge of skilled mercenaries that operate in the United States likewise doesn’t have a match. The only thing he can think of are the whispers he heard while working for Tommy Tevis. Rumors from Gotham occasionally make their way into Blüdhaven, and among them was the Red Hood.
Red Hood. Former alias of the Joker. Possibly a current up-and-coming drug lord, said to be operating out of Crime Alley. Or a really messed-up vigilante. Or a mercenary. Whatever he was, he had “rules” that no one was happy about. And he supposedly delivered a duffel bag of heads to someone, although no one can agree if it was to fellow drug lords, the Gotham Police Department, or Batman himself. Dick personally hadn’t believed that particular rumor.
Red helmet, operating in Gotham, standing in the Joker’s cell…and the clown’s still breathing. This is, without a doubt, the Red Hood. And it’s not easy to guess why the guy is here.
“What the fuck,” the Red Hood says. His voice is mechanical, leading Dick to guess that there’s a modulator hidden in his helmet. Dick can fight a random drug lord, but the Red Hood does not seem to be a random drug lord. And Dick is unequipped, unprepared, and still bruised from his fight with Tim. “What the fuck, what the literal fuck?”
Well, this is awkward. Right about now would be the perfect time to bury several bullets in the Joker’s brain. It is not a good time, on the other hand, to be fighting a Joker fanboy bent on breaking his idol out of Arkham Asylum.
“You here to stop me?” Hood asks.
Well. Dick may not be a vigilante anymore, but he is here to kill the Joker. And he supposes that is mutually exclusive with rescuing him, so…yeah. “Yep,” Dick says.
“Dressed like that?”
“Yes?” Dick’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, he doesn’t see why his clothes are a particular issue. The Red Hood presumably thinks he’s an off-duty guard who got called to deal with an alarm.
“Right then,” Hood says, amusement trickling into his tone, and before Dick can react, he leaps forwards.
Dick dodges his punch, just barely, and returns with a kick of his own. It sinks into some kind of body armor, and Dick narrows his eyes. The Red Hood, whoever he is, is well-funded. Another blow. This one strikes Dick in the face and he reels back. Hood’s punches are fast and hard, and it’s all Dick can do to avoid the next one.
The two dance. Dick is well-aware that they’re both on a time limit. If Hood gets caught, he can probably disappear. If Dick gets caught, he won’t have his chance to kill the Joker ever again.
Dick thinks he might be able to win this fight, but he doesn’t have the time. His fist glances off Hood’s helmet, so he changes tactics, launching himself through the air and sending a strong punch straight into Hood’s throat. It’s not what a Bat is supposed to do, it’s dangerous for the target, but right now, Dick can’t bring himself to care.
“Wow, Dickie,” Hood says, breathing ragged. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”
Wait. Dick isn’t actually that recognizable, despite Bruce Wayne’s fame. Why the hell does Hood know his name?
Dick doesn’t have time to worry about it, because Hood’s next kick comes out of nowhere and catches him in the stomach. Dick flies across the room, crashing into the wall.
The Joker cackles from his cot. “All this fighting over little old me?”
“Shut up,” Dick says, only to hear Hood’s mechanical voice snap in unison with him. He pulls himself up to a standing position. “Not a Joker fanboy then,” he observes, launching himself at Hood again. Why else would he be in the Joker’s cell, though? “Mercenary?” Dick had thought the crime lord story was more likely, but he supposes a mercenary is plausible. Though obviously not a very smart one, if he was making deals with the Joker.
Hood dodges his blow and throws a punch that glances off Dick’s cheek. Dick’s elbow catches him in the jaw—not that it seems to make a dent on his helmet—and Dick redirects Hood’s next punch and makes several successive blows towards the man’s gut. “He didn’t tell you, did he?” Hood asks. Dick gets the distinct impression that he’s missing some very vital information. “Did he?” Hood repeats. “Bruce didn’t tell you. Hah!”
A punch strikes Dick in the jaw and his head snaps to the side. Copper blood fills his mouth, but Dick’s up before Hood has a chance to press his advantage. He kicks out, catching one of Hood’s arms just as he misses a punch. There’s a distinct crack and Dick grins, blood dripping from his teeth.
“You’re good,” Hood says, launching himself forwards. “But I’m better.” In a single fluid motion, he hits Dick’s shoulder, knocks him off balance, and then presses him against the wall in a chokehold. Unlike the way Dick choked Tim earlier, this is an air choke. Painful. Painful, but slow. The Joker laughs, and this time, no one bothers to cut him off.
Dick slams a knee into Hood’s groin and then uses the wall to launch both feet into his chest, kicking him back. His throat aches. “No, you’re not.” The way Hood moved…Dick’s only seen that from one person before. “You’re League-trained, aren’t you?” If Hood is, then he likely already knows Dick’s identity. And he recognized Dick on sight, asked him if he’s really going to fight dressed like that, mentioned that there was something Bruce hadn’t told him…yeah, he definitely already knows.
“Maybe,” Hood says. He’s slower, now. From the way he’s moving, his arm is definitely at least fractured.
In the background, the Joker continues to laugh, reminding Dick why he’s here. Dick doesn’t need to win this fight. He just needs to complete his objective and render Hood’s null and void.
“You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?” Hood asks.
“Yeah,” Dick says. “I realized I’m going to win.” He flies forwards, pulling himself into a somersault and slamming both feet into Hood’s chest. The man flies backwards and Dick rolls away, pulls out his gun, and flicks the safety off.
“What—”
Dick practiced this in the police academy. He knows how to shoot a gun. He knows how to hit his target.
He forces his eyes to stay open as he aims the gun at the Joker’s forehead and pulls the trigger. A bullet flies through the Joker’s brain and he goes silent, his last laugh ringing in the air.
There are fifteen rounds in Dick’s pistol.
He shoots again and again and again, until every single bullet has buried itself in the Joker’s corpse.
And then he turns to face Hood and smiles.
Dick doesn’t know what happens now. Sooner or later, Tim will burst into the cell to arrest him, or the guards will come to do the same. But Hood—Hood wasn’t part of the plan. And he doesn’t know what the man will do next.
Hood stares at him, unmoving. Dick steps forward and presses two fingers to the Joker’s neck, checking for a pulse. There’s nothing.
The Joker is dead. Dick killed the Joker.
Dick killed the Joker.
Dick killed the Joker.
The last time he killed someone, he panicked. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything.
This time, he just feels vaguely numb.
Hood pulls off one of his gloves and Dick watches as the man checks for the Joker’s pulse as well, before turning his helmet to face Dick. “He’s dead,” Hood says, shock audible even through the modulator.
Dick swallows. “Yes.”
Last time he killed someone, Tarantula was there. This time, it’s the Red Hood. At least the Red Hood isn’t his ally. At least the man will be more likely to want to kill him for ruining his payday than anything else.
“Yes,” Dick says. “I killed him. I killed the Joker.” He leans against the wall, lets his back slide down until he’s crumpled on the floor, his pistol hanging loosely from his hand.
“He’s dead,” Hood repeats. “What the fuck, Dick? I didn’t think you were even capable of this.”
Dick stares at the ground. “Do not,” he says, voice hard, “presume what I’m capable of.”
“Yeah,” Hood says slowly. “I’m getting that.
Dick looks up tiredly. “You should probably go. Your employer won’t pay you for breaking out a corpse.”
“My employer?” Hood echoes, as Robin bursts into the room.
Dick watches Tim freeze. Watches his face flicker as he takes in the Joker’s bullet-riddled corpse, Dick crumpled against the wall, and the random mercenary standing in the middle of the cell.
“Fuck,” Tim says. Dick thinks it’s the first time he’s heard his baby brother curse.
“Was the Pretender in on this too?” Hood asks.
Pretender? Hood has to be referring to Tim. “No,” Dick says. “No, Robin tried to stop me.” He hopes that will be enough that Hood won’t be upset at Tim for ruining whatever he was here for.
“Did he now?” Hood’s voice sounds dangerous. Tim looks—not scared, but determined in that desperate way Robin always does when facing a fight he knows he’s not going to win. Mouth set into a hard line, tension etched into every line of his body, stance defensive and far too steady.
And Dick may not be a vigilante anymore, he may be looking at a life sentence, but he’s not going to let anyone hurt Robin. “If you touch him,” Dick hisses at Hood, “I will end you.”
“Will you now?” Hood asks.
Dick stands up, bruised and battered but still a protective shield for his little brother. He gestures at the Joker’s corpse. “Yes,” he says resolutely. “I will. I will fight you, and I will win. Robin might be here to stop me from killing again, but I know better ways to make you wish you were never born. Are we clear?”
Hood holds up his hands. “Crystal.”
If Hood does try to get revenge, then Dick will defeat him, but it would be far easier if Hood just leaves now and Tim takes Dick to the nearest police station. The cameras are still off, so there isn’t much evidence, but… “You can take me to Gordan,” Dick tells Tim. “I’ll confess.”
“Fuck,” Tim repeats.
“You know it has to be like this,” Dick coaxes, holding out his wrists. “Just bring me in, and you won’t ever have to see me again. I killed him.”
“You better not,” Hood says. Dick’s not entirely clear on who he’s talking to.
Tim’s hands clench. He’s holding his bo staff aimlessly by his side.
“Robin…” Dick says softly.
Eventually, Tim sighs. “Fine. Put your hands behind—”
“Don’t you dare,” Hood interrupts.
Tim whirls around. “I’d like to hear any better ideas!” He snaps.
“Oh, I have several,” Hood says, voice dark. The underlying threat is clear.
“Trust me on this,” Tim says.
“That’s rich.”
Dick has no idea what’s going on. Robin and the Red Hood keep arguing, though it sounds more like bickering interwoven with some very creative threats. Do the two know each other or something? Is this like a Deathstroke situation?
His eyes keep flickering back to the Joker’s corpse. The blood is pooling over the cot, now, staining the thin sheets scarlet red and dripping onto the white floor.
“He won’t hurt you anymore,” Dick whispers. He doesn’t know who he’s talking to.
Tim’s hand fall on his shoulder and Dick can’t help but flinch. Tim withdraws, as if burnt.
Dick is making this easy for him. Tim doesn’t have to fight, doesn’t have to do anything except drop Dick off at the nearest police station. So why hasn’t he done it yet?
“Agreed,” Hood says roughly, and Dick looks up to where Tim and Hood seem to have reached some sort of consensus.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Tim shakes his head. He turns to Dick. “I may not have been able to stop you from killing the Joker, but I’m not going to let you get yourself killed over this.”
“Gotham doesn’t have the death penalty,” Dick says, even though that’s not really the point.
“And I’m supposed to trust you’d defend yourself from the other inmates?” Dick doesn’t answer. “Yeah. I thought so.” Tim leans forwards. “And you can hate me all I want, but I’m not sorry.”
“I don’t hate—” Dick feels something pierce his neck, and then cold liquid enters his bloodstream. He twists around to see Hood standing over him. “Tim?” He asks, voice shaking. “What’s—what’s going on?” Whatever he’s been injected with, it’s fast-acting. Dick can already feel himself starting to slip away. “No,” he hisses. “No, Tim, what—”
“It’ll be okay,” Tim says. “This was the fastest way. I’m sorry.”
Dick’s vision goes fuzzy and he stumbles away from Hood. The man lets him, and Dick nearly crashes into Tim. “Wait—” His lips move, but they feel like blubber. Everything is numb. Everything is spinning.
The world fades out.
---
Dick wakes up with a headache. Someone—multiple someones—are shouting with sharp, angry voices that pierce his skull. Dick groans.
What happened?
He remembers—
The wall, Robin, the Joker, Hood, no—
Dick struggles, heart racing as he tries to force his eyes open—
“Dick.” That’s Tim’s voice. Dick can see a very blurry Tim standing there, still dressed as Robin but without his mask, and. And someone else? Whoever they are, they move out of Dick’s vision before he can register them. “Dick, you need to calm down.”
“Where am I?” Dick asks, pulse thundering away, but it comes out more like “wh’re’m’i.” He knows he’s not in a jail cell, not where he belongs. His hand brushes against what feels like a couch cushion. Not the cot in his apartment. Not a motel bed. He blinks, and his vision clears, somewhat.
“You’re at a safehouse.”
“C’n’t be ‘ere,” Dick mutters. “B’m’n wou’n’t wan’…” Though, he realizes, Tim hadn’t said whose safehouse. If Tim hasn’t taken him to the police, then he probably hasn’t taken Dick to one of Batman’s safehouses either.
Where the hell is he?
“Wh’re ’m I?” His words are separating a little more. Dick blinks again, and Tim sharpens into focus.
“A safehouse,” Tim repeats.
Dick can feel his face scrunch up. He shifts, slowly moving to a seated position. He’s definitely on a couch. The grogginess is clearing rapidly—he must have been given an antidote to the sedative.
Tim kidnapped him. Why?
Wait, there was another voice. Tim and the Red Hood kidnapped him?
“Okay,” Tim says. “So. Hood’s going to come over here, and you need to…not freak out. We’re not dead.”
“We’re not dead,” Dick repeats, a bit lost.
“Yeah,” Tim says.
And then Hood enters his vision and, well, Dick understands why Tim felt the need to clarify that they’re all still alive.
Because that’s Jason.
“Little Wing?” Dick whispers.
Jason winces. “Yeah.”
“How long?” Dick’s eyes desperately scan over him, drinking in every detail. The white streak in his messy hair, the wrinkles in his shirt, the way his fingers tap at his thigh like they always did when he was nervous.
“Bruce has known he’s back for a few weeks, but he’s in denial,” Tim says.
“I had a plan,” Jason says. “I was going to…I was going to kill the Joker. I guess you beat me to it.”
#batman fanfiction#dick grayson#batman#dc comics#dcu#dc#batfamily#batfam#jason todd#tim drake#fanfiction#dick grayson fanfiction#dc fanfiction
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Making this a full post cause it deserves to be said:
TL:DR at bottom
A lot of the tumblr community is pro queer and progressive but why are they so violently against redemptions???
Seriously I’ve noticed a mind boggling amount of people who are dying on the hill that Harumi should rot in prison.
Do they even watch the same show?? Why are they dividing people into “evil” and “good” categories like that??? Ninjago has shown multiple times that people are complex and multi dimensional.
Flintlocke was just following the captain that he loved so much and trusted like a brother, Morro was consumed by a desperation to prove himself, Cyrus Borg hid the overlord virus from everyone, the dragon hunters were just scared by Iron Barons rule, The Ice Emperor was manipulated by Vex, Unagami was confused and angry by his abandonment, the Keepers were just doing their job, Ronin was trying to pay back his debt (and maybe support his family), Pythor used to be a power hungry jerk but being trapped in the tomb made him realize it meant nothing being a king or getting revenge, Garmadon before resurrection loved his son very dearly but was consumed by urges to destroy and infect others with his curse. And most importantly…
Lloyd was a spoiled brat child who wanted to hurt people and cause mayhem until Wu finally caught him. Yes he wasn’t a terrorist and was a kid but so was Harumi when she turned. They were the same age, around 10, when they were affected by the serpentine.
As well. All of the Harumi fans I know want Harumi to get a proper redemption. One where they pay for their crimes and feel horrible about what they’ve done. Where they’re forced to live in the real world and not some delusion that they created when they were young and angry. I want Harumi to cry and feel like shit for murder and terrorism. I really would hate if Roots was the end of her story and her redemption! She’s gotta show that she’s changed and is a different person in order to be fully redeemed in my eyes. I like a lot of others just want her to have a chance at redemption, not accept her as being redeemed immediately.
TL:DR: Ninjago has a plethora of people who start out evil but change and redeem themselves. So why is Harumi singled out? I believe Harumi hasn’t redeemed herself canonically yet and has to go through a lot of pain and growth before that can happen. But If anyone thinks that Harumi doesn’t deserve redemption then neither does Lloyd or Scales or Faith or Morro or Garmadon.
We can’t forget that in the could be canon Splinter in the Blind Man’s Eye story Lloyd claims that Morro gave him the most trauma, because he committed atrocities in his own body. He never even says he has nightmares about Harumi!! Which he has a lot of damn nightmares!
Lloyd was brought to the good side because Wu gave him a chance and believed that he was good, and Lloyd did the exact same to Harumi. “The best way to defeat your enemy, is to make them your friend”…
#ninjago#lloyd ninjago#dragons rising#ninjago dragons rising#ninjago harumi#normalness: explaining harumi#ninjago crystallized#in defense of crystalized
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The Truth about Hobie Brown
I'm definitely thinking about this more than the writers of the Spider-Verse films are, but maybe I'll give them inspiration
In the comics, the Gwen Stacy of Spider-Punk's universe was someone he looked up to...someone who was murdered.
The Captain Stacy of Hobie's universe was also murdered.
"Canon events" as Miguel calls them.
And just like many other Spider-Man who had canon events like losing Captain Stacy and Gwen Stacy dying, Hobie also quit being Spider-Man at one point.
Interesting to note that the Spider-Man costume Verse Hobie threw out resembles his comic counterpart's outfit. (Neat easter egg)
What if when Hobie learned that all the tragedies that happened were some alleged cosmic pre destined event...a canon event. What if he decided he would break the canon?
What if that was the reason why he stayed with the Spider Society for who knows how long. There's an interesting, particular type of chaos that follows Hobie around. A transparent desire for chaos against the system, yet a kindness for those who suffer under it.
He is a punk after all.
What if meeting Gwen Stacy is how and when Hobie finds his way to break the canon. To prove that the canon is bull shit. That we make our own fate.
Hobie treats Gwen like an older brother does. Likely because he's a few years older than her already and the Gwen Stacy of his universe was likely older than Gwen as well.
In a way, saving her, and indirectly saving her father, could be a personal redemption of sorts.
This personal quest for redemption could also be where Miles works into all this.
By the time of the film, Hobie already knows who Miles is. Knows from Miguel what he is. Knows from Gwen what she is to her. It's why he spends his time trying to prep Miles mentally that the spider society isn't what he thinks it is. Why he looks out for him as he does Gwen, even though he's only just met the kid.
Though Hobie's instant fondness for Miles could also be contributed to Miles saving Pavitr from his canon events. Events that would have broken the youngest Spider-Man. That was probably all the proof Hobie needed to know to see that Miles was just as amazing as Gwen likely told him endlessly.
So when Hobie shows Miles how to escape, when he quits and leaves Gwen her own watch. It's already pre set to Miles universe. Who even knows WHEN Hobie brought the watch to Gwen's universe, but it at least would have been at a time when he could've spoken to Gwen's dad enough.
Punks and cops don't usually get along. So that just shows even more how Hobie is willing to work and talk with anyone if it means helping out his plan.
And Hobie's plan isn't even that complex. His plan is to keep the Spider-Teens safe. To make sure they don't have to experience the pain and loss he's had to endure as Spider-Man.
Miles and Gwen have already lost people in their lives, but if they can keep some happiness - maybe even find more happiness with each other...I think that'd be enough for Hobie. It'd prove that being a Spider-Person doesn't always have to be a sacrifice.
#Hobie Brown#Gwen Stacy#Miles Morales#Across the Spider Verse#Gwiles#Ghost Flower#I have more thoughts than brain cells#Into the Spider Verse
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A sampling of my favorite flavor of tags/notes/etc. that I see re: All of These Polls.
NO! Bad in bed because [Fictional Character] is some flavor of asexual. But! If they wanted to, they'd be exquisite. They'd murder that pussy. They'd suck dick like a connoisseur. They top and/or bottom like a professional. The Best Lay You've Never Had (because they're ace) and you're bitter about it.
NO! Because [Fictional Character] is Ace and that is Valid™. They do not want to fuck you, or anyone else. Die mad about it.
YES! Because of extensive canon proof, that I have spent A Lot of time thinking about. I can tell you what episode proves it. How Dare You think they'd be bad in bed. They Fuck™ like a monster. The orgasms they would give you. You may as well have slapped my feeble grandmother by insinuating that they're bad in bed.
YES! They're hot. Next question.
NO! I have a lot of thoughts about their fanon interpretation, plus the way that I personally write them in fic. How Dare You disagree with me. Cancelled.
YES! I have a lot of thoughts about their fanon interpretation, plus the way that I personally write them in fic. How Dare You disagree with me. Cancelled.
YES! Because I want to fuck them.
NO! Because I don't want to fuck them.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY GOOD IN BED?
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Lack of Conviction
Episode five of Ahsoka really hammered home how goddamn ridiculous the entire Clone War situation truly was. Watching Ahsoka on the front lines of that Geonosis battle, a fight where she was canonically fourteen or fifteen, was ludicrous back in the original show, but seeing the character in that situation portrayed by the age appropriate Ariana Greenblatt was f*cking jarring. Greenblatt is sixteen years old, splitting the difference of Aksoka’s age range throughout the Clone Wars. She’s as close to a real, teenage, Tano, that we’re going to get and it is wildly apparent that she is a CHILD. The goddamn Jedi Order, was sending child soldiers to fight in a trade war against an analogous Sith overlord and his army of drones. I don’t care how good at space wizarding your teenager is, they are still just a goddamn teenager! And Ahsoka wasn’t the only one. Barris Offee immediately comes to mind! The age you become a Padawan Learner to a Master Jedi is around twelve. That means there were children as young as twelve taking laser shots to the face, not to mention the wholesale slaughter of these cats during Order Sixty-Six, because of a goddamn trade dispute. How f*cking ridiculous is that? Anakin even said the quiet part out loud when addressing Ahsoka’s hesitation. He told her that Obi-Wan trained him to be a peacekeeper, but Anakin was training Ahsoka to be a soldier. That sh*t was the intent. That was the plan. That was the whole dynamic; Train an army of child astro-sorcerers in the ways of war, by throwing them headlong into one. From anyone’s point of view, that’s f*cked up and lends credence to everything Poppa Paps was talking about. Imagine trying to convince the ludicrously powerful Chosen One you’re in the right, when the only other person outside of his mom and wife whom he genuinely loved, was put in his charge to turn her into a weapon. And then when she turned out to be a fantastic one, they cast her aside the second someone gets murdered in those hallowed Council halls. Cats give Anakin sh*t for slaying them Younglings but how are the Jedi any goddamn different? They literally use children until they are used up. I can only imagine the trauma the kids who survived will have to endure. Hell, we’ve seen a few of them already. Ahsoka, Cade from those absolutely dope games, Hera's dead baby daddy, and that one chick from Kenobi; None of who are healthy, well adjusted, stand-up adults! Absolutely emotional train wrecks, the lot of them!
More than that, this episode proved to me just how much of Anakin is in Ahsoka. They mirror each other as much as Ahsoka and Sabine. It's wild to see in live action, especially getting that from Hayden who finally got to play a complex version of Anakin. Clone Wars went a long way to redeeming that character but seeing him actually force a catharsis in Ahsoka was rough. I've seen them cross lightsabers before and it broke my f*cking heart. I've spoken at length about that, but seeing it here? Knowing this is training from a fully fledged Jedi Master Anakin? I cannot articulate how amazing that is. He pushed Ahsoka to her limits. Forced her to confront the grief and guilt she had for being a weapon, for abandoning Anakin. Hayden gave this role so much depth, so much emotion, it was just breathtaking to witness. Seeing him flit between Vader and Sky Guy was almost too much but it very necessary. It was necessary for Ahsoka. She had to see that, to come to terms with that, in order to move forward. She is everything Anakin is, even Vader, as demonstrated by those Sith eyes when she contemplated the unthinkable. Interestingly enough, even channeling the Dark Side like a champ, you can tell Anakin was concerned for his Padawan. Not that he would be killed, Anakin is beyond even that at this point, but that his Padawan, would fall like he did. Ahsoka did not. She chose life and Sky Guy gave her that smirk, telling Snips there was hope for her yet. F*cking everything. That last exchange was f*cking everything. Especially when you take into account that Anakin pulled her into the World Between Worlds to save her life. As a goddamn Force Ghost. What the f*ck does THAT even mean??
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Hi Rikki. If Bonnie doesn't like vampires and Klaus doesn't like witches in canon, how do they make sense as a couple?
Long post warning: I think it's important to note that Bonnie doesn't hate vampires and never has. She hates the bloodshed and violation of humanity that comes with vampires. If anything, Bonnie does hate killers. When she meets Kai and finds out he murdered his family, she immediately has a problem with him.
Bonnie’s entire arc was not about hating vampires. Now why is this change ignored by the fandom? Well, who knows. Bonnie has never outright attacked any vampire simply for being one. Just those who were causing harm to her friends or have hurt her directly. Fans don’t try to acknowledge Bonnie and write her off as a vampire hater for 8 seasons. When Bonnie accepted vampirism from ALL her friends. She places their own emotional-needs and wellbeing before her own but that isn’t enough for fans. Bonnie’s emotions are defined as irritating and judgmental when the entire show is about humanizing vampires.
Bonnie doesn't have the luxury like Caroline and Elena to flirt with murderous vampires. Until the very end of the show in season 7 with Enzo at that time Bonnie she claims Damon is her bestfriend. That’s before Elena and Caroline. There’s issues there as well but I won’t get into that. Yet even with the hypothetical thought of Bamon there’s still this continuous negativity directed on Bonnie’s end. Julie insulted Elena just to prove a point. The Bamon Ban existed and it was real. It may have applied to Bamon but with the writer being so vocal about their dislike for Bonnie it meshed with all Bonnie ships.
Klaus hated what his mother did to him and his siblings. He hated his mother for binding his wolf side. The blame for those actions has been to his parents only. There was a never a moment in canon where Klaus blamed anyone else but his parents for what happened to him and his siblings. Bonnie is a witch just like Esther, but why would Klaus hold her accountable for something she did not do. Bonnie wasn’t even alive when Esther did that! It’s ridiculous take to think Klaus would blame Bonnie for his trauma and would not like her because she’s a witch like his mother. Bonnie is NOT Klaus mother and has never been in a maternal position to Klaus. Notice this claim and outright refusal doesn’t exist when people discuss Stefan and Klaus friendship. Stefan wanted revenge for what Klaus had done and they’re still well liked. Caroline can celebrate Klaus death in season 3 and fuck him in season 5 they’re one of the most popular ships. No questions on either of these but it’s Bonnie that people have such a huge issue getting over when it comes to Klonnie shipping. For a ship that is so small and limited in canon there’s always a fan commenting on how “disgusting” and “illogical” the ship is.
Klaus had allies in witches like Gloria, Greta, Genevieve and Maddox. He’s had sex with both Greta and Genevieve who are witches like his mother. Freya is a witch, Hope is a witch. Klaus did not wake up everyday blaming and hating these other women for the actions of his parents. So I must ask again, why would he turn to Bonnie and hate her simply for being a witch? Doesn’t make sense to me. In 2x17 Isobel and Katherine discuss Klaus and witches. Klaus was abandoned by Ansel he still slept with werewolves like Hayley or Lana.
The fandom places rules and regulations on Bonnie because the writers did. I’ve given enough evidence to prove that Klaus would be willing to date anyone despite his parental trauma, as would Bonnie if she is given the affection and chance too. The problem will forever rely in the writers and the fans who continue to push these narratives. A ship so little like Klonnie shouldn’t have many fans arguing about how disgusting and gross it is. Why is shipping Bonnie with Klaus (or any non-canon character) disgusting but none of the canon white centered relationships get this type of reaction. Finally, if the series kept up with Klaus taste in witches the only woman who matches the woman Klaus was intimate with at that time would be Bonnie.
#klonnie#bonnie bennett#klaus mikaelson#bonnie x klaus#klaus x bonnie#the vampire diaries#the originals#tvd#anon ask#rikkisinbox#Tvd meta#Anti Julie Plec#Anti Caroline dries
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TBB S3 E4 Recap and Reaction
- Poor Crosshair keeps getting stuck on cold planets.
- Batcher banging on the chair ready to get out 🤣🤣
- These shuttles are really interesting to me. It’s rare to see a ship that size that can be piloted by two different people.
- Baby girl, I totally understand your logic in wanting to pull the data logs to see where Tantiss actually is, but given how tactful we know Hemlock has been so far in keeping his location hidden, most likely it wouldn’t pull up anything.
- What a dreary spaceport. Feels very Andor and very like Norwegian Star Wars.
- The level of snark that Omega is giving back to Crosshair is cracking me up. We don’t see her showing this level of talking back or being sarcastic with any of the other Batchers, which proves my theory that Crosshair’s constant level of highly annoyed at everything around him brings out the sarcasm in everyone else he encounters.
- Love that his knowledge as a former imperial is coming to play to help them.
- Also love that Omega was the one to recognize that they need different clothes (and the obvious pan of the camera on the clothes hanging on the line in the first shot of the spaceport to accentuate that fact).
- Quilted clothes in Star Wars is my fave (yes more Andor parallels).
- The uplilt and little scoff that Omega gives and the look she gives Batcher after Crosshair snarls about bringing “the hound” along is PRECIOUS
- Also Cross and Omega cross their arms the same way. Okay okay I’ll never be over their dynamic here.
- Crosshair’s trucker hat/scuba apparatus is hilarious. He doesn’t look too bad though. Surely he’s at least warmer now.
- The credits negotiation omg. I love how Cross is just waiting for this to play out before he makes a move.
- YES omg are my baby girls strategy skills FINALLY coming back into play??
- Oh no no no no no this kid is going to rat them out isn’t he. You guys need to be more mindful of your surroundings!! Ahhh (okay I’m glad this didn’t happen).
- Honestly at this point Crosshair would be me as well. Just lots of very annoyed sighing.
- I love that Crosshair is getting to see all the things about Omega that the other boys know already, but he hasn’t had a chance to witness yet. We know she can wipe the floor with most people on strategy games/gambling.
- Yep nope this captain is not good news. Don’t get distracted by ranting about Imperial bribery, don’t do it, don’t….*sigh* I hate the Empire so much.
- Oh no this is so bad! I swear WHY is every imperial such a slimy self aggrandizing POS.
- Aww Crossy hunched down at almost table level ready to tear the room apart if anyone touches his baby sister. Adorable murder kitten. 😸
- Also Crosshair when all of this is over: where the HELL did you learn to gamble like that!?! Omega: 🤷🏻♀️😇😁
- Also also what game are they playing? Those cards are beautiful.
- Oh no they’ve found the shuttle already. Dear god this episode is so stressful!!
- CROSS!DAD IS OFFICIALLY CANON lmao
- Okay I was hoping Omega would let him win bc this isn’t going to go over well
- Whoa I didn’t actually expect him to concede. Maybe he’s not quite as slimy as I thought. Doesn’t matter though, the shuttle will give them away regardless.
- Of course. There it is. Let all the seedy businesses thrive as long as you get your fine out of it. Ugh. This is paralleling a lot of imperial activities in Rebel Rising and the Ahsoka novel as well.
- I also love how Omega uses touch with Crosshair to calm him down and communicate with him.
- Whoa I did not expect Omega to throw the credits and basically give Crosshair the choice of abandoning her or not. Nor for him to actually have to think about it for a moment.
- “My skills are being wasted” the boy does not like feeling helpless. I understand.
- This is going to give Cross some understanding of what Hunter has been going through the last few years. Especially if he ends up losing her.
- “Don’t push it” and the extra head shake after lmao.
- Geez this man is just lining his pockets every which way isn’t he. Despicable.
- “Alright, let’s try things your way” “Finally” I LOVE THEM SO MUCH
- Animal stampede!
- Oh gosh is Cross going to get left behind??
- Aw he finally called her Batcher.
- We are clearly seeing how much Omega has actually been tempered by the rest of the Batchers being around her until now. The unfiltered combined powers of Omega and Crosshair at their most unhinged is maybe more than the galaxy is ready for 🤣🤣
- Also a very Andor reference with the captain being stampeded almost to death and having his gun kicked away from him in the melee
- NO WAY WE FINALLY GET AN IMPERIAL GETTING THEIR DUE BY CREATURE DEATH once again *cough cough* not a kids show
- Awwww Batcher licking Crosshair’s face. He’s so done for.
- They got away. Wow. I actually wasn’t expecting that. And with most of the money too.
- Okay. Smart girl. She did not pick Pabu.
- What an ending. Wow. So. Similar to Mando season 3 (which is also scaring me) — what the heck is the rest of this season going to be about?
- This reunion is everything. 🥹🥹🥹 the hugs. The running. The tears. The worry. The anger. The hesitation. The fear. The literal and metaphorical distance between their ships that someone will have to cross. They better not fast forward a millisecond when the next episode picks up I swear.
#the bad batch#star wars#tbb#tbb season 3 spoilers#tbb season 3#tbb spoilers#the bad batch season 3 spoilers#the bad batch spoilers#the bad batch season 3
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person i got the image from did a great takedown but i’d like to hear your thoughts. apologies for the long link.
https://64.media.tumblr.com/311f7b4b715f10b0348b193a4052d2d7/d15b73343c42378a-bb/s1280x1920/0275e731e2a174150f41ca47438558bf3dad1684.jpg
"Violent tantrums" what an odd way of saying "emotional breakdown due to intense grief, and that Katara is upset by not because she feelts threatened but because SEEING HER BEST FRIEND IN SUCH RAGE AND PAIN HURTS HER"
And yeah, Katara never reached out to comfort/soothe Zuko when he was in battle mode - because he was an enemy. One that was constantly attacking her, and not because of a fit of rage (even though he was prone to such behavior) but because he was supporting the systematic oppression and murder of anyone that wasn't on his side because that's how he was raised.
Of course Katara didn't try to calm him down, because Zuko was not acting out of anger but out of RACISM and INDOCTRINATION. She didn't try to reason with him because Zuko simply could not be reasoned with, at least not by a conversation with someone he saw as inherently inferior. There's a reason his arc had him being banished, then becoming a wanted fugitive, and finally a refugee in Ba Sing Se - if he had never been forced to truly experience the damage his nation was causing he would have never realized it was wrong.
It doesn't matter how much zutarians try to lie about it, only one of those two characters ever knowingly, deliberately put Katara in harms way, only of them was TRYING to be a threat, to intimidate her into obeying him, and it wasn't Aang.
If they want to ship Zutara, they need to either deal with the fact that it started out as two people being enemies because one of them literally couldn't understand that other races are not lesser people, or they make a modern AU in which there was no war so that element can be dropped. Trying to pretend Zutara was not rooted in violence and intimidation (at least at the start) but freaking Kataang was is ridiculous, pathetic, and proves that for all their talk about "liking a more complext dynamic" is nonsense because they're TERRIFIED of engaging with the one narrative element that would actually make their ship complex.
They want the "hate turns to love" aspect without going into WHY that hatred existed, because it wouldn't be the typical "both sides had something to learn", but rather "one side was actively racist and thus hostile, and the other was just reacting to it." They want to praise Zuko for learning from his mistakes, but they insist on sweeping said mistakes under the rug. They want to put him in the role of Katara's hero and hope for a better life, when he actually spent 5/6 of the show being the bad guy ruining her life, putting her and her loved ones in danger.
This is why the fanon dynamic of Zutara is racist and even misogynistic, while the canon one isn't, even though both involve Katara forgiving Zuko and growing to care for him: the show was interested in using Zuko's warped world-view to deconstruct it and make him change for the better, but the zutara fandom at large only seems interested in making up excuses for him, and thus robbing both Zuko and Katara of their complexities, as Zuko's growth is negated and Katara's righteous anger is not allowed to exist.
Zuko and Katara's canon friendship is about a bad person being forgiven when they realized they made a mistake and genuinely changing into someone worth admiring. Zutara's fanon romance is about a bunch of enablers pretending Zuko wasn't ever racist, hostile, and violent towards Katara.
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Dragons Rising Season 2, Episode 2: Shattered Dreams
Before I start I just want to say that I don't know how long my little recap will take to finish because of my life schedule, but hopefully I'll get it done within a week. I share a TV with two other people so that puts a hold on my ability to rewatch.
Now lets begin!
Heyyy Cloud Kingdom!
Is the Master Writer destined to be a douche??
I also want bagels. ("Selecting a bagel." -Peter Parker; Into the Spider Verse, 2018).
I'm still so confused on how writing destiny works. Do they decide destiny? Do they not? I don't get it. Someone please help me.
EUPHRASIA YAAAAAAAS
Hey Imperium!
Percivallll I love youuuu yes you fix Imperium!
Euphrasia freaking dies.
"Then I wake up screaming." DO YOU WANT MY HEART TO FALL OUT??!
Lloyd is a braver man than I. I could never consume that tea.
Not Lloyd making a joke about his panic attack. Me too buddy.
I LOVE LLOYD. SO MUCH. YOU ALL WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND.
Still don't know what the deal with Fedulian is.
Awh, Arin. I love him so much.
PLATONIC "I LOVE YOU"'S.
Why are the so mean about Sora's cat? Poor Sora.
Lloyd getting floored by a cart. Nice.
NADAKHAN'S TEAPOT!! (/j)
Do we think that anyone in our team is going to get their soul shattered?
ARIN AND PERCIVAL RAAGGHHHHH
Oh ehm gee Cinder heyyy. (Guys I kind of get it).
OKAAYYYY EUPHRASIA SLAYYYY
I love Lloyd thinking Arin's grapple is cool.
Lloyd is just SO kind to Arin he's so gentle with him and is always reassuring him it AGHHHh I love.
So was it because of Ras that the ninja were attacked in season 1?
Isn't there a comic about the Forbidden Five? I want to read it.
AGHHHHAH LLOYD HAVING ANXIETY.
Not Sora still not remembering Jordana.
I want to know who is under the wolf masks GRRRR.
NYA GRABBING LLOYD'S HAND TO STEADY HIM AGHH.
More Arin getting tossed by the foot.
"You know I thrashed the last one, right?" Served.
First Shatterspin fight is pretty cool. I love how Wildbrain has really solidified that they have the superior action sequences.
Lloyd's sword toss move during the fight has me giggling he is so cool.
RIP Wyldfyre's leg.
LET CINDER MURDER.
Arin and Lloyd's jump looked a lil goofy tbh.
Lloyd havinnnnnng more doubt.
Oooohhhh yes the gong clashing + Cinder's snarky lil smirk. Peak television. I love.
GUYS I LOVE DRAGONS RISING SO MUCH. I don't think words can actually express the depth of my love for this series. This is it. After 13 years, I think Ninjago has finally hit it's own true potential. I have so many things I want to say but I think it will be at the end of my recap series.
Shatterspin is so cool and I love how Cinder owns them all. We see firstly that Cinder is a good fighter, but not good enough to defeat Kai without Shatterspin. Then, when he actually uses Shatterspin, the ninja don't stand a chance. It proves how powerful the technique really is.
I think I mentioned this in the last episodes post, but Lloyd having canon anxiety and panic attacks is just. Everything. Representation is fantastic. As someone who has had anxiety my whole life... if I had seen that as a child, maybe I would've learned about my anxiety way earlier. I'm so glad that this show is not afraid to talk about mental health.
I just. I love.
(this is the sword toss i was talking about)
#llannas dr recap#ninjago#ninjago dragons rising#ninjago spoilers#ninjago dragons rising spoilers#lloyd garmadon#cinder ninjago#arin ninjago#sora ninjago#ninjago euphrasia
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