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neptuneiris · 1 year ago

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Behind the Scenes (03/05)

Behind the Negotiation

pairing: actor!aemond × fem!reader

summary: knowing that you can't run away from your past forever, you receive unexpected visitors in your home that make you fear for your son's future.

word counter: 8.9k

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warnings: angst, arguments, language,mention of abortion.

guys, I'm sorry for the delay, with this chapter a lot of unexpected things came across my way, but I've finally finished it and I'm satisfied with the result, although I'm not sure if you will like it, it might bore you but I don't know, please let me know :)

without more to say, enjoy it and thanks for all the support, really! let me know your comments too, I'll be waiting for them!

You still remember it all too well.

You remember how you accepted Aemond's terms, the terms of his agent Criston and also of his entire team.

You agreed to keep the existence of your child a secret, to hide in the shadows with him and to keep a low profile until it was "safe" for Aemond's career to publicly and legally acknowledge the baby.

But you only accepted to take that worry off everyone's mind and especially his, so you could run away. Although the reality is that you were scared.

At first, Aemond's power, influence and connections kept you paralyzed, thinking about the consequences of breaking all ties with him.

And running away from him, disappearing from his life along with your son was a decision you had to make carefully and then had to live with in fear and dread of being found someday.

And the fear of possible legal reprisals for your escape and uncertainty about the consequences were present at every turn. But you did everything to live in freedom, not to destroy Aemond's career and to protect your son from all public exposure.

You always knew that Aemond with his celebrity status possesses power, not only in the entertainment industry, but also in the media and social sphere, that was obvious, just like any other celebrity.

So finding you could be as easy as snapping his fingers.

So to prevent Aemond from tracking your movements so he could find you, you began by discarding any means of transportation that could be easily monitored or tracked.

You avoided airports and bus terminals, opting instead for small train stations and local buses, always paying with cash. You left King's Landing and the entire state, going all the way to the Iron Islands.

In Pike, with the money you had left over, you were able to rent a room to yourself in a cheap hotel, then quickly began to look around for a job in the surrounding area in search of an opportunity that could provide you with support and stability.

You knew you couldn't get a job like the one you had before, on a recording set with a big salary. So downtown, you found a job at a beauty salon.

Not only does she own a beauty salon, she also owns a few small apartments in the city and offered you one of them at a lower price, considering you were just starting out with a new job.

The owner of the place, Becca Waters, a kind and understanding woman, saw potential and also the need in you.

Knowing your condition and that you practically came to live in a place where you knew nothing and no one, she also offered you a place to live and be safe.

Mrs. Waters became a fundamental support for you, providing guidance, encouragement, flexibility and stability in your financial need and also in your pregnancy.

With her you felt completely safe and supported at a time when you needed it most. After all you had gone through to get here, leaving your life behind and pregnant, she was your reward.

But still nothing was easy after that.

Your pregnancy process was a roller coaster of emotions, challenges and moments. Facing motherhood as a single mom was an overwhelming reality.

On the one hand, even though the baby was unplanned, you were excited to know that you would soon be holding him in your arms, but on the other hand, you also felt fear and anxiety at the responsibility of raising a child alone with no knowledge of anything really.

The first few months of pregnancy were especially difficult.

You experienced pain, symptoms and discomforts that you had no idea about and had to endure, as well as a slight state of depression and anxiety about dealing with all of this on your own.

But through it all, Becca was your pillar of support at all times, who became your confidant, giving you comfort and encouragement in difficult times. And she was the one who helped you throughout your pregnancy and also the one who was by your side when you gave birth to your child.

And even though you didn't want to, being in a very vulnerable state, you couldn't help but feel lonely and miss Aemond, just as you missed everything you once used to be.

But remembering everything that happened the last time you saw him, even though the feeling disappeared, you also couldn't help but start crying.

And to protect yourself emotionally, you decided to stay away from news about Aemond.

You avoided social media and any content that could remind you of your past with him. Your determination was great to be able to raise your child alone, without relying on Aemond's presence or acknowledgement.

And the day your son finally came into the world, it was a moment of joy and wonder that could not be compared to any other moment in life, filling your heart with indescribable happiness.

However, the birth also brought with it a torrent of new worries and challenges.

Childbirth was exhausting and intense. Nothing you've ever experienced before. And in the days that followed, the constant care of the newborn, the lack of sleep and the adjustment to your new life were heavy challenges that pushed you to the limit many times.

But in spite of that, every smile, every little gesture of your son filled your world with immense love, as well as Mrs. James' help in guiding you in practical aspects of motherhood increased your unwavering determination to go forward for him, being your driving force.

Although also the arrival of your son into the world increased your fear in you.

The fear that Aemond and his team might find you and take your son away from you was a constant worry. But despite this, there were moments of uncertainty when you thought too much about it.

You wondered why Aemond would bother looking for you and your child. Clearly the baby was a risk to his career and he didn't even want to support you from the start, only accepting it later because that was your decision.

You knew he wouldn't but you were still afraid.

Would Aemond really seek you out after he initially supported the idea of abortion?

Would he really seek you out after he supported your decision even if he didn't want to but in the shadows, avoiding any public acknowledgement and hiding you and your son?

But just when you had gotten used to it, had found stability with a job and a permanent refuge in the beauty salon with Mrs. Waters, a few months after the birth of your son, Mrs. Waters was forced to close the salon due to unforeseen financial problems.

That place that had been your refuge and where you found support and friendship, suddenly disappeared, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness, uncertainty and nostalgia.

Mrs. Waters would have to leave town and although you didn't want to, you also decided to do the same, convinced that you would be safer with your son in a place you knew well, avoiding at all times the places you used to go with Aemond and where you knew you could meet him.

So after looking for a job, with your resume and previous excellent references, in the city where the entire film industry resides, you got a job as a makeup artist in a different recording studio than the one you had worked in before.

There was no way you could meet Aemond, or so you thought.

Previously the TV network was BBC, now it was HBO for whom you would be working on a new TV show, so you really had nothing to worry about, especially since the pay was very good and you could survive just fine on that for you and your child.

But right on your first day of work, life decided to surprise you.

And now you are here, in your new apartment where you were planning to live temporarily until you find a better one, but now with you running away on your first day it means definite dismissal for sure, so you have no idea how you are going to pay for a better one or how you are going to pay for this one next month so you won't get kicked to the street.

But you can't even think straight as you are still shaking, your emotions are running high, you have no idea what really happened, it was all very fast between talking and remembering the past.

And the only thing that gives you some peace in the midst of your own thoughts and everything you're feeling, are the sounds of Aenar's toys and babbling in the living room, playing on the floor and touching everything he can.

His silver hair shines from the sunlight coming through the windows and he giggles as his colorful toys bump into each other, showing a world of happiness and innocent curiosity, completely filling your heart but you still feel that sharp ache in your chest.

You move towards him with a soft sigh and take a seat next to him, keeping a small genuine smile on your lips but with some melancholy, when he starts showing you all his toys and asks you between babbling and giggles to play with him.

You move the toys back and forth, ask him questions in honeyed tones and he laughs, making you laugh too, but you continue with the tumult of your overwhelming thoughts.

You think about what you will do now, that you should probably look for a job at a new beauty salon, which is what you should have done as soon as you got back, find a subtle job instead of going back to what you were doing before so suddenly.

However the paycheck was what made you take it and you need it too much, so you'll have to look for other alternatives.

You find yourself thinking about it when you suddenly hear the sound of the door completely interrupting your thoughts and also your game with Aenar.

You look towards the entrance, confused, with a strange feeling growing in your chest, immediately giving you a bad feeling. For who would come knocking at your door?

No one knows you're back… except Aemond.

Oh Gods.

The thought makes you paralyzed, feeling your whole body tense up, your heart starts beating fast and fear invades you completely.

Could it be him?

You wonder, struggling to stay calm, even though there's no way he could have figured out so quickly where you're living.

Or has he?

The thought leaves you completely paralyzed, with a mixture of anxiety and fear flowing inside you.

The knocking on the door becomes more insistent and you carefully get up and leave Aenar still amused in his game on the floor, then walk towards the door feeling a lump in your throat and a growing uneasiness.

You reach for the doorknob and as you turn it to open, your heart skips a beat when you find Aemond's agent standing in front of you, Criston Cole.

A trace of surprise and confusion flashes across your face, feeling your body tighten further and the fear linger.

How did he know where you were?

What is he doing here?

Criston returns you a serious but understanding look, beginning to feel the tension between the two of you, while you feel the fear invade you again because of the old memories and being him one of the main reasons why you decided to run away.

His mere presence triggers a series of emotions that take you by surprise. With no trace of Aemond or anyone else around you, yet your mind races.

Nervousness invades every fiber of your being, while your heart beats faster and stronger than usual. A sense of discomfort invades you and you also feel alert, afraid, unable to control it.

"Y/N."

He pronounces your name with a slight nod. His tone tries to be reassuring, but confusion and bewilderment wash over you.

You say nothing for a few seconds, feeling unable to speak and unable to formulate any words, barely trying at that moment to process the situation. Anxiety creeps through your chest, as he gives you and respects your space, aware of your unease.

"I understand that you're surprised by my visit and I don't want to make you uncomfortable, I really don't. But we need to talk."

The confusion inside you increases and so does the fear, to watch him completely bewildered and on the verge of collapse.

"H-how—

You try to ask with your voice cracking in the midst of all your emotions, but he interrupts you in response, knowing what you're going to ask.

"My team," he lets you know, "They handled finding you."

He tells you seriously and with that touch of professionalism in his tone, but his response only surprises and puzzles you more, to which Criston notices.

You feel the questions pile up in your head, but you barely manage to articulate a word, besides all the emotions you're feeling, fear mainly.

"Aemond informed us of your return," he adds, "After he didn't find you again, he asked us to look for you," he tells you calmly, trying to make his eyes convey an attempt at empathy for you.

But you don't believe that one bit. Not after what happened the last time you saw him and his entire team.

You feel a surge of vulnerability wash over you, leaving you suddenly helpless before him. You don't have the slightest idea how you will be able to cope with that situation, how to get away from them again now that they have found you, especially him.

"What have you really come for?" you question, not hiding your distrust.

Criston keeps a serene attitude and look, seeking to soften the tension, but notices your demeanor and posture, of fear and alertness altogether.

"Just to talk," he tells you softly, "Believe me the last thing I want and Aemond too is to cause you trouble. We just want to talk and nothing more," he explains, but you are having none of it, "He was going to come himself, but he had to film some scenes. But he'll come as soon as he can."

This just adds more weight to the anxiety and nervousness you're already feeling, so it triggers an alert in you that makes you feel completely freaked out, definitely not wanting that.

"No," you try to retort with a firm tone, but your vulnerability shows in your trembling voice and nervous expression, "Please leave."

Concern flashes across Criston's face for an instant, unconsciously taking a step towards you.

"Y/N–

"Please," you plead, "Just go away and don't come back, none of you, not even him."

"Y/N, please, just let me—

"No," you interrupt him again, more desperate than before, "Please," you repeat.

The atmosphere is filled with a silence full of tension, where your words, full of desperation and longing to get away from the situation, float in the air, also asking for urgent distance and tranquility.

And Criston lets out a sigh.

"Just a few minutes," he says, struggling to find some control in the situation, "Just-let us talk to you, Aemond and me."

"If it's to talk about his career and his son, I'm not interested," you say firmly, but your trembling voice gives away your emotions, "We've talked about that before," you say with some bitterness and sadness in your tone, "You can go now. I don't plan on staying anyway."

Without having let go of the door frame, you try to close the door, ending all of this, but he instantly speaks again, stopping you.

"Please Y/N, Aemond is very worried and wishes to speak with you," he insists, "He hasn't been the same since you left, you should know that," he adds in a persuasive tone.

You let out a snort in disbelief and with some bitterness, as you look away from his gaze for a moment.

"I highly doubt that."

"Y/N—

The sound of Aenar's innocent laughter while playing with his toys catches Criston's attention, stopping his words, who unconsciously catches a glimpse inside your living room where Aenar is playing and also catches a glimpse of his small figure on the floor with his characteristic silver hair.

This immediately triggers your concern and increases your protective mode and you quickly close the door a little behind you, blocking his view, while your heart is pounding.

This is what you meant.

You don't want anything bad to happen to your son, in any way. And you will do anything to protect him, because they decided everything except to protect you and now you will not allow them to intervene in your son's life now that they know he is here.

"Y/N," he calls to you in a softer voice, watching you completely intently and desperately asking you with his gaze for a moment.

"Please don't," you plead with him, at the point of collapsing from worry and frustration.

Again you enter the apartment as you hold the door frame tightly to close it, but Criston stops you again.

"You must understand the gravity of what happened," he tells you seriously, "Your disappearance put Aemond's relationship with his son in danger. There are legal implications for you to consider, such as custody," he says and your heart flips, "I can explain all of this to you and resolve it in the best way possible," he looks at you in insistence, "But only if you let me in so we can talk."

And there they are again. Your greatest fears.

The word 'custody' repeats over and over in your mind, like a loop, causing you greater fear, worry and pressure than before, the gravity of the situation and the looming legal implications being clear.

The air weighs on you, heavy with uncertainty and intense tension, as well as you are overcome with the urge to cry because of your doubts and fear.

"Wh-what-" you try to speak in a whisper, your voice cracking and your heart in a fist, "Custody?" you repeat under your breath.

Criston watches you with some pity and understanding, then lowers his gaze, lets out a sigh and watches you with that sympathy and also a little expectant.

"May I come in?"

Try one more time and maybe it's because of his words that your mind is in a state of alarm that makes you recognize that you can't run away again or else things will get worse. And you don't want that. You are afraid for yourself and Aenar.

Feeling more of your anxiety, you finally allow him to enter and Criston at this thanks you with his gaze and moves carefully, noticing your visible discomfort and also your fear, not wanting to alter you any further with absolutely nothing.

And once the door closes, you immediately stand in front of Aenar with a weak and vulnerable posture trying to look strong, this catching his attention and feeling something warm in his chest at the presence of the little one.

But he also knows exactly why you react this way and he doesn't blame you for it, much less does it bother him because he understands you.

"I'm very honest when I tell you that we really don't want to create more trouble, Y/N," he tells you in a soft tone, "Aemond…. he really is very worried. And since he is my client, we don't want any legal implications or further conflict."

You try to keep your composure, but your thoughts are a storm of confused emotions. The very idea of dealing with legal issues, especially regarding your son, is overwhelming to you.

"Why now?" you ask in a trembling voice, your gaze searching for answers, "All this… why?"

Criston exhales slowly, trying to find the right words.

"The situation has changed, basically since you left. Aemond was wrong at the time and I admit I was too, so now he's willing to acknowledge your son, in every way possible."

You can't help but look incredulous and bitter once again.

"It's already too late for that, don't you think?" you ask him in a bitter tone.

Criston looks down for a moment, his expression one of compassion and understanding towards your perspective.

"Yes, we know," he nods to you, "And that's why we're here, trying to keep all this from becoming a bigger problem. But please Y/N, understand that Aemond doesn't want to hurt you or cause you any more trouble than he's already caused."

"And until now you say that?" you inquire sad, worried, fearful and indignant, "That's what I needed to hear before when I was scared, because I was scared too Criston, not just Aemond," you let him know, with tears in the corners of your eyes, "But you treated me like a problem you needed to get rid of, you and him."

Criston listens to your words with a gesture in his eyes that reflects the heaviness of the situation, just as you see shame and regret wash over him, suddenly seeing him as the vulnerable one and you as the strong one compared to years ago, the roles reversing for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. We didn't mean to make you feel that way," he says in a regret-laden tone.

"Sorry doesn't change anything," you say, fighting back tears.

You watch him with your hard stare and sad eyes, feeling several tears fall down your cheeks, making you remember once again.

And once again without letting it drown you, you force yourself to push those memories away, all your moments of uncertainty, fear and pain, to brush your tears away from your cheeks with a strong look of determination.

"I will accept any legal consequences if there are any," you say suddenly, trying to keep your composure, "If there are legal actions, I'm willing to face them. But for now, I just want to be left alone, please."

"Y/N," Criston calls you cautiously, "I just want you to understand that we want to do the right thing now. And what we want to do is find a solution that works for you and for Aemond regarding him," he points to Aenar with his gaze behind you, "Something that guarantees your privacy while not damaging his public image."

Then all the effect of his words completely disappear on you.

You feel a surge of frustration, annoyance and despair at the realization that still the main concern remains Aemond's career.

"Do you still think about his career?" you ask with disappointment and resentment in your tone.

"Y/N—

"The most important thing here is my son," you stand strong, "But he seems to be only one aspect of Aemond's image, doesn't he?"

"Even after all this time that has passed, Aemond's career is more successful and even promising than before, that is something that neither you, him nor I should forget, let alone ignore," he tries to explain to you, "Aemond wants to fix things but his career must also be contemplated, please understand this Y/N."

"Then why do you say you want to do things the right way now if that is not true?" you inquire.

"Yes it is true," he clarifies, "But within all of this, his career must still be contemplated."

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to believe it.

"You say a lot of things Criston, but it's clear what matters most to you," you say with no emotion in your voice, "And sure, why shouldn't his career matter most to you? After all… you don't know what it's like to get pregnant, without support and go through the whole process by yourself, and then raise a child on your own, without the support of his father."

"I don't mean to—

"Please go away," you plead once more and this again alerts him.

"Y/N—

He tries to speak but the sound of the door echoes throughout the living room, drawing your full attention and Criston's as well.

The atmosphere again becomes heavier than before, as well as all your confidence disappears, already knowing who it is and you are confirmed by the fact that the person behind the door knocks more insistently, sounding desperate.

With your fearful gaze and your whole body tense, you quickly move towards Aenar, who is still playing completely oblivious to everything that is happening on the floor and you take him in your arms with haste but also care.

You hold him tightly against your body, as a way to protect him from everything outside and also from all people especially while trying to contain all your emotions.

And Criston, who also knows who it is, rushes to the door to open it.

And there on the doorway, the figure of Aemond comes into view, with all the desperation and longing in his gaze, the worry and anguish too, as you muster the courage to be able to look him in the eye again, holding Aenar a little more firmly against your chest.

But your son's body is visible to the eye and that's what makes Aemond completely paralyzed at the sight of you with his son in your arms.

Surprise is completely reflected in his whole look, immediately followed by a bunch of emotions that start to pile up in his whole being and want to come out, as he feels his whole body tense up and a feeling in his stomach invades him.

This leaves him and you in a state of momentary restlessness, where time seems to stand still and the silence is too loud. You, with your gaze fixed on him, try to keep your composure with a mixture of fear, insecurity and some determination to protect your son at all costs.

It didn't take long for Aemond's surprise to turn into a moment of awe and a surge of overwhelming emotions. The mere sight of you with his child in your arms triggers disbelief, pent-up longing and a feeling of suppressed joy.

"Y/N," Aemond calls your name in a whisper, his tone laden with surprise and visible regret, where his gaze can't tear away from you and Aenar.

You say nothing, just watch him back without saying anything, with all your emotions reflecting in your eyes.

The moment is just the three of you, so Criston turns away completely, not interfering and saying absolutely nothing, while you continue in your protective mode and Aemond is still processing this whole moment.

With excitement clashing against the surprise in his eyes, he tries to process the reality of having his son before him for the first time.

He searches for the right words to speak, but his stuck mind won't let him, nor will the lump in his throat and stomach as he continues to watch the scene in front of him; you with his son in your arms.

He tries to say something, but his lips barely half open and the words won't come out, feeling his heart beating too fast and hard.

And you with your gaze full of expectation, fear and caution, Aemond finally looks at you again, aware of all the emotional charge you feel, just like him, as well as your fear and distrust after everything that happened.

"C-can… can I come closer?"

He finally asks cautiously, his voice with a tone of longing and nervousness barely contained.

You hesitate at that moment.

Feeling the weight of the situation and the emotions that are triggered at that moment, despite everything, you feel very vulnerable and you also feel his vulnerability, also that longing to touch Aenar and hold him.

And despite the way he acted with you almost two years ago and also the way Criston and all his team treated you, you don't feel able to be as cruel as they were with you back then.

You don't want to be like them and also aware that this day would come sooner or later, you watch Aenar for a moment, leave a soft kiss on his forehead and again watch Aemond, then nod in his direction with a barely perceptible gesture.

You allow Aemond your closeness and he with extreme care begins to approach you slowly, as if fearing that a sudden movement could fade the magical and longing moment.

Aemond's heartbeat echoes in your ears as he finally stands in front of your son.

Aenar, completely oblivious to everything, senses the nearness of someone else and raises his curious gaze to Aemond, watching him with those bright blue eyes.

And upon seeing that man with the same hair color as his own, his eyes light up with a gleam of curiosity, lightly waving his arms and also his body.

With his teary eye, he watches you for a moment, to again focus on Aenar and with a mixture of excitement and awe, he extends one of his trembling hands towards his small, delicate face.

And when the touch of his fingers against his soft skin of his cheek makes itself felt, Aemond feels an unfamiliar sensation invade him completely.

A sad but honest smile full of melancholy appears on his lips as he gently and carefully traces his face, running his hand up to his silver hair, gazing intently into those blue eyes just like his own as Aenar watches him with that playful innocence but also just as curious as his own.

You, unsure of exactly what to feel or think, watch as he carefully reaches out both arms and begins to hold his body, feeling the warmth and weight of his small body now resting in his arms.

That unfamiliar, overwhelming feeling from before comes over him even more strongly as he holds his son for the first time, when Aenar lifts one of his hands and touches his left cheek, where his scar is.

The emotion makes his breath hitch as he struggles to hold back the tears of restrained happiness that will come at any moment.

It was a moment he had imagined countless times, but had never believed possible until this instant.

Aenar, captivated by the newness and warmth in the arms of Aemond, his father, laughs innocently, his eyes dazzling a happiness as he notices the familiarity in that new face above him. And at his gesture, Aemond lets out a choked laugh, completely captivated by him.

And unable to contain himself any longer, the first sob escapes his throat and the tears fall, instantly pulling his son's face to his chest, embracing him with gentleness and that security that makes him feel so vulnerable when Aenar settles perfectly in his arms.

Guilt, sadness, joy, emotion, everything invades him in that moment.

And he lets out more tears for the comfort that Aenar gives him in his arms, that feeling of protection and even… love, that makes him feel even more vulnerable.

And you are still there, close to them but giving Aemond his space, watching everything attentively with your heart in a fist and feeling sensations you had not felt before at the scene, with tears also wanting to slide down your cheeks.

After a few more seconds, Aemond slurps his nose and looks over Aenar's small shoulder at you with all the vulnerability in his gaze.

"I-I know I don't deserve this," he says with his voice cracking, trying to control himself but he can't.

And he is about to say something else but you watching his expression, a mixture of regret and deep sadness, you step forward to speak.

"In spite of everything, he deserves to know his father," you murmur with your trembling voice and teary eyes, "Aenar deserves this," you assure him, accepting it as you watch the scene of the two of them.

Aemond nods, unable to articulate words, still feeling the lump in his throat, his face reflecting pain, regret and a sadness you have never seen in him before, as his tears continue to fall as he embraces his son.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, unable to contain the emotion, turning to him and to you. "I'm so sorry. I-I didn't know how to face it…how to be there."

Silence again settles throughout the apartment, only being filled by Aemond's soft crying, as you silently weep and continue to watch the two of them.

A few minutes have passed since Aemond and your son met for the first time.

Aenar laughs with delight as Aemond plays with him with one of his toys. They are both immersed in a little world of fun where it's just the two of them, surrounded by Legos blocks, small plastic cars and puppets.

You watch everything, or almost everything, without interfering and giving them both their space, watching your son enjoy a special moment that on another occasion, could have been a daily routine with a different life.

Criston doesn't say or do anything either, he at all times stands in the corner watching the whole interaction, letting Aemond have his moment with his son, genuinely feeling happy for him.

And even though the scene makes you feel warm in your heart, being a scene you longed for before, you still still feel insecure, afraid and overwhelmed by this whole situation.

This doesn't really change anything. You have only given Aemond the opportunity to meet his son because your son deserves it, nothing more.

Inside you are still just as scared and in expectation that at any moment this whole 'beautiful' moment will fade away. And that's exactly what happens when you hear Criston's voice all over the living room.

"I wouldn't want to ruin the moment, truly," he says seriously and honestly, "But it's important that we talk about all this so we can resolve it properly."

This immediately catches your attention and also Aemond's, with whom you exchange a quick glance, again feeling your whole body tremble and out of the same nervousness you are overcome with the impulse to take your son in your arms to feel safe.

"It is important that we talk about the child, about what you are going to do now," he turns to Aemond, "Custody is important and all that goes with it."

"I don't understand why you keep talking about custody," you look at him nervously and annoyed, "I alone have cared for and raised Aenar all this time."

"I know this is complicated and sudden, Y/N," Criston tells you, "But we need to approach this whole thing responsibly."

"Responsibility?" you repeat incredulously, "What responsibility are you exactly talking about?"

"Y/N," Aemond immediately interjects, "Listen to me, please," he gets up from the floor leaving Aenar playing alone and walks towards you, "It's not my intention to take our son away from you, truly. But we must make sure we have legal rights to be in his life," he explains to you, "You were the one who ran away, who disappeared without a word. I didn't know what happened to you."

You look at him uncomprehendingly, with your hurt and desperate gaze.

"You talk about custody and rights when in the beginning that was the last thing on your mind, Aemond," you observe him incredulously, "And you keep reproaching me for running away when you know perfectly well that I did it so I could live and so I wouldn't ruin your career, which was all you were thinking about."

Regret again invades Aemond's face, as the atmosphere becomes denser, full of mixed emotions where fear and anger resurfaces with everything else.

Any trace of calm and peace, has ceased to exist, only being perceived by Aenar, who continues oblivious and innocent to all this in his games.

"I-I…" Aemond tries to speak, "I'm sorry for everything, Y/N. But back then...

His sentence hangs in suspense, not knowing what else to say, trying to find the right words without wanting to generate more tension, but that's what he involuntarily does.

"Back then," you repeat, your emotions running high, "Back then you were too busy taking care of your public image, supporting the idea of an abortion without consulting me, then supporting the idea of hiding me and my child as if we were a problem, which in fact we were and as if it was my only option, leaving me with no alternatives," you express with frustration and pain marked in every word.

Regret remains in Aemond's facial expressions, looking visibly affected by your words, grief-stricken and with a regret throughout his body that affirms to him that you are absolutely right, each word being like a dagger straight to his heart.

"Y-you don't know how much I regret and blame myself for all of that, Y/N," he tells you with vulnerability in his tone, "And I know I don't deserve it, any of this, not even that you allowed me to meet him and that I'm now in the same place as him," he says with regret, "But I want to find a solution that works for both of us," he whispers sadly.

The room is again consumed by silence, except for the sound of Aenar's toy movements, which is what catches Aemond's attention for a moment to smile a little more melancholy.

The situation becomes increasingly complex as your emotions continue to run high between anger and sadness, with the memory of past times still latent, but also with the uncertainty of the future.

And Criston, trying to keep calm, intervenes again.

"I understand that you both have different perspectives on what happened. But now we need to think about the future, of your son," he says seriously, "It's not just about custody, it's about finding a way to strike a fair balance, but… thinking about your career too, Aemond."

You let out a disbelieving, ironic snort again, shaking your head.

"His career,'" you repeat with a bitter tone, your voice a mixture of sarcasm and disappointment.

Aemond, watching you sadly and remorsefully, speaks in a calm but regret-laden voice.

"I don't want you to look at this that way, Y/N—

"That's just the way I see it," you interrupt him, serious and sad, "This is exactly why I left. This is why when I saw you again, I decided to run away again," you say hurt, "Now that you've met him, you want to be in his life, but you still prefer to hide us. This kind of life is the one you wanted to give us at the beginning and now you still do too."

Your revelations Aemond had already heard, but at that moment, again that sharp pain in his chest becomes present, as well as guilt, remorse and regret at seeing your sad face with such honest words.

"All I want is to come to an agreement, Y/N, please—

"You're not going to hide us," you interrupt him firmly.

"Aemond," he calls him seriously.

"No, that's not my intention—

He insists desperately but Criston intervenes.

"Don't," Aemond interrupts him instantly, turning serious and with an annoyed expression towards him, "We can't hide the truth anymore, Criston. Things must change."

"Look, I understand that this is difficult for you," he begins in a serious and cautious tone, "But still, we must consider the consequences. There's a lot at stake here, your career," he reminds him, "You have numerous job offers. Your show on HBO is the most famous show on the platform and the most watched show on television so far. How do you think people are going to react when they find out about your son?"

The room sinks into another silence, as you watch him with your hard, sad face, frustration, annoyance and irritation inside you, watching as Criston continues to treat your son like he's a problem.

And it hurts you.

Because Aemond doesn't even say anything.

"We can find a way to handle all this without putting at risk everything you have achieved, Aemond. And if you get a share of the custody, your son will be under your protection without harming your image," he proposes with an insistent look, seeking his approval.

You look away again, completely incredulous and with helplessness all over you.

It's not Aemond, it's Criston.

It is he who continues to manipulate Aemond to prioritize his career over his son, so that everything revolves around public image and fame, diverting attention from the well-being of your son.

And what can you really do there?

He is his agent, the person who has positioned him where he is now, making him famous, relevant, telling him what roles to take in movies or TV shows that are going to ensure one more success to his career.

"If you listen to him…" you begin to say in his direction with a trembling but firm tone, "If you do what he tells you, I swear I won't care what I have to do, even go into debt to get a good lawyer," you warn, "I will fight for the custody of Aenar and when I get it, I assure you that you will never see him again, ever."

Your words slip from your lips with a determination that completely surprises Aemond, surprise and concern visible on his face, watching you hurt for a moment, his mind a complete mess.

But it is not he who speaks, but Criston who takes the floor once more.

"If that's what you want, Y/N… that's fine," he tells you seriously, his gaze cold and calculating. "But let me warn you, we're trying to come to an agreement—

"The two of you or you specifically?" you snap at him.

"That doesn't matter, Aemond is my client and my job is to secure and protect his career," he tells you seriously, "And if you'd rather take this to fighting for full custody of Aenar, then so be it," he nods at you, "But I assure you, you're going to end up losing."

"That's enough."

Finally, Aemond's voice rises from where he stands, aimed directly at Criston, with a serious, hard stare that reveals a newfound determination.

"We are talking about our son, an issue that concerns her and me, this has nothing to do with you," he declares, his tone firm and his posture defiant.

"Your career has to do with me," he clarifies to her also serious, "You must think about what you are going to sacrifice. Your future, your career, the opportunities that await you-

"I said that's enough," he spits back at her, serious and annoyed, watching him with a hard stare, taking Criston by surprise.

And before he can say anything else, there is another knock on the door, drawing your full attention and making you feel completely alert, especially when Criston is the one who again goes to open the door, as if he knows exactly who it is.

And as you open the door, just like that day, Aemond's publicist, an assistant and the PR people enter your apartment.

Surprise flashes all over your face, watching with your eyes wide open the unexpected arrival of that group of people, whose intentions are not good.

"Thank you for coming," Criston tells them as he closes the door behind him.

"Of course."

Their eyes flick to you for a moment and then focus on Aenar, watching them back with curiosity in their gaze, while you feel confusion and fear completely take over you.

Despair, fear, your future, Aenar, everything mixes together in a horrible way that makes you want to vomit, letting out a couple of tears to quickly turn to your son and hold him in your arm, turning your back to them and starting to cry silently.

And Aemond, seeing your reaction, equally as surprised as you, quickly turns to Criston, his gaze full of confusion and annoyance.

"What is this? Why have you called them?" he inquires with his voice full of restrained anger.

And Criston, unabashed and uncaring of his actions, responds with a calm but calculated determination.

"We are not going before a jury to settle this, Aemond, it will be a waste of time and she will cause us more trouble," he says regardless, "This is necessary for your career, to address this whole issue strategically to protect your image, whether she likes it or not."

Aemond's expression transforms to one of frustration and helplessness.

But before he can intervene, his entire team begins to act.

"We need to establish an immediate plan, now," Criston says.

"Will the strategy be to minimize the impact on the media?" asks the publicity man.

"No, I want it hidden," Criston clarifies, "The approach must be careful and calculated. The priority is Aemond's reputation and career."

"I suggest we limit the exposure of Y/N and the child in public."

"We could create an alternative narrative to deflect attention by highlighting Aemond's professional accomplishments and minimizing the focus on his personal life."

"This must be handled with discretion. We cannot allow this situation to interfere with Aemond's career opportunities," Criston says firmly.

And so your entire living room fills with the sound of all those voices, each voice contributing ideas to control the situation, the problems, Aenar and you.

The tension intensifies, as everyone meticulously plans how to run the public narrative, completely ignoring Aemond's and your personal needs and concerns.

Tears slip down your cheeks silently as you hug Aenar tightly to your chest. This instantly catches the attention of Aemond, who steps worriedly towards you, placing his hand on your shoulder, positioning himself in front of you, but you abruptly pull away from him, watching him with an expression of pain and anguish amidst your tears and suffering face.

"Y/N—

"Why are you doing this? Why are you allowing this?" you ask in your broken, desperate voice.

"No, I swear to you I had no idea that he—

"I left, Aemond," you remind him with your voice cracking, "I left to save your career. And everything was fine, with you and me, our lives," you sob, "Why did you ask Criston to find me? Why do you care and insist on saying you want to be in our lives, when your career is still the most important thing?"

Pain and confusion echo in your words, lingering in the mind of Aemond, who in his gaze reflects a mixture of guilt, bewilderment, pain and sadness.

But everything hurts him more the moment you turn away from him, with a defeated gesture, turning your back to him and your whole body trembling in fear, Aenar in your arms being what gives you strength not to fall apart at that moment.

"We can prepare official statements to control the leaking information to minimize any negative impact on his public reputation."

"Rest assured that we need to maintain full control of this situation. We cannot allow any details to slip out," Aemond hears Criston's voice.

And that's when something snaps inside him.

Every repressed feeling bursts out in a whirlwind of emotions that were fighting to get out, your worry, the anger at himself and the guilt that invades him.

Everything explodes and ignites into a fury that he can no longer contain, seeing your state, causing him anger and feeling completely guilty.

Because everything is in fact his fault.

So without waiting a second longer, he walks to the center of the living room and with a hard, serious, completely annoyed look on his face and with his jaw clenched, he acts.

"Get out of here, all of you, now!" he exclaims, instantly drawing everyone's attention and yours as well.

For an instant everyone watches him and nothing else, slightly surprised and expectant, Criston too, unmoving and doing nothing, causing you a wave of despair.

"I said everyone out!" he exclaims in a firm voice and his gaze full of determination.

And it's only then that one by one the team finally leaves your apartment, except for Criston.

"What are you doing?" he inquires with a touch of disbelief in his tone, challenging Aemond.

"You get out of here too."

He orders him annoyed and with irritation, his voice charged with a frustration that has already reached its limit.

"Aemond, this is important, you can't just—

"I need to talk to Y/N alone," he interrupts her with his tone in a mixture of anger and determination, "I'm warning you, Criston. If you ever do anything else again without consulting me and interfering with this, I'm going to seriously consider firing you, which is what I should have done long ago," he shoots back at him with his defiant stare.

The pulse of the room beats with unbearable intensity as Aemond and Criston hold a duel of intense stares. However, in the face of Aemond's firmness, Criston finally resigns himself with a serious, annoyed look, full of frustration and resignation.

And finally he heads for the door, his footsteps sounding in the room as he leaves the apartment.

Aemond watches him leave with a mixture of relief and exhaustion, no longer feeling his shoulders tense. The silence expands once more as soon as the door closes and he turns to you with a gaze filled with a quiet, worried intensity.

The silence lingers for a few moments longer, a dense atmosphere charged with unspoken emotions. When he takes a step toward you, hesitantly.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice ringing with sincerity and regret, "What happened, my insistence… none of this was my intention, much less to cause you pain and hurt you," he admits with his vulnerability again reflected.

And even though it's just you and him in your apartment, your fear lingers.

"P-please don't take my son from me," you plead between sobs, your voice filled with anguish and fear.

Aemond's heart contracts in suffering and worry at your words, his gaze instantly reflecting it.

"What? No, no, Y/N… that is not what I want to do, it is not my intention to take our son from you."

He tells you instantly insistent but in a serene and sincere voice, taking a few more steps towards you, placing himself in front of you, trying to reassure you. But tears continue to slide down your cheeks.

"This is why I left, so I wouldn't cause you any more trouble, so I could live and keep our son safe," you repeat with your voice cracking.

"I know, Y/N, I know," he tells you sympathetically and with a soft tone, "And you don't know how much I hate myself for having been the cause of you deciding to leave, for having hurt you so much to the point of having made that decision," he says sincerely, his eye beginning to tear up, "And this is not just about him, about our son," he tries to explain, "Yes, it is important, but it is also about us," he speaks with a longing, "Since you left, I never stopped thinking about you, and I-I...

He hesitates, unable to fully express his feelings, as he stands in front of you and wants to hold you, you and your son, as he faces his deepest emotions, feeling a tear run down his cheek and looks at you with all the sincerity and pain in his gaze.

"I love you," he finally says, in a completely vulnerable whisper, trembling, lowering his gaze, unable to look you in the eye, "Despite everything, despite my mistakes, despite my work, despite everything that happened…. I-I still love you," he declares in a whisper laden with longing and regret, "And our son too."

His words get stuck in your mind.

With your heart clenched by the surge of emotions, your eyes watch him back with a mixture of surprise, pain and longing. Aemond's sincerity and vulnerability... it's all too much and makes you feel completely helpless, definitely not expecting that.

You can't speak, your words get stuck in your throat, your heart fluttering with the intensity of the moment, your surprise.

And Aemond completely understands your silence.

"I understand that you don't love me anymore and that you can't love me again, I also understand that things can't go back to the way they used to be because of my job. But please… don't keep running away," he pleads quietly, "We won't fight over custody, there will be no legal repercussions, I'm not going to do any of that," he assures you, "Just…" he lets out a long breath, "Just get back to work and let's face this together."

He proposes with his voice full of fragile but hopeful determination, unexpectedly causing you to feel a relief and a warm feeling in your chest.

"I just want Aenar to be okay and let's consider his well-being as the most important thing," you say quietly, while Aemond listens attentively with his face full of longing, regret and understanding, "But we need time and patience. Also that no one else interferes."

Aemond nods, with a slightly more relieved expression, but keeping in mind that there is much to resolve, to heal and to build.

"I understand that and… I'm willing to do whatever it takes… for him and for you," he says sincerely.

You nod too, as silence takes over again, but this time it is permeated with a shared understanding and a determination to face whatever is necessary for Aenar's well-being.

And finally after so much, you feel calm and fortunately, this time with the support of Aemond, who hesitantly leaves a gentle kiss on your forehead and another on Aenar's forehead, taking him back into his arms.

taglist:

@imaegonstargaryenswife0 @bellstwd @gibbsgirl7 @toodlesxcuddles @imsoshygirl @croatianprincess @gemini-mama @a-little-roony-mara @mysteris-things @zenka69 @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @duds31 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @eternally-passionate @bellaisasleep @ttkttt @aemshaircare @mellowdreamlandpost-blog @noodle81937 @mooncalvin @queenofshinigamis @n4tforlife @vexladin @dixie-elocin @wotcherpeak @watercolorskyy @shiny-trashs-blog @strangersunghoon @elysian0612 @skzenhalove @iloveallmyboys

next part taglist:

@anehkael

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen angst #modern aemond #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell fandom #ewan mitchell characters

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ellesthots · 5 days ago

Text

Fateful Beginnings

XLII. “2am”

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce struggles to contain himself after your impromptu meeting.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, arguing/belittling

words: 5k

a/n: i love them together so much AHHH even when they’re being them…

You’d found an old deli, Mallozzi’s, on the east side of the Tricorner bridge. The word sever echoed between your eardrums like a march; it was why you hadn’t called Bruce for backup, even though you were headed to Crown Point past sundown.

Even the taxis were superstitious; Uber and Lyft hadn’t let you hitch a ride here at this hour, and the taxi driver who did made sure to drop you off on the closest main street—a quarter mile walk to your destination. You’d charged your taser this time, and set your phone to send all emergency contacts your precise location with only two clicks. You’d worn all black to try and blend into the shadows, going so far as to don black eyeshadow, lipstick, and a thick beanie beneath a baggy hoodie. A small insignia of GU was embroidered into the breast, the only thing you’d had the money to buy at orientation two years ago.

The hustle and bustle was overwhelming downtown, but the lack of it here was eerie. Every splash of your foot in a puddle was loud enough to startle. Fall’s chill crept in with every passing day, a reminder that you’d helped get people off these streets. It helped steel your nerves. If they had endured frigid winters and the constant threat of violence, you could handle one meetup. Especially with Batman on speed dial.

You winced. Severing.

The afternoon floated around your thoughts as you made your way through the damp streets, interpolated with particularly destroyed buildings that made you run away with stories of how heinous the flood had been. Wiped out this entire neighborhood. Some of it looked flattened. You stepped around a massive hole in the concrete; it started in the middle of the street, its arms reaching the sidewalk on either side. Maybe a pipe had burst in the flooding. Had they truly not had the budget to fix this place up? Never before had you seen such blatant classism; one of the poorest neighborhoods blown to shreds, untouched two full years later. People here didn’t give a single shit.

It had been too easy to convince yourself to come here—the situation at Arkham had perked your ears to something awry, and the timing of this was too convenient. You’d tried responding with some questions: what is this concerning, is this to the right person? but it hadn’t gone through. Whoever wanted to meet didn’t want to risk it being traced. Which only made you curious. You also wanted to challenge the idea that this was the most dangerous area of Gotham; you couldn’t trust a damn thing this city said when they made their priorities so transparent.

Taking this anonymous meeting was also a welcome distraction from having to deliberate on Dr. Crane’s orders, which distracted you from wondering what you’d do when you got home, which distracted you from your mom, which distracted you from staring into the abyss of likely having to start your life from scratch in a small town with no friends nearby, only potholed roads and weathered church buildings to talk to. And Walter.

Which distracted you from another glaring situation: whatever the hell had happened in his shower the night before, and the potential depth of that yearning. Your mind lingered there, haunting you. Taunting you. Last night had made everything real. Clicked so much into place. Why you kept coming back, why you felt so frustratingly drawn to him. Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne…

Right. Severing.

Mallozzi’s looked like it might have been a great shop in its heyday; now, the shingles were half gone, windows busted, every corner encrusted with mold. Mildew and sawdust singed your nostrils as you entered, the glass door barely opening wide enough for you to squeeze through. A quick sweep of the room revealed you were alone. Stepping over broken glass and copious amounts of rat poop, you managed to find a single stool that hadn’t been ripped to shreds and situated there. Your heart hurt looking around, reminding you of how it felt watching mom and pop shops close up in rural Washington. The countertops had what appeared to be hand-sculpted designs on each square, color-coordinated with the faded faux awning above the destroyed registers.

Two minutes, then five. The more time passed, the greater your inkling that following this had been a mistake. Would it have been so bad to ask Bruce to cover for you? Climb on a roof somewhere and keep lookout, just in case?

A hinge creaked ten past two. A hooded figure had wedged the door wider than you’d managed, and you thumbed your taser in your left hand. They had both hands tucked into their pockets, head down, and it was impossible to tell if they were a danger yet. Impossible to tell if this was even who you were meant to meet with. They’d given no descriptors, no street name. You opened your mouth, but they spoke first. Stating your first and last name like a bored secretary, with the voice of someone in their late twenties, maybe thirties. You nodded, apprehensive. “That’s me.”

They pulled up a stool you’d avoided, too encrusted in dirt that looked very much like poop, but the stranger dusted it off with the back of their hand and sat. Their hood was cinched tight. You could make out tanned skin in the light from the smoggy moon that danced off the puddles, but that was it.

“You need to leave Gotham.” It wasn’t said like a threat, but it registered like one. You almost heard it in Bruce’s voice, and for a millisecond you considered if he’d set this up. Sent someone to unsettle you, convince you to leave. Maybe he’d figured you’d be more eager to listen to a stranger than the billionaire vigilante who definitely didn’t have ulterior motives for getting you out of his hair.

“Why?” Wanting them to think you weren’t easily intimidated, you kept measured. Bruce may have been able to x-ray vision through your chest to see your pounding heart, but…

“If you don’t leave now, you’ll get yourself killed.” A shrill noise of air pulling into cold lungs, a small puff of air exploding between you. “Housing people in Point put a target on your back.” Another breath, increasingly shallow. Like being in here was a trigger.

“Associating with Bruce Wayne was enough to save you for now, but do not count on it. If you can even trust him.”

As great your desire to follow the Bruce of it all, you narrowed your focus. Claiming to foresee your imminent death was quite the opener. “How do you know I’m a target?”

The stranger shuffled in their seat, teeth beginning to chatter. “Everyone who tries to clean up the city is. Especially young women.”

“W—”

Their voice was firmer, stronger now. “Listen to me. Crawling around Arkham, City Hall, Bruce Wayne, Oz Cobb. You take one wrong step and you’re cooked.” You noted a subtle gleam in their eyes as they lingered on your sweatshirt.

“Why would they care about hurting me?”

“You’re sticking your nose in their shit.” Their voice was caustic now, frustrated that you weren’t rolling over and following orders. “Look what happened to the mayor. The task force she set up discovered the DA was funneling money to Arkham, yet the facilities remained unchanged. Next thing you know.” The stranger took their hands out of their pockets and slapped them against their thighs. “They all end up there.”

“What do you mean ‘they all’?”

“That’s precisely what’ll get you killed. Stop asking questions.”

Your voice rose without conscious awareness. “If something like this is going on in the city,”

“It is, and you aren’t able to stop it.” The stranger stood up to leave, and you mirrored them.

“I could use my connections at G—”

“You don’t think we’ve tried that?” They whipped their head around so fast they gripped the crumbling countertop for balance. “You see any other young buck journalists out here? You stick your nose in shit, you’re gonna get shit. I left after my apartment got hit. Never looked back.”

“You were a journalist here in Gotham?” No wonder they’re giving me a warning.

“And now I hide in bushes all day so they don’t remember I’m alive.”

You knew it was pushing it, but adrenaline was coursing through your veins. “Who is ‘they’?”

“Bye.”

“So other journalists have been killed here?”

“I might be the only one who hasn’t.”

Dr. Vry probably wanted to know about something like this; something to help protect the journalism students, maybe some leads into who had gone missing and when. She seemed so desperate for people to join the program, and this could explain the low numbers for the major. Their refrain echoed: ‘you don’t think we’ve tried that?’ “Why hasn’t this been picked up?”

“It’s Gotham. People die here.” They said it like a recycled political headline. “Especially if they’re tuities.” They gestured to your sweatshirt and the taser in your hand, clues you were only here for the scholarship. “Go back to wherever the hell you came from. And hope that’s far enough.”

“This is why you didn’t want me to bring anyone.”

“If you speak of this, I’m fucking dead. We both are, so I guess that’s some good stakes.” The stranger was halfway to the exit, your thoughts swimming.

You grasped for any drop you could squeeze out of them, certain you’d never cross paths again. “Do you know the names of the other journalists?”

“No.”

They couldn’t leave you with nothing. Make vague, disparaging comments about leaving, then drop you into the pit. Your frustration bled out. “Sounds like you do, but you don’t want to tell me.”

They turned around, slowly this time. “Yeah.” Their chuckle was dry and humorless. “You’re as good as dead.” You swallowed hard, and they heaved a hissing sigh. “I know you think you’re doing good, but you are nothing but a pebble at the bottom of that goddamn river.”

Your heart sank.

“You want to do something good? Stay alive, and go make the world a better place somewhere else. They’ll knock you out like a straw house.” The stranger turned around, yanked the doorhandle, and slipped into the night.

You didn’t stay long. The wind cut through your hoodie, and it was a brutal endeavor being alone in such an environment after what you’d just heard. Thankfully you’d written the number of the taxi service who’d driven you, but they wouldn’t answer. After enough phone calls, perusing Scypher to see if tragedy had stricken the city, you decided you’d have to walk until an Uber could meet you on a main street. On this side of town that would take a half hour, minimum.

You slunk through the alleyways with dim lighting, avoiding ones as dark as the pits of hell. Something about them felt familiar; if they’d been part of the group offered housing, why hadn’t they taken it? Were they completely alone, unable to live with someone under a different name? If their life now was relegated to hiding in shrubs, they probably wouldn’t mind hiding in a warm apartment. Funneling money to Arkham? Lashing out at journalists for looking into it? City Hall, Bruce Wayne, Oz Cobb? Who the hell is Oz Cobb?

A noise down the alleyway scared you into turning around. A few streets over you saw a flickering streetlight, and set off toward it. You struggled to keep your thoughts clear, the decision of whether or not to leave Gotham sitting like a rock. Was it futile to chase this? Had they tried talking to Dr. Vry? Now the president of GU, she had more sway. Who else was locked up in Arkham? Bella Reál had been scrambling to get out. No one cared. The abruptness of Dr. Crane’s covering of the window, his thinly-veiled threats. Severing.

At his next prescription pickup. A week and a half away. Maybe you could poke around for a week, and if you didn’t find anything you would leave. Maybe you’d still leave, and send any tips over to Bruce for Batman to work through. Point him in some direction, a parting gift, a lead he didn’t have to work himself to the bone to find. Something to make his life a little bit easier.

But what if they did kill you? Would they leave you alone after leaving the city, thinking you were no longer a threat? Would that open things up, now farther away from Bruce Wayne’s reach? Was that article the only reason you were alive right now? Would they hit you after the hype died down? Once you began to fret over if they’d tapped your internet service, you reminded yourself you were wandering alone around dark, ghoulish streets in Gotham City. This wasn’t the place to mull anything over.

Chasing the streetlights left you unsure of where led to a main road. All the brick looked the same, the monotonous crumby concrete under your feet giving no sense of direction. Intermittent shouts and clanging metal frightened you more than it should have. You were weak. Too soft. Used to leaving cars unlocked on the road for a quick trip. Never carrying a bike lock. Finding yourself in a city where any publicly parked car would be smashed by morning.

Severing. Your thumb hovered over Bruce’s contact, and your stomach somersaulted. Creeping butterflies, heat rising to your cheeks. For a second the air didn’t hurt your lungs and the darkness wasn’t scary. Childlike crush. Somehow bright and innocent despite the tangle of lies it was covered in.

You put your phone to your ear. You knew better than to keep wandering; at least no one had seen you yet, noticed you as a target. Mar and Rai didn’t have cars; he was your only ticket out.

“Hey. Everything alright?” He didn’t open by saying your name—like he’d come to expect talking to you. Too enamored by the sound of his voice, the words didn’t fall out of you. Only a few hours apart felt too long. How the hell were you going to leave next week?

He said your name now, a worried edge to his voice. “You okay?”

“Are you busy?”

He paused.

What did you mean by that? He leaned back in the seat of the Batmobile, deliberating. The armor of his suit crunched against it, a noise he was so used to it didn’t register. Half past two in the morning. You didn’t sound distressed. Maybe you’d had a nightmare? Calmed yourself down a bit before calling?

“What do you need?” He bit back a million questions when you asked for a ride out of Crown Point. He’d wanted you to stay on the line, but you assured him of your safety, though he wasn’t at all convinced. His phone pinged with your location share, and he rushed like every word of yours had been spoken in code.

He found you at the end of a dark alleyway, one that barely fit the Batmobile with enough space to open the passenger door. It crunched open, not used to being utilized, and you thunked into the seat. He scanned you for injury as you buckled in—nothing. Now persuaded of your safety, chills peppered his skin remembering how you’d caressed him the last time you were in here.

The cabin glowed with a pink and purple haze when you entered. Felt his shoulder pads dig in. The restriction of the belt and his taut leather gloves. The sound of the world shutting off around him. Alongside this crush (he withheld a visible cringe), worry bloomed. He drove under a streetlight and noticed black makeup adorning your face. Black hoodie, black pants. You’d wanted to blend in.

His hands tightened around the wheel, bracing himself for something terrible. Had you been threatened? Coerced into something? Fell into some shady deal? “What are you doing in Point this late?”

He felt your hesitation like a brick of cement. If you hadn’t been up to something, you would’ve shot back with a defense before he’d finished his sentence. Was this related to how you’d acted over lunch? Withdrawn, sullen?

“Following a lead.” Out of the corner of his eye he watched your lips purse into a thin line. You had more to say. He didn’t like the feeling inching between you, widening the gap.

If you wanted to tell him what lead, you would have. What was of greater concern was if you were safe. Though he didn’t think you’d be particularly honest. “At two in the morning?” That didn’t come out right. Neither had his tone; it was verging on scolding. He reigned it in when you turned to look out the window. “I need to know if you’re in danger.”

“Need to know.”

His eyes narrowed, your scoff hitting him like a punch. Where was this coming from? “I can help.” His patience was wearing thin as anxiety bit at him.

“You are. By giving me a ride home.” You turned your head even further away. Your tone was clipped. He slowed to a stop, his intuition screaming at him. At least he hoped it was logic and sense, not some twisting of this newfound infatuation.

You looked at him like you were ready to jump from the car, angry, when he faced you. Your shoulders slumped when he met your gaze. He wondered if you could sense how nervous he was. How worried he was. How gutting it was to feel like you weren’t being honest with him.

“If you’re in any sort of danger, I want to know.” He swallowed, and you looked away. Again. Shit, you were, weren’t you? Why else would you be in this part of town right now? He moved closer, as if it would help you hear him. As if the only problem was you couldn’t make out his words. “Please.”

“Stop.” You squeezed your eyes shut and wrung your hands in your lap. He thought his heart might give out. “It’s nothing.”

Your cuticles were shredded, your skin flushing light with the force of your grip. Did you want to speak, but felt like you couldn’t? “Did they say not to tell anyone?”

Your lashes fluttered. He leaned closer, wishing he could take off the cowl, but he hadn’t spent enough time in Point lately to know if any security cameras still recorded out here. Your face would be shrouded enough from the shadow he kept you in as he drove close to the alley walls. He softened his voice to make up for the harsh lines and bullet marks in his armor. He didn’t want to intimidate right now. “You can tell me anything. No matter what they told you.”

You were continuously looking back with rose colored glasses at the snarky, mean-spirited man he used to be. How roughly he used to handle you, like he didn’t care if you broke into a million pieces. Nice Bruce, kind Bruce, caring Bruce was impossible to dismiss. How little could you give him where he’d be satisfied? What would make the wheels of this car start turning? He looked stressed and frayed. You couldn’t put any more on him. “A journalism thing. One of the people I think we offered housing, just talked about it.”

As usual, nothing slipped by him, undeterred by your contrived nonchalance. Why did you have to get in cahoots with the single most focused, discerning person in existence? “This was the only time you both had available?”

“They didn’t want to meet during the day.”

“Who were they?”

“They didn’t want to reveal their identity.”

His brow furrowed, voice raising a few decibels. “You didn’t know who they were before coming to Crown Point alone in the middle of the night?”

“This is starting to sound like a lecture.” Your taser fell from your side onto the ground, and he flexed his jaw. You tensed, bracing for an argument. “I came prepared, okay?”

His tone kept restrained. For now. “What if they’d had a gun? What if they’d brought others?”

“They didn’t.”

“What exactly did you talk about?”

It was hard not to lie again. It was hard not to tell the truth. Hard being in the car with him. “It’s private.”

“Are you meeting with them again?”

“No.”

“If you do something like this in the future, let me know beforehand.”

Won’t have to worry about that for very long. Little did Bruce know, you’d be out of his hair before the end of the month. Maybe he’d throw a party. Christen the halls of Wayne Tower with the aimless whimsy of the public getting a peek into his world.

He bristled at your laugh. You weren’t taking this seriously, and it was imperative that you did. Painfully so. “Will you?”

“Please, I want to get home. I’m tired.”

Begrudgingly, with a plan to bring it up later, he released the brake and started downtown. You drove in silence through back alleys and the occasional tunnel until your guilt got too big. Watching his hands tighten and loosen around the wheel, his blinking speed up. He deserved something.

“Do you know anything about someone named Oz Cobb?”

The car slammed to a halt; the seatbelt clicked hard into place, shoving you back into the seat. “Is that who you met with?”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Is that who you met with?”

His tone scared you. Jagged and deep, like shards of glass. “Jesus fuck, no!”

“How do you know him?” His eyes were cast in shadow, his face a blob of black leather. Gone was the tentative, concerned Bruce—maybe you liked when he handled you gently. The rosy glasses were falling off your face. Who the hell was Oz to have him act like this?

“I don’t.”

“Have you ever spoken with him outside of City Hall?”

City Hall? You never spoke to anyone there.

“Have you?”

Interrogative. No longer was this a conversation between allies. The car cramped under the weight of his gravelly tone, his armor coming off far more aggressive. You wouldn’t let him know that. “Just drive.”

“Absolutely not.” He wasn’t leaving until you understood. Your frustration was a small price to pay for making you understand that your life would be at risk, that Oz was dangerous, that keeping things like this from him was a death sentence.

“So you’re stranding me here?”

He made his voice stronger, feeling it begin to shake. “Don’t ever go near him.”

You didn’t say anything.

“I said don’t ever go near him.” He felt nauseous. And faint. Intrusive images of you lying with a bullet through your skull made his vision go in and out. Made him nervous to look at you, though he still did.

“You don’t control me.”

“Promise me you’ll never go near him.” His pulse raced in his ears.

“I can do whatever the hell I want.” If he didn’t drop it this second… His tone was venomous when he next spoke.

“He’ll kill you.”

You rolled your eyes wide enough for him to see. Now you could see him, his eyes flashing, then narrowing, his mouth tensing into a snarl. “A lot of things could.”

“Promise me.”

Sounded like a threat. You looked around, pretending to be bored, your blood boiling over as you began to feel like a hostage.

He was on the brink of a panic attack. “Promise me, goddammit!”

You gasped out your response, shocked his voice had risen to such a yell. “Don’t talk to me like that, what the fuck?”

“You’re telling me to let you hold a loaded gun to your head and pull the trigger.”

“Take me home.”

“Tell me you’re not that stupid.”

“Fuck off.”

A wheeze squeezed from his constricted throat. Yeah, he was about to pass out. “If you don’t want me to track you,”

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Are you planning to meet with him?”

You stared at your lap. You. Still. Weren’t. Listening.

“Answer me.”

Your nose turned up at him. “Your intimidation is less effective when you know it’s just you under that fucking suit.”

“You need to know how serious this is.”

“Take. Me. Home.” The steadiness of your voice was fading as helplessness crept in. You turned to look out the window.

You started hashing at your cuticles. His voice was softer, though marginally. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“You need to listen, please—”

“TAKE ME HOME.”

Bruce reached out to touch your elbow, but you yanked your arm away so fast your wrist slapped against the glass. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not accepting any apology until I’m back.”

The silence breathed for a few seconds, interrupted eventually by the clicking of gears. After a few streets you recognized the turns, the knot in your stomach loosening. The whiplash of twenty-four hours ago put a lump in your throat.

A few minutes later he pulled into the signature alleyway. You hustled to unbuckle, the sound of small clinking rattling your ears. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed he was shivering.

“I’m sorry, everything I say is coming out wrong,” his voice was weak and bruised.

“You don’t own me.” You unclicked the buckle.

“I know.” A humorless laugh fell from his lips, and you stiffened. He shook his head like he hadn’t meant for it to occur. “That’s the thing, I know I don’t. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

He took off his cowl, sighing as he held it in his lap. A football field of distance sat between you, and he felt it like a hot branding iron. “I’m sorry for not taking you home when you asked.”

Tears stung your eyes. “Don’t ever act like that again.”

Bruce’s face contorted with pain as he watched you bite your cheek and blink back tears. He nodded. “I’m sorry. You’re not stupid. I was way out of line.”

You resumed fiddling with your hands. A light patter of rain dusted the windshield and echoed off the metal roofing. You didn’t know what to say to him. Each time you thought you were past something, it circled back.

“I won’t track you. I already said I wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You’re fucking mean.” It blurted out of you with a pitiful sob, and you angrily wiped at the hot tears spilling down your cheeks. “I don’t even know who the fuck he is.”

It was agony knowing he’d made you cry. It bled into his inflection, this frail, bleeding desperation. “It won’t happen again. I was, I was scared, his pockets are in the courts, I can’t get him—”

“So you scared me?”

He froze. “I scared you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You wiped your cheeks with your forearm and popped open the door.

“It matters a lot.”

You didn’t leave, but you didn’t speak. The two and a half block walk was more intimidating than ever, exaggerating the empty staleness of sitting in his car.

“He’s the one person in this city I can’t save you from.”

“You don’t need to save me.”

You got out, saying a curt goodnight, and walked south down the alley. Hopefully no one would harass you at this hour. Hopefully getting home so late would mean the hot water would be plentiful. Hopefully you had a snack in the freezer you could eat in the shower, while you sat on the floor and deliberated if your life was worth staying, or leaving.

Crunches of gravel alerted you to Bruce’s presence. Mussed hair and splotchy black eye paint sweat in a fade halfway down his cheeks. He hadn’t put the cowl back on, his identity on full display for anyone with the thought to look behind them on the sidewalk of the main road. It shocked you out of your melancholy. “What are you doing?”

He looked… uncomfortable, but earnest. His jaw twitched on every syllable. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I mean it. I’m really sorry.” His eyes bored into you, then trailed to the small pools in your tear troughs. “I don’t want to make you feel like this.”

You tore your eyes away from his. You might’ve drowned otherwise. “I’ll see you at the meeting.”

When you got home you scrubbed your makeup off in the shower, buzzing from the constant state of whiplash Bruce kept you chained to. Reactive, and, belligerent, and, apologetic, and intense. He couldn’t fucking talk to you like that. Like you were a petulant child. He was the petulant one. He was so, fucking… aggravating!

He sat in the car for the next hour, unmoving. Half of him felt silly. Pushing off patrol over an argument. The other half was in excruciating pain. He didn’t give you enough credit for what you had endured, and what you had done. It wasn’t like you ran into Point shouting at the top of your lungs, pointing a spotlight at yourself with your full name and address on display. Wasn’t like you didn’t know Gotham was dangerous. Probably still had remnants of the bruise on your thigh.

He cut the night short. He couldn’t concentrate with the thought of you miserable in your apartment. His head spun. Maybe he was going soft. Being self-indulgent and unreasonable. Cutting patrol short in a city of millions over one person? This was why he kept at a distance. Public service was supposed to be egalitarian; creating any sort of hierarchy was unacceptable. Yet there you remained, and here he was at Wayne Tower with the moon still high in the sky.

He’d never, ever speak to you that way again.

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fazedlight · 1 year ago

Text

Glance (fluff-ish ficlet set in season 6)

She knows.

Kara rushed her way to the Tower, ignoring the beeps from her phone, no doubt Alex wondering what the hell Kara meant by “Nyxly might go after Lena”.

Kara knew she might’ve given too much away, at the gallery downtown. Nyxly had seemed to sense that Lena was the most vulnerable - the newest superfriend, the one with newfound powers - and her brief glance at the brunette had caused anger to flare along Kara’s neck. Kara had instinctively tilted her head in warning. You’re not touching Lena.

Nyxly adapted quickly, attempting to make her escape by activating the Courage totem itself, before Kara split the totem in half and Nyxly disappeared. At the time, Kara had shrugged the moment off - a brief moment in battle that Nyxly would soon forget, probably entirely unaware of the emotions driving it.

As the city descended into chaos, Kara had let her piece of the Courage totem go - it was the only way to restore the sanity of her team, the only way to give them a chance at future totems. Lose the battle, win the war. It was only after that the ramifications of that choice would become clear. Somehow, in the merging of the two halves of the broken totem, a psychic bond was formed. Kara could now feel what Nyxly felt - the imp felt triumphant, vengeful. And Kara knew that she couldn’t stop the streams of her own feelings from seeping into Nyxly’s consciousness.

Nyxly knows.

Kara felt the panic well up in her throat, as she landed at the Tower’s balcony, as she traced Lena’s heartbeat back to the lab. The torrent of panic ripped through her - can I protect her, will our relationship survive this? - as she made her way back to the lab. “We need to talk,” Kara said, as she walked through the door.

“Are you okay?” Lena asked, turning around, placing a glass beaker back down on the lab bench, stepping towards the kryptonian.

Kara knew her body was tense, that Lena could read the stress on her face, and it wasn’t a question worth answering. “Nyxly knows how I feel.”

“Knows… how you feel,” Lena said, not quite yet catching on.

“She knows how I feel about you,” Kara said, eyes darting between Lena and the floor as she failed to hide the guilt on her face. “Or if she doesn’t, she’ll figure it out soon.”

“How you feel about me?” Lena replied, her voice soft and tentative.

Kara’s eyes dropped to the floor, worrying her lip for a moment before glancing back up. “I love you, Lena,” she rushed, her voice cracking. “And Nyxly will know, we need to figure out how to keep you out of danger-”

“My life has always been in danger, Kara,” Lena whispered.

Kara hesitated.

“The Venture crash. The helicopter crash. Morgan Edge,” Lena said, stepping closer with every memory. “Mercy Graves. Beth Breen. Rhea. Eve. Reign. The end of the multiverse. I suppose we’ll add a 5th dimensional imp to the list…”

“Lena-”

“We all die, Kara,” Lena said, as she finally stood directly in front of the kryptonian. “That’s not the part that scares me.”

“What does scare you?” Kara asked.

“Losing you,” Lena said, reaching her hand up to brush stray hair behind Kara’s ear, before cupping her cheek. “Being a universe away from where you’re trapped. Not knowing if I would ever see you again. Not knowing if I can ever tell you how I feel. Not knowing if that would destroy this friendship.”

“How you feel?” Kara said quietly, the hope dawning inside her.

Kara watched as Lena smiled, the brunette tilting her head to the side, tugging gently at Kara’s neck. And with the realization of what she sought, Kara could only happily oblige, dipping her head downwards as Lena brushed her lips gently against Kara’s own.

Kara slid her arms around Lena’s waist, whimpering as Lena’s lips parted, allowing Kara to deepen the kiss. She could feel Lena’s warmth, hear the heartbeat pounding in Lena’s chest in time with her own, feel as Lena’s other hand made its way around the back of Kara’s neck to tug her closer. For those few moments, the world was lost to them - a fulfillment of years of ache, a beginning where they thought there would only be endings.

“I love you too,” Lena finally said as they parted, leaning her forehead against Kara’s. “Whatever comes next, I just want to face it with you. Together.”

Kara smiled. “Together.”

#this is what I was trying to write last night but couldn't and then the Cat Grant thing fell out of my head this morning?? idk brains #but here is another ficlet #I'm not sure how I feel about it but I figure it's okay if ficlets are less polished so here we go #supercorp #supercorp ficlet #mel writes ficlets #fazedlight #fazedlightgif

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will80sbyers · 25 days ago

Text

STRANGER THINGS 5 PRODUCTION MASTERPOST / part 007

October 22 / 2024

Pics from the Creel house with Jamie there + rovickie news

Circus stuff + Finn arriving at the radio station set

Holly on set at the Creel house

Again

Jamie on set dressed as Henry

Vecna's make up + Noah hinting at the mind flayer imo

October 25 / 2024

POSSIBLY Eleven on set at the Creel house but it's not confirmed that it's her

October 28 / 2024

Will is the centre of the story in season 5

October 29 / 2024

New pic of the UD tunnels

They literally posted trashcans, this is probably in the hospital set and something Demogorgon-like is happening because lights are flickering

October 31 / 2024

El spotted in the UD with Hopper and a 3rd person that we think is a random kid that they have to save, sadly it's not Erica teaming up with them: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Finn gets a coffee ☕ Mike was at the lab set with Will and Robin

Searching for random musicians (probably for a graduation scene as we learned )

November 2 / 2024

Military checkpoint set probably where the Bradley's truck gets attacked by monsters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

A good picture of the gay van *ahem* I meant the blue radio station van

November 4 / 2024

Various BTS pics of cars and the kid with Hop and El in the UD

November 5 / 2024

Blood prints in downtown Hawkins + military and random stuff

Is there a battle going on in Hawkins?

November 6 / 2024 ( Stranger Things DAY!!! )

ALL the names of the episodes

NEW BTS PICTURES WILL, MIKE, LUCAS, DUSTIN, NANCY, JONATHAN, STEVE, JOYCE AND HOPPER !!!! Promo pictures quality 🥰

+ the duffers and a BTS of a scene with lots of characters (the names are written on the chairs)

Filming in downtown Hawkins with the military / again

November 7 / 2024

Video of Noah/WILL AT CASTLE BYERS

November 12 / 2024

My speculation on this scene

November 14 / 2024

New military in downtown Hawkins scenes + blue van... Steve, Robin, Hopper, Murray and Linda Hamilton's character

November 15 / 2024

Searching for real couples and dog walkers idk

Filming at the Wheeler house and the lab (?)

Finn spotted on set as Mike - again

November 17 / 2024

BTS pics of random stuff

November 20 / 2024

There's no Christmas epilogue like we thought but they were looking for catering people maybe for the graduation or something like that also they have been filming at Mike's house and Gaten + Finn and maybe Jonathan's double were spotted on set

November 21 / 2024

These could be doubles but we have a scene with Will, Dustin, Joyce, Nancy, Mike, (maybe) Lucas and Robin: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 (maybe this is Mike and not Steve?)

November 22 / 2024

They aren't decorating for Christmas (sadly) because we found out it was the town doing that and they took the decorations down to film BUT it's still confirmed that Hawkins gets saved and not destroyed

Jamie has wrapped filming as Henry Creel

Random AF - they hired this group for the 200 day of filming party

November 25 / 2024

Downtown Hawkins and BTS stuff random + Karen working

Again

November 26 / 2024

BTS pic of a Demogorgon at the hospital, it's basically confirmed that they are gonna attack there, also we found out that the IF poster behind is a AIDS prevention poster

New set in an abandoned school

Matthew Modine (Brenner) posted and OLD video hinting that he might return as Brenner in S5, I think he'll be in some visions or flashbacks

November 27 / 2024

1989 GRADUATION TIMEEE

Spoilers of who survives the finale and makes it to the epilogue (unless that's all a dream/vision lol)

December 1 / 2024

Downtown Hawkins has been rebuilt and there's a movie set (probably for the Lumax date)

December 2 / 2024

SPOILERS FOR WHO SURVIVES - conversation between two characters on a bench near the monument of the fallen in the epilogue in 1989

We have lots of pictures and videos of this scene :

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16

Kids in the epilogue that I thought after posting this, maybe will remind one of the characters of when the Party was little

The blue van was filming but not for the epilogue

Searching for extras, not for the graduation but for a SPOILER!!!! .... College scene for someone in 1990

December 4 / 2024

SPOILERS of some names in the monument of the fallen

December 5 / 2024

My theory about Lumax

December 10 / 2024

Coffee for Gaten

December 11 / 2024

SPOILERS OF THE CHARACTERS THAT SURVIVED THE FINALE (at least for the leaks)

December 12 / 2024

They filmed a scene at a bar with some characters, spoiler of the epilogue

December 13 / 2024

SPOILERS OF THE EPILOGUE - two characters meeting in 1990 :

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

December 15 / 2024

WILL on set, 1987 because of the outfit and also Derek is there and El too : 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Headless stonathan spotted

SPOILERS OF THE FINALE / EPILOGUE

For my personal speculation about stuff you can search St5 speculation ( warning ⚠️ there's lots of byler lmao)

GO TO -> 001 / 008

#stranger things #st5 spoilers #st5 #st5 production #st5 masterpost #stranger things 5

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cheynovak · 8 months ago

Text

Divine

Michael/Dean Winchester x F/Reader Y/N

Warnings:mentioning of emotional damage, slight sexual tension, ...

Side note: English isn’t my first language.

*Does not follow The SPN storyline *

Dean made the mistake of letting Michael take over his body. While Michael made plans on destroying the humanity he met up with different monster leaders, a few of whom he meets up in a jazz bar he started to appreciate or was it the waitress, Y/N.

A spark of curiosity hit him when he the young spiritual woman crossed his path. Realising he might have more in common with humans than he wants.

Michael set foot in the dark lit bar downtown, marching to the same spot he had been claiming almost every day this week. He didn’t need to scan the area to know she was here. The soft smell of her parfum lingered in the air, mixed with the smell of alcohol.

Michael noticed how a lot of women in this era smelled fruity and flowery, to him it smells cheap, but not her, no she had a scent that smelled like old money, deep and warm, almost...divine.

He folded his coat neatly over the back of the chair next to him, the flat cap on top of his coat. Before he could turn around a glass of scotch appeared on the table in front of him. He saw how her nails were perfect as usual, slightly longer and a deep red colour, elegant.

“The usual I presumed?” She said with a steady and sweet voice.

His lips twitched almost into a smile. Slowly Michael looked up to the young woman next to him. Her lips were coated in the red lipstick that matched her nails. He noticed she wore that lipstick almost every night.

Michael’s brow lifted while he looked at her.

He saw how her lips turned into a soft smile. “I noticed you’re becoming a regular on my shift. If this is not what you wanted tonight, please let me know, sir.” Oh, he liked the respect she gave him. “This will be fine.” she nodded before turning on her heels.

While his fingers moved the glass to his mouth, taking a slow sip, he couldn’t keep himself from glancing over to her. Seeing how she walked around with a flair, he could almost compliment his father on his creation.

Almost a shame she too would soon be gone.

After a few hours Y/N noticed him still sitting alone, the bar ran empty as she walked over to him.

”Can I get you anything else, Sir?” She saw the look on his face, how it shifted from irritated to calm and well put together. “No, I think I might leave.”

“They didn’t show up, did they?” She didn’t want to cross the boundaries, but she was too curious not to ask. Wanting to know a bit more about the handsome stranger walking into her bar every day for the last week.

His eyes frowned, “The business partners, you meet here every day.” she added. Micheal realised she had been keeping an eye on him just like he had on her. “No...” he started “But why don’t you join me?”

Y/N’s eyes widen, she looked around the bar, the place was empty, except from one customer at the bar who was talking to the bartender. She glided elegant on to the chair in front of Michael, “why not...” she lingered a little on the last word, wondering what his name was.

And almost like he could read her mind he said “Michael.” she nodded slow, looking into his eyes. “Y/N” His eyes broke the connection and glided down over her. Stopping at her necklace. “You’re religious?”

Her fingers instinctively reached for the small golden cross on her neck. “Well, I guess I am.” Michael’s eyes lock on hers again. “I hear doubt.” She smiled nervous “I believe... in god and... heaven and hell.” she thought for a second.

“But?” he pushed. “I don’t believe in blindly following what people think is gods will.” Her breath hitched when Michael’s brow lifted again, his beautiful eyes scanning her body again. The weight of his eyes makes her feeling warm and blush.

“How about Angels?” he asked casual. She smiled, “please don’t tell a cheesy pick-up line going to follow.”

“Don’t worry, I know you are no angel.”

Even though she hated the “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, or heaven is missing an angel” lines. But his brutal answer did sting. “Jesus, thanks.” she sighs soft. Just as she wanted to lift her off her seat he continued.

“But there is something... graceful about you.”

A short silence fell upon them before she broke it. “How about you Michael, do you have fate?” This was the first time she noticed him smiling. He looked away when he answered. “My father made it impossible not to.”

“I get it.” - “I doubt that” he answered sharp.

“My father was a preacher.” She said, “A self-proclaimed man of God’s word. As a kid I called him a storyteller.” Michael’s lips curled into another soft smile. Fuck she burned up when he did that. “I guess our father are more alike than I thought.”

“Anyway, I should leave you to it.” She said after a short silence between them. Just as she lifted herself of her chair Michael did the same. His hand wrapped around her arm. Even though it was a normal gesture she could feel the strength in his muscles.

“Have you ever visited the old church on the edge of the city?“ he asked.

Her eyes met his, only now realising how tall he is. “No, I haven’t it is supposed to be sold to an old art collector, many years ago. It’s private property now. Or that was what my dad said.” Michael nodded, “ I know the man who bought it.”

“Let me take you.” he said stretching his arm out to guide her to the door. He saw how Y/N doubted. “I promise it is worth your time.” While she looked at the door her thoughts slipped past her mouth. “You know that’s what serial killers say.”

There it was again, the grin on his perfect face. “I’m not planning on killing anyone tonight. “she could feel his eyes lingering on her. “Specially not you.”

Once outside he put his hat back on, looking how she raised her hand.

Y/N called for a taxi, which quickly stopped. Michael opened the door for her. “What a gentleman” she winked. The ride there was silent, filled with nerves and maybe even a little fear.

The taxi dropped them off at the gate near the old church, the premisses seemed abandon but there was a soft light coming through the glass stained windows.

Michael opened the large doors like he owned the place. “Who is there? Show yourself!” An old man yelled holding a riffle in his hand. “Joseph, it’s me old friend.” Y/N could see how the old man who seemed nearly blind was trying to figure who he was talking to.

And then it hit him.

“M-Michael?” he whispered “Oh good lord... You came back!” The man rushed towards the entrance. “I kept everything like you wanted sir! No one came in, everything is still in place! I told you it would be a good idea to keep me! I-I listened to every word you said, sir.”

Y/N didn’t pay much attention to what the old man was saying.

Her eyes roamed the inside, eyes trailing the paintings on the walls and ceilings, the stories that were told on the windows, the marble statues that were displayed. “Amazing.” she said while breathing out softly.

“Leave us be Joseph.” Michael ordered the old man when he saw Y/N walking up to a painting hidden behind a curtain. Her perfect manicured hand pulled the fabric aside. Revealing a painting of Michael as an angel.

Y/N felt the warmth of Michael’s body behind her. “Michael” she started mesmerised by the beauty of the painting. “What is this place.” her head turned to him, but her eyes lingered a second longer on the art before looking at him.

“Call it a private collection.” He noticed how she really took in his features before looking back at the painting and again back at him. To distract her he decided to test her on her knowledge. “What do you know about archangels?”

She answered on autopilot, she blurred out everything she had been told on Sunday school.

Michael noticed the warm feeling he got when she started to talk, even though all she said was what humans learned in church.

Michael could feel the warmth radiate from her skin, he wondered how soft her flesh would feel under his strong hands. “I often wondered...” she walked closer to his painting, breaking his thoughts. “Why god made humans while he already made angels.”

“I mean...” she turned back to Michael. “When I got older, I noticed the similarity in angels and humans. Did that disappoint me, he just made more useless angels in human forms.” - “Explain yourself” Michael’s voice echoed in the empty church.

“Well, take my family for example. I’m the oldest of 4 daughters. My dad used to be in church everyday, leaving me to take care of my little sisters. And whenever they did something they shouldn't it was my mistake.”

“In a way I presume that god and his angels are just another fucked up family. I feel for Michael, the way he carried the weight of the family on his shoulders, while every last one of them took all he did for granted.”

“You’re the oldest?” he asked taking a step closer.” hm-hm.”

“No mother? Just a father?” she nodded in response to his question.

“Let me guess, you did anything to please him, your father? But when the youngest fell out of line you were to one to blame, he needed you to get them back and punish them or their behaviour.” His voice sounded very close.

Y/N looked beside her, seeing how Michael bended a little forward so his lips where near her ear.

“Y-yes, how did you know...” the words came trembling out of her mouth, goose bumps covered her spine. Y/N turned fully around to look at Michael. He didn’t take a step back, their faces almost touched.

Michael’s eyes looked back and forward between her glistering eyes and her soft red lips. Starting to understand why many of their angels where seduced to having intercourse with a human.

Y/N’s eyes wander back into the old church, not idea of the thoughts roaming his mind “Joseph doesn’t own this place, does he?”

“No.” Michael’s voice was stern, trying to get a grip. “How long have you known him? “ She added, trying to break the electric feeling rushing through her veins.

“Few years.” He saw how the wheels in her head were spinning.

“You know, Michael this place was sold over ten decades ago... So, when you said you know the owner you were referring to...” Her eyes locked back on to his perfect green pearls. “Me.” Her eyebrow flicked up before she started to laugh.

“Nice try, but serious.” her smile faded.

Just when she thought he couldn’t get any closer to her, he did. Her head tilted back. “You know... you and I are much alike.” the back of his hand caressed her cheek. “You really get me, Y/N. I never thought a human being would see through the stories that have been told since the beginning.”

“Human being, beginning, what?” she repeated. He didn’t answer her. “I never thought I would be so invested in a human’s life. But you... you trigger something in me.”

Y/N tried to take a step back, every warning sign inside her went off. Nerves where jumping, she wanted to get as far away from him as she could. But when she planned on taking the step she felt his free hand on the back of her neck.

“It’s such a shame there is no inch of grace floating inside your veins.” Y/N’s breath hitched. “M-Michael, you’re scaring... what do you mean, who are you?”

“I am, Michael.”

Y/N’s brows frowned and then she followed his glance over to the painting behind her. “Wha... No.” she turned back and all she could see was the beautiful white blueish glow coming from his eyes.

And although she knew it was best to run for her life, the revelation in front of her nailed her to the ground. As Michael took a step back the walls behind him covered with a black shadow portraying wings.

Y/N breathed heavy, unable to tear her gaze of him while he walked slowly back to her. His hand took its place back on her cheek while his eyes looked at her slightly parted lips. Her hand hold onto his side.

Trying to understand all that happened, she felt scared yet excited, a rush she couldn't quiet explain. When Michael bowed closer to her, she didn’t move.

And right before he closed the gap between them, placing his angelic lips on hers, he whispered:

“Oh help me father, for I am about to sin.”

Let me know what you think, like, share or comment <3

If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

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tomorrowusa · 4 months ago

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Ukrainian drones blew up a large Russian arms depot west of Moscow. The blast was large enough to have been detected by earthquake sensors.

A Ukrainian drone attack on a large Russian weapons depot caused a blast that was picked up by earthquake monitoring stations, in one of the biggest strikes on Moscow’s military arsenal since the war began. Pro-Russian military bloggers said Ukraine struck an arsenal for the storage of missiles, ammunition and explosives in Toropets, a historic town more than 300 miles north of Ukraine and about 230 miles west of Moscow. Videos and images on social media showed a huge ball of flame rising high into the night sky and detonations thundering across a lake, in a region not far from the border with Belarus. The strike was part of a broader Ukrainian drone campaign targeting Russian oil refineries, power plants, airfields and military factories, and highlights Kyiv’s enhanced long-range drone capabilities. Earthquake monitoring stations registered what sensors thought was a minor earthquake in the area.

The blast was so big that in the first couple of seconds it appears to be during daytime.

youtube

The Kyiv Independent has additional details.

Arms depot in Russia's Tver Oblast built to withstand nuclear explosion heavily damaged by Ukrainian drones

Back in 2018, the Russian Defense Ministry bragged that this facility would be prepared to withstand even a nuclear explosion. Six years later, the claim was proven to be false. According to the SBU, the arsenal stored ballistic missiles, including Iskanders, anti-aircraft missiles, artillery ammunition, and KAB guided bombs. The attack "literally wiped off the face of the earth a large warehouse of the main missile and artillery department of the Russian Defense Ministry," the SBU source said. The construction of the arsenal, controlled by the Main Missile and Artillery Directorate, began in 2015 in the town of Toropets, located 480 kilometers north of Ukraine. The construction was part of a 2012 government program set to improve Russia's storage of missiles, ammunition, and explosives. According to Russia's Defense Ministry, the program, worth 90 billion rubles (nearly $980 million), called for 13 modern arms depots to be built. [ ... ] Yet the source in the Security Service of Ukraine (SBU) told the Kyiv Independent that a "very powerful detonation" occurred, and the affected area was 6 kilometers (3.7 miles) wide. NASA satellites also recorded a surge in thermal activity in Tver Oblast, where the 107th arsenal of the Main Missile and Artillery Directorate is located. "The arsenal seems to have been built correctly, with bunkered storage facilities that can hold up to 240 tons of ammunition each," Serhiy Zgurets, military expert and CEO of the Ukrainian media Defense Express, told the Kyiv Independent.

As Joe Biden might put it, this is "a big fucking deal". Months worth of ammunition, missiles, and other ordnance which was waiting to be used against Ukrainians has been eliminated.

In total, about 30,000 tons of ammunition were stored in the arsenal in Toropets, which could have been enough to conduct attacks for months, according to the expert. Russia most likely stored 122 mm Grad ammunition, 82 mm mines, and missiles for Buk medium-range surface-to-air missile systems, among other munitions, according to Zgurets.

Ukraine apparently destroyed 30,000 tons (i.e. 30 kilotons) of ammo. For comparison, the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima was the equivalent of 15 kilotons.

Ukrainians are intelligent and resourceful. They are now building drones which cannot be jammed by electronic warfare. They may have used those to get to Toropets.

And it seems a bit weird that Russia would build a gigantic arsenal just 4.51 km (less than 3 miles) from downtown Toropets – a scenic town and local administrative center.

So Ukraine has now penetrated and destroyed an impenetrable arms depot. Previously, Ukraine has stopped unstoppable Kinzhal Russian missiles. This war is unwinnable for Russia but the country continues to humiliate itself with its unmistakable military ineptitude.

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gothic-aesthetic-gal · 14 days ago

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Old Scars (Part 9)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Link below for the other chapters:Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. Some slightly blurred lines in this one re:touching without consent and threat of violence. Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

Part 9 -

Unbeknownst to me, back at the half burned out apartment, the cops had made a run for it. They had tried to track us for a block or two, before deciding that getting to a hospital was a much more pressing concern. The older one had pretty severe burns to his arm and hand, and the tall lean one had burns to the lower half of his face and neck which would need some serious medical attention.

A couple of hours after their departure, a looming dark figure stood in the epicentre of the wreckage. The so-called 'batman' surveyed the scene, a stern look on his masked face as he pieced together some of the chaos which had unfolded. He had found the discarded purple dress and assumed the worst of the woman who was still missing.

His heart had sunk a little, thinking that the joker had left yet another body in his wake but then something had given him reason to pause. There were two toothbrushes in the bathroom, two plates in the sink, and a set of handcuffs attached to the radiator. He needed to look deeper, it seemed as though she might not have been killed after all.

As he paced around the room, he paused by the fireplace which had obvious signs of recent use. On the mantle there was a vase which was conspicuously absent of dust compared to everything around it and peering inside there was something stuffed into the bottom. Tipping it out he unscrewed the lined paper note. It read:

((Your first and last name))

STILL ALIVE

It was dated three days previous.

He felt a little surge of hope somewhere deep in his soul and carefully pocketed the scrap of paper. He could test it for fingerprints - maybe it would bring up some kind of record, some kind of lead. Meanwhile he and Alfred could keep searching for any tip-offs or recent sightings of either of them. If she had stayed alive this long, there was hope for her, even as the clock was ticking down each agonising second. He would just have to keep searching. He would find them.

Meanwhile, I was in the back of a car. The joker had flagged down a delivery driver and carjacked him at gunpoint. The poor guy looked terrified, and I hurriedly grabbed his delivery bag out of the trunk and threw it over to him with some of the mob money slipped inside. J was not happy about this.

"Get in the car already," he growled, grabbing my wrist and pushing me into the open back door. He slammed the trunk and my door before getting into the driver's seat.

"Let me ride shotgun," I protested.

His gaze met my own via the centre mirror.

"Why?"

"Come on, you know you can keep a better eye on me that way, and you've only got one usable arm right now - how are you gonna steer and drive stick?"

He growled in a way that signalled he knew I was right but didn't want to admit it and I quickly hopped into the front instead.

I'd barely got the passenger door shut before he started pulling away. He was heavy on the gas as we accelerated down the dark back-streets, with me doing my best to change up and down while he focused on steering. By the time we crossed into downtown, we were like a well-oiled machine, wordlessly synchronised. I watched the towering skyscrapers, like fingers clawing at the sky, and the crawling city traffic with a sense of infinite small-ness. I couldn't understand how anyone managed not to feel like a tiny, insignificant ant in this metropolis hellscape and I started to wonder if that was a feeling I'd just have to learn to carry for the rest of my life - a life that was unlikely to be long-lived if I couldn't get free of this deadly dance...

With a sigh, I flicked on the radio and switched through the first couple of channels' adverts until the sound of Frank Sinatra's crooning bled through the static on a 'golden oldies' station. I fiddled with the knobs until it cleared and came through smooth. To my astonishment, after a moment of driving in silence just listening to the music, J began to sing. Well, as close to singing as he was able in his rumbling, scratchy voice.

"She gets too hungry to wait for dinner at eight," he began, looking at me with a curious kind of smile.

I frowned in confusion at this latest development.

"She loves the theatre, but never comes late,

She'll never bother with the people she hates," he continued as I stared at him in fascination while he put on this strange little show for me.

"That's why the lady is a tramp!" His voice rang out, a little clearer than when he had started. It actually sounded much better - Almost good. I couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Ah see, it's not all bad, doll," he grinned.

I wasn't entirely sure what he meant and his moods were so changeable that it was hard to ever truly relax in his strange company.

"Are you calling me a tramp?" I asked playfully as he gave way to Sinatra's vocals for the rest of the verses.

"Yes, but it's a good thing, see, he likes that she's a little off-kilter," he said enthusiastically.

"So it's actually other people who have branded her a tramp?" I mused aloud.

"Exactly! Because she doesn't follow their silly little rules!" He said with a kind of child-like excitement which lit up his features.

A sly smile found its way onto my face.

"In that case, I guess I'm okay with it."

We were travelling further away from the beating heart of the city again now, along some great artery. The buildings were thinning out and getting older the further we went. Signs of decay and decline replaced the glistening glass and chrome of the financial centre, and the nicer working class neighbourhoods bled into the rougher ones. I watched as we rolled past burned out and boarded up properties with graffiti scrawled across every surface. We had crossed into the world of broken glass and potholes, of kids without a safe home to go to running in little gangs down roads lined with the skeletons of burnt out cars.

"A tale of two cities," I said dryly.

J said nothing, as the insufferable adverts started up, prompting me to turn off the radio in frustration.

"I have to make a phonecall," he announced with sudden seriousness, pulling the car over. I hurriedly dropped down to first and put on the parking break as he moved to get out of the car. He hesitated for a moment, turning back toward me. Unsure as to what he was about to do, I froze up for a moment.

"You could have taken your coat back, you look like a drowned rat," I sighed.

"You have my phone," he said matter-of- factly, leaning across so that he was able to slip his good hand into his coat, which I was still wearing. There was that little voice in me again, from some inner deep, dark cave in my soul, telling me I wanted him. I tried to pretend it didn't exist as he withdrew. The sound of the rain briefly entered the car as he stepped out into the downpour and closed the door behind him. I picked up the cardboard box from the footwell and took another couple of swigs of neat whisky. Everything was becoming too strange to be stone-cold sober.

Was this technically drink driving? I considered it for a moment, but decided that it didn't count as I wasn't the one steering or controlling the speed of the vehicle. Compared to assaulting multiple police officers, the theft of one of their firearms, arson, carjacking, and helping a wanted criminal escape law enforcement... DUI was the least of my problems. By the time he got back in the car a couple of minutes later, he was soaked through.

"I could have, but maybe I like seeing it on you," he said with a smirk.

"In that case you can definitely have it back," I retorted complete with a eye roll.

He turned to me, using his hand to comb his hair back, with a mischevious look plastered across his his face. He leaned in closer.

"You, uh, don't have to pretend you don't like it, doll. I know you do," he teased.

I felt the warm blood in my cheeks as I blushed, and turned away to look out of the window. The raindrops on the glass were illuminated by the street lights and glistened like little diamonds in the dark.

With surprising tenderness, he placed his hand under my jaw to turn my head back towards him. His cold fingers softly caressed my burning hot cheek.

A kind of rumbling sigh escapsed him.

"You are beautiful."

The car pulled up a steep hill alongside a tall chain link fence and we passed through some kind of gatehouse or check point. The old booth where guards would have sat was now just an emtpy shell with smashed in windows. Once we crossed this threshold, I realised we were inside the grounds to some kind of institution, a school, or a maybe some old government offices, judging by the numerous buildings scattered around the complex.

My whole body tensed up, unsure what he might be about to do next. Unsure what I would do if he did make any kind of move on me. I felt disappointed and relieved in equal measure when he instead turned the ignition and we returned to driving.

It wasn't until we were travelling along the tree lined avenue up to the central entrance of a building with wings outstretched on either side, that I realised where we were. The old Kirkbride layout of the abandoned Parkview mental hospital loomed up over the skyline ahead like some kind of enormous bat. The repetetive windows along its symmetrical layout inspired the same feelings of despair and insignificance in me that the skyscrapers in the city centre did. I thought about how terrified countless others had been driving up to this very spot, many of them never to leave again. So many of their stories ended in an unmarked plot somewhere on the grounds.

Gotham was not a new city, and like most other metropolitan centres, it needed places to house those deemed not fit to be out in polite society - the mentally ill, sick, disabled, women who were too headstrong, anyone who stepped out of the thin lines drawn at the time. The solution, the men in power decided, was to build an enormous hospital complex on what was then the fringes of the city - separate, distant from it. It was designed to be self-contained. Many of the doctors and nurses could live on site alongside the patients in their own little village, and there would be a farm for work, and an enormous boiler house to power the place. The inmates were regularly expected to do unpaid work in the kitchens, the farm, and so on to run the place. It was a closed system. Hotel california: You could check out any time you liked, but you could never leave.

As we pulled up by the grand steps at the entrance, I shivered. It felt as though all that suffering had bled into the walls, seeping like a poison into the groundwater. Overcrowding, abuse and neglect, spread just like the various infectious diseases that tore through the wards. Whatever good intentions they might have been set up with, through the years the asylums spiralled into little more than glorified plague pits to throw society's rejects down into.

With de-institutionalisation, the great bloated beasts fell one by one. All aside from Parkview, and a handful of smaller, more modern private facilities, and of course, the ever-infamous Arkham - that would remain to house those deemed criminally insane, the last man standing. My legs were shaking as we climbed the old stone steps to the administration tower, deeply apprehensive about walking into a place with such a devastating history.

"Why here?" I asked, feeling as though I was physically unable to go any further.

I was fixed to the last step, muscles taught and twitching as I turned to look back towards the blinking lights of the city down the hill.

"Until I know who is compomised, I can't go back to the usual places, even my men don't know about this one," he muttered.

"But, why here?" I said, clutching onto my carboard box with white kuckles, still not getting it.

He turned around frowning at me from the shadowy entrance hall.

"This place is..." I trailed off.

"Haunted?" he said sounding unconvinced.

"Well, that's what people say. I don't really believe in ghosts but - there was so much suffering and death here. It's like I can feel it."

He stepped back out into the moonlight.

"You can... feel it?" He asked, sounding perplexed.

"And you don't?" I questioned, equally disbelieving.

We stared at each other for a moment before he broke first and put his good arm around my shoulder.

"Ah come on, you, uh, aren't gonna let some silly little urban legend scare you. You'll be fine," he urged, strong arming me through the door.

My eyes strained to adjust in the darkness, and I was desperate not to look too long at anything, for fear of seeing something that would set me into a panic. I knew J could tell just how afraid I was. Compared to other times I'd managed to fight back my fear, or bury it, here I felt completely taken over by it. I wondered what his thoughts about that were. He let his arm slide down off of my back and instead roughly grasped my hand in his. With a yank he pulled me further into the darkness.

"C'mere, just follow," he said, commanding in tone - but not barking orders like I'd seen him do to his men.

I let him lead me up the central staircase and left, down a long hallway with a run of open doors. They had once been single rooms, cells really, many with the old metal bedframes still inside. The doors all had a small observation window in them and there was something so eery about the seemingly endless hallway full of them hanging open.

"This central section was the last part to shut down," J said as we finally hit the end of the hall and entered a stairwell. The opening between the floors was caged all round, I guessed to stop anyone jumping. It made the space claustrophobic as we clambered up to the next floor. I could see one of the other hallways we passed the entrance for was in a worse state - with a bowed floor and the start of a collapse at the far end. I wondered how long it would take for all four levels of each wing to collapse through to the ground. One day the building would be less of a corpse and more of a skeleton; walls without a roof, completely open to the sky.

"So, parts of it look untouched, aside from the usual vandalism," he continued casually as we came to a stop at a remarkably clean room. The ones on this floor were a little larger, as they had clearly housed four beds, the frames of which were haphazardly shoved into one corner, lying in a tangled mess. On the opposite side of the room, there was a stack of old palettes, like the kind you'd use a forklift to shift. On top of the stack was a double mattress, and a dust sheet tucked over the top. J tugged away the plastic sheeting to reveal the bed, complete with duvet and pillows, and a garish patchwork quilt screwed up on top.

"Give me a hand," he motioned.

Since he didn't have use of both of his, I shook and then straightened out the sheets for him. I failed to hide my surprise at the fact that the bed seemed very clean.

"What, did you expect me to sleep on some piss-stained mattress that a squatter left behind, to use mouldy blankets left over from the hospital?" He scoffed.

"No... I don't know. None of this makes sense to me..." I sighed.

He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the mattress.

"What if I need the bathroom?"

"Two doors down to the left," he said jovially.

"Is it a bucket?"

"No. The city left the water connected to the central building and after a lot of finger pointing as to whose responsibility it was to fix it, no one did," he grinned flopping down onto the bed.

"Sure sounds like Gotham to me," I mumbled in dry amusment.

"There's no hot water of course. No heating," he added.

"Of course," I echoed bitterly, pulling the coat tighter around me and gritting my teeth against the cold.

He put his good arm behind his head so that his elbow pointed skyward.

"So, where am I supposed to sleep?" I asked.

"Don't play coy princess, you're smarter than that," he said, looking me up and down.

My lips pulled into a thin line as I resisted the urge to argue back. He was trying to get a rise out of me when he called me that and I knew it. Instead, slowly, I inched closer and sat on the extreme end of the bed. I took the whiskey bottle out of my cardboard box for another swig, the initial burning sensation giving way to a pleasant warmth in my cold chest. I set the bottle down again carefully.

Patience not being one of his virtues, if he had any at all, he suddenly grabbed me and pulled me down onto the mattress beside him. Instinctually, I began to struggle.

"Hey. Hey," he said relinquishing his grip on me, "I'm just stopping you from catching hypothermia. God you're so stubborn," he muttered, throwing the covers over both of us with me still bundled up in the heavy coat. It was immediately warmer, which stopped me from getting up and moving away but I hated that he was right.

"Do you always sleep with your shoes on?" He asked, breaking the oppressive silence that had fallen over us.

"What?" I breathed, screwing my face up into a frown of confusion.

"This is the second time."

I finally realised what he was getting at.

"Oh, no. At the apartment I wanted to be ready to run if I had to. Here, you didn't give me a chance to take them off!" I grumbled, awkwardly unlacing the boots beneath the covers and kicking them out into the cold.

I was positioned as far away from his side as I could manage without falling out, and turned to face him, deciding it was better to be able to see him than not. His rain soaked hair was pulling into individual waves and curls as it began to dry out a little. My head was cold and acheing from my own damp hair.

He made a little show of placing the handgun i'd stolen from the police down by his side of the bed - making it obvious I couldn't get to it without clambering over him. I stuffed both frozen hands into my into my pant pockets for warmth, and I realised the screw driver and his knife were nestled there. I subtly slipped them under the mattress on my side; he didn't need to know I had either of those. He rolled his eyes at my defensive behaviour and leisurely rolled over to face the wall.

The light of the almost full moon cast strange, stretched out shadows through the tall windows and the room was awash with weak silver light. Everything looked translucent and ghostly. I would try to stay awake as long as I could, not able to trust my companion.

Link below for the other chapters:

Dividers by @strangergraphics

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cosplayinamerica · 8 months ago

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Susumu Kodai from Space Battleship Yamato Cosplayer: @the.yamato.boy Photo : @m_padron15

Funny enough at anime cons, not a lot of people recognize it as the Space Battleship Yamato, they usually just get hyped over seeing a massive ship at a con or war buffs notice the resemblance. Only a couple of people have recognized it. The ones that do though go nuts. The fanbase is fiercely loyal and even at Katsucon, the official Hotel Liason let me store the Yamato in his executive suite! Alas sadly barely anyone in my age group knows what Space Battleship Yamato is.

C2E2 was the first time I ever brought Yamato to a regular comic convention. The amount of people that recognized it there was actually comical. The cherry on top was that most people recognized it as the Argo or Intrepido.

What I'm most appreciative is that it's a way to bond the current generation of anime fans with the old and offers an opportunity to explore anime history.

Yamato started out as a binding point with my dad and I. He’s always been there for me but was a mystery at the same time. When I was like 2-3~ish my family still had an old Quasar TV with a built in VHS tape player. This was the kind of TV where you could feel your eyeballs melting out from the TV static. Anyway we had a singular VHS tape of Star Blazers- specifically the episodes where Argo uses the asteroid ring and then says goodbye to your families. As a certified Scooby-Doo fan, seeing #1 a cartoon with actual camera angles and cinema techniques was mind blowing to me and really stuck out, #2 there was a journey. The episodic countdown made me so mad because I knew I was only watching a piece of something bigger. My dad realized this and for my 5th birthday he bought me a full DVD set of all the episodes from Season 1. Afterward I drew little Yamato’s everywhere.

Eventually the spark that was Star Blazers would erupt into a burning flame that has become my love for Yamato. A couple of years ago my Grandpa was fighting with terminal lung cancer. We lived in America and he lived in South Korea so commute was tough and I didn’t get to see him all the time. During this time I was also getting bullied a lot and my mom thought it’d be good if I finished my elementary school years in Korea with my cousins so we moved there for a bit. I was a total fish out of water but a lot of my friends built Gunpla. I had no idea what a gundam was so I decided to research and went to Gundam Base Side 3 which is in Downtown Daegu. Remember the remake just came out at this time so there was a huge display dedicated to Yamato 2199. I really wanted a Yamato and had a meltdown in the store, like a full tantrum. I remember coming back to my apartment with my mom and just thinking non stop about it.

The week following, my grandpa took me instead and I’m guessing my mom told me how badly I wanted it because he got me not only a 1/1000 Yamato 2199 kit, but also the Garmilus 3 ship model pack. I was absolutely overjoyed and would not stop playing with that. The kit was later destroyed after a smaller big shelf collapse. He also died about a year afterward. It serves as a core memory and a reminder of him. As I shifted more into model building I dived more into gunpla until I was about 15. Highschool sucked. A lot.

The transition into being a freshman took a lot on my mental health. I got assaulted and the stress of everything caved in and I tried to take my own life. It’s a lot to Unpack and I’m not super comfortable talking about it, but it’s nessacary because of what happened.

Basically I got sent to outpatient which is like full time therapy sessions but school length. As cliche as it sounds, I brought a small Yamato with me. In order for it to fit comfortably in my pocket I froze super glue all over the fins and sharp bits so I would stab myself in the thigh on accident, iykyk.

One of the things they told us in outpatient as a coping mechanism was that if we ever felt as bad as we did previously, think about the small things, and try on focus things that we would want to stay for. Well oh boy let me tell you, Yamato 2202 was coming out at this time and because of the format they were doing the movie part releases so 4 episodes every 4 months I think and I kept convincing myself that if I was gone, I would not see the end.

The ending of 2202 not only brought around the end of that purpose but also wholly changed my outlook on my life. “The planets only stay in their places, only we have the power to give them beauty.” – Teresa of Telezart

To say the ship had an impact on my life is an understatement. It was a reason to live at one point. On March 2nd/3rd when the announcement of Matsumoto’s passing came out I was absolutely devasted. I didn’t eat or sleep the following couple of days.

not a lot of people still know Yamato so in order to make conversation with other anime fans I picked up other shows but Yamato largely was my heart and soul. Matsumoto’s passing was what urged me to finally start. I wanted to build something that would not only bring me closer to Matsumoto but would hopefully give Yamato what it had given me- another life- sort of- maybe a little too dramatic, interpret that as you do idk.

I want more people to watch Yamato and understand its message. We live in a day and age of constant bickering and isolation. We are all cogs in an economic machine. While we get blinded by work and debate, Yamato exists to teach people that it’s important to have dreams, to chase love and that maybe we can break out of our predicament – To truly know that you’re not alone is the meaning of Love, and that we must meet the challenge and the impossible will become possible – And finally, there is no one right-way to live – are all things that Yamato teaches.

#cosplay stories #c2e2 #cosplay #space battleship Yamato

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jessicaloons · 3 months ago

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Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince:

Chapter 2

Masterlist - Previous - Next

The Heartbreak Prince

September 2022:

Back on the podium in Monza. Finally. The Tifosi were screaming for Charles as he lifted his trophy into the sky, slapping the Ferrari logo above his heart. He soaked in the atmosphere, waving at the fans. A second place was usually nothing he would be happy with, but after the last weeks and the development of his car stagnating, he was happy to be back on the podium.

Back to back to be precise after last week’s P3 in Zandvoort. He chatted with Max and George, before he left towards his garage, where his mechanics celebrated him. Charles was surprised seeing Joris nowhere, but he couldn’t think too much of it when Mia, his PR manager, dragged him towards the media pen and then the post race press conference. He was still buzzing and giddy when he returned to his team, ready to celebrate his podium a little when he finally spotted his best friend. By the look on his face, Charles’ good mood was gone in an instant and he walked over, pulling his childhood friend into a quiet corner.

"What happened? Is everyone okay?" the Ferrari driver asked, feeling his heart almost beating out of his chest.

"Please tell me you use a condom when you have a one night stand." Joris said and Charles took a step back.

"What the fuck did you just ask?"

"I asked you, if you use fucking protection when you have sex with a random girl…" Joris whisper shouted.

"Okay first off, you’re my best friend, yes, but there are boundaries to what we’re talking about still. And second, I don’t have one night stands, does that answer your question?"

"Okay, let me rephrase that. Did you use protection when you dropped off that cute girl from the club couple of weeks ago and then had sex with her roommate after the French GP?"

"What? Why? Of course I did? I mean-… I was drunk but yeah… I think I did…" Charles stuttered, trying his best to think back to the night 6 weeks ago.

"I sure hope so because that girl, Alessia is her name by the way, she contacted you, and when you didn’t reply, me, on Instagram…-"

"Why? What does she want? Does she have a STD?" the Monegasque driver panicked, ruffling his hair, looking around to make sure no one listens to their conversation.

"Well no… unless you want to call a pregnancy a STD a-…"

"WHAT?" Charles almost shouted and some heads turned his way "She’s lying, right? It can’t be? I mean… no. No! It’s impossible!"

"Well, I don’t know. She said she wants to talk to you. She needs your help…"

"How do we even know that’s the girl I had sex with? She could be just some random girl who saw me leaving the club with the roommate and now pretends to be her?" Charles was grasping any straw he could find.

"That was my first thought but she told me the story how you brought home her friend and then well you and her… I don’t want to go into detail here… it’s her Charles… and she wants to see you."

"When?"

"As soon as possible."

"Fuck. This is bad Joris. So freaking bad. This can’t be happening… I mean, why does she think that I’m the father? She saw me taking home her friend and still flirted with me and kissed me, had sex with me? What kind of friend does that? Who’s saying she’s not having a different guy every night?" he began to ramble, ruffling his hair only further.

"Charles…" Joris sighed.

"I know. I shouldn’t have said that… it’s not fair… but- fuck. This could destroy everything."

"I’d say you talk to her first, then we’ll see?"

"I need you to come with me, Joris, I can’t do this alone. Please. Please come with me…"

"Okay, I set up a meeting with her. It’s going to be fine. You’ll see."

"I hope you’re right."

It only took five minutes to turn total euphoria into total devastation.

Charles nervously tapped his foot on the floor, looking at the door of the little café in downtown Milan, his coffee ice cold by now.

"Stop it." Joris put his hand on his best friend’s thigh of his bouncing leg "You’ll make me lose my mind."

"Sorry…" Charles mumbled, fiddling with his cuticles, his eyes wandering between the door and his hands.

"And stop that too! How old are you?" Joris rolled his eyes and Charles groaned, putting his hands on the table, grabbing his mug.

"What if she’s not coming? What if that all was just a stupid joke?"

"Then we’ll leave, for now she’s only 3 minutes late, so relax…"

"Relax? Relax? How the hell am I supposed to relax Joris?" Charles hissed.

"Okay, maybe relax wasn’t the right word… calm down a little, okay? We’ll figure it all out." Joris tried to reassure him.

"Yeah? I honestly don’t see how. This is going to ruin my career. My life." the driver leaned back into his chair, closing my eyes "How could I be so stupid? I swear I’ll never drink alcohol again…"

"Are you done now? Because I think she’s coming…"

Charles sat up in an instant, looking out of the big windows of the café, the memories in his mind starting to replay like a film clip when he spotted the girl.

"Fuck… it’s really her." he mumbled and Joris looked at the door, when the bell rang and the girl walked in.

"It’s going to be okay, just breathe…" Joris squeezed his shoulder and got up, walking over to the girl.

Charles felt his heart beat outside of his chest, his breathing ragged and he felt the bile rise up his throat. With sweaty hands he grabbed the glass in front of him, gulping it down, hoping the cold water would fight down the urge to vomit. He could already see the headlines, the disapproving look of Silvia. But above all he could see his mother’s disappointed face. He felt hot, short breathed, the buzzing inside his head getting louder and louder. With one last look at Joris, who talked to the girl, he got up, almost running to the bathroom. He didn’t even lock the door, he just flung open the toilet lid, ignoring the clattering sound it made, when it smashed into the wall, and emptied his stomach’s content into the toilet bowl. He got up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and flushed the toilet, when there was a knock on the door.

"Charles? Are you okay?" Joris.

Charles shook his head, leaning against the wall, no, he wasn’t okay.

"Charles?"

"I can’t do it… I just-… can you talk to her? I can’t do it…" he mumbled, looking into the mirror, his pale self staring at him. Sweat beads on his forehead, dark circles around his eyes. Deep down he knew that he had to talk to her. It was his problem. He had to own up to it.

"Charles this is a conversation I can’t have for you…"

"I know…" Charles mumbled, taking a deep breath, rinsing his mouth, splashing cold water in his face "I messed up… I have to take responsibility…" he dried his face with a paper towel and opened the door "I’ll talk to her." he swallowed hard, following his best friend back to their table.

After confirming that she was indeed the girl he had slept with, they decided to do the talking somewhere more private. Out of earshot. This was nothing he wanted to be heard by anyone and then plastered around gossip pages. Back at his apartment he offered the girl something to drink and then sat down in front of her, Joris to his right. Charles listened to the girl, how she found out she was pregnant and how she immediately knew that it must’ve been his child she carried. How she was scared and alone because of her conservative, traditional family who would disown her if they found out about the pregnancy.

"You’re the only option that I have…" she whispered, looking down in her lap and Charles swallowed hard.

He almost felt numb, as if his mind was trying to disassociate from the situation. He didn’t know what to do, how he could help the girl, what she expected from him.

"Do you need money?" he asked after a moment of complete silence and for the first time she looked him straight in the eyes "To umm-… to get rid of it?"

"An abortion?" her eyes widened in shock "I can’t do that. I just-… my belief… I can’t do that. I can’t kill an innocent soul."

Cells. At this time there was nothing but a clump of cells in her stomach. No innocent soul. No baby. Just cells.

"So what? You want to have the baby? What about your family? I thought they would disown you if they found out?" Charles knew he was too harsh, too straight forward, but deep down he still hoped this was all just a bad joke. Or a nightmare from that he woke up any moment.

"I know. They will do it. Definitely. But-… I can’t terminate the pregnancy… but maybe-…"

Maybe what? You want me to marry you? Say we’re happy and in love and you carry the fruit of that love? Play pretend for your family to think that you did not have premarital sex? He wanted to blurt it out, thinking that this was, what was ending his career.

"Maybe you can help me? I just need a place to stay. Away from my parents, I’ll have the baby and then we can give it up for adoption. It’s gone. Forever. And then I can go back to my life and you can go back to yours?" her voice was thin, laced with emotion and Charles looked at her.

"How old are you?" he asked out of the blue, wondering about the girls age.

She looked younger than he remembered and for a moment he was scared of the answer.

"23? Why?" she replied and Charles let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in "Do you agree with my plan?"

"You think it’s that easy? Giving away a child you carried for 9 months?" he asked and she nodded.

"I don’t want a baby. Not now. And not with someone-… someone like you! I know who you are. I know that you have a new girl by your side every other week. That you are always away. Always rushing from one country to the next. You are not someone I would want to have as a partner and father of my child…" she let out.

"Didn’t stop you from having sex with me. After I dropped off your drunk friend." what she said had stung for some reason and he was feeling his hands start to tremble.

"Yeah well, you didn’t have to sleep with me either!" she spat out.

"Why not? You just said that I have a new girl every other week. Maybe it was time for the new one right then!"

"Okay stop. Both of you. Enough." Joris said loudly and they both looked at him "Look. It is what it is. You guys slept with each other. There is a baby. You Charles, you don’t want the media and basically everyone find out. You Alessia, you don’t want your family and well yeah also basically everyone you know find out. You both have the same goal. I say let’s work toward it. Together."

He looked at his best friend and then the girl his best friend knocked up, hoping he could knock some sense in them.

"I have an extra apartment in Monaco. It’s empty, you can live there… and when it’s possible and safe, I want a paternity test." Charles said after thinking about it for a moment and Alessia nodded slowly.

"If you insist and don’t trust my words…" she said, her voice almost malicious.

"I have to protect myself…" he began.

"Whatever. As soon as they can do one, I’m doing it." the girl rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her, leaning back.

"See? Baby steps…" Joris smiled and then bit his lip, holding up his hand at the glares the other two just shot him "Sorry. Wrong wording… but we can figure this out. As long as you both are on the same side…"

"Okay…" Charles mumbled, looking at the girl.

"Yeah… okay…" she replied and he nodded.

"Then let’s figure out the rest."

October 2022:

Charles grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white. He looked around, checking every mirror constantly.

"No one is here, relax." Alessia groaned, opening the door.

"Wait! What am I supposed to do now?"

"Stay? Leave? I don’t know? I’ll text you when I’m done…" she slammed the door shut and Charles looked around one last time before he put on the baseball cap and the way too big sunglasses.

He got out of the car, following the girl into the doctor's office.

"Whoa! What are you doing?" she stopped, looking at him.

"I don’t want to wait in the car like a sitting duck!"

"Then go for a walk?" the girl was annoyed.

"And run into someone who recognises me? Yeah no thanks. Don’t worry, I’ll just sit in the waiting area…" Charles shrugged his shoulders, making his way towards the door, holding it up expectantly.

"Unbelievable." the girl muttered underneath her breath, following the driver into the doctor’s office.

Charles looked around. Everything looked sterile and clean, but still comfy. Tame colours, nothing too intimidating. It was bright and open and under different circumstances Charles would’ve liked it here. He sat down in the waiting area, watching the other people who were waiting. A young mother to be, sporting a prominent baby bump, reading in the newest gossip magazine. A slightly older woman, smaller baby bump and a toddler next to her, talking about his day at the elementary school, while his mother smiled at him lovingly. And a young couple, the man cradling a baby, not older than a couple of weeks, to his chest. The way he looked at his little bundle of joy, full of love and adoration, kissing his wife’s temple, whispering some sweet nothings into her ear, making her blush. Watching this young couple, obviously on cloud 9, made his heart ache. He always wanted to be a young father, to make sure he would be able to spend as much time as possible with his children. He always wanted to have his own little family, a loving wife or girlfriend who would support him as much as he would support her in anything that she would do. A bunch of kids, products of their love, running around. He always imagined how he would hold his first born child for the very first time in his arms, swearing to the little wonder that he would do everything to protect it from any harm coming its way. But none of that happened so far and now his first child would be born and given away, growing up without him, not even knowing that he existed. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind when he realised that Alessia walked towards one of the examine rooms and he sighed, as the girl shut the door behind her. Charles looked around, his eyes always returning to the little family. He would never even hold his first child in his arms. He got up, deciding to wait in the car, being in here made him sick, when the door opened and he froze. Valentine, his ex-girlfriend Charlotte’s sister, walked through the door, talking loudly with a friend, not noticing him for now and if it were for Charles, it could stay that way. Before even thinking what he was doing he followed Alessia through the door she had vanished through, closing it behind him.

"Ahh, Daddy made it in time, sit down and let’s have a look at your little one, shall we?" the doctor said and Charles turned around, watching how she looked at the screen searching for a trace of the baby.

Alessia looked at him with wide eyes, a mix of annoyance and something he couldn’t quite place when the doctor cheered a little.

"There it is. Look at this healthy, tiny human. And what a steady heartbeat, here, I’ll turn up the volume for you…" she began and Charles followed her look, watching on the screen where the doctor was pointing at his unborn child.

Charles stared at the ultrasound screen, his eyes widened at the rhythmic flicker of the tiny but strong heartbeat. Despite his initial reluctance of having this baby, his demanding job, constant travel, his fear of what the public would say, his team or his family. Something inside him shifted, his eyes darting between the screen and the young girl. She might carry his child, but that was it, there was no love, no feelings between them, nothing. He didn’t know what was happening, thoughts about how he pictured becoming a father for the very first time, and the steady, rapid pulse on the screen stirred something deep within him. This very moment changed everything. Right in this instant, he felt a profound, overwhelming love for the life growing inside the girl in front of him. It was as if the heartbeat echoed a promise of his new purpose. With his heart now full and resolute, he vowed to embrace the new challenge and be the best father he could possibly be for his precious child. He wiped away a stray tear, emotions threatening to boil over when he looked at Alessia. But what he saw in her face was the exact opposite of what he felt. She looked almost disgusted, hateful, at the screen. Her lips pressed into a thin line, hands gripping tightly onto the sides of the stretcher she was lying on.

"Alright. I’m going to print out your first picture of your baby and then you can go back to the reception and ask for an appointment to draw some blood samples to check that everything is alright with Maman and child." the doctor wiped the stomach clean, while the machine in the back rattled, printing the pictures of the little wonder. As soon as she was done, the girl sat up, pulling her blouse down, looking at her feet.

"Here you go." the doctor handed her the pictures and she took them, not even looking at them "Take your time." she left and the girl threw the pictures on the stretcher next to her.

Charles got up, picking them up with shaking hands, looking at his unborn child.

"We need to talk…" he began and the girl looked up.

"About what?"

"This-… this changes everything… I don’t want to-… I want to keep it. I want to keep the baby." his voice more steady with every word "I know how it happened, it’s all unconventional… but I don’t want-… no I can’t give away my child, knowing that it will grow up somewhere without me?"

"We had a deal, Charles. I’ll have the baby, we give it up for adoption. We’ll never talk about it ever again. We’ll never see each other again. What happened between us… it never happened!" she jumped off the stretcher, looking at him "I don’t want to be a mother. I don’t want to fake a relationship for the child’s sake… no. I don’t want it."

"Then I’ll keep it. You follow through with our plan…"

"What? Are you even listening to yourself? You’re crazy!"

"No. I just-… I can’t explain, okay? But to think that I won’t be a part in my own child’s life? I can’t do it, Alessia."

"Yeah well then good luck as a single father, because I’m not staying out of guilt or whatever. I don’t want this child. You want to keep it? Let it ruin your life? Do it. But without me." and without another word she walked out, leaving Charles behind.

He looked at the ultrasound pictures in his hand, feeling almost overwhelmed with the utter love he already harboured for the little creature.

"I won’t give up on you, little one. You’re mine."

Chapter 2 - … and that was Charles first chapter 🙈 the cat’s out of the bag, there is a little one coming soon. Dad Charles for the win 🤗 I would love to hear from you how you liked it.

Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment!

Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!

Taglist:

@glitterquadricorn @lottalove4evelyn @janeh22 @itsjustkhaos

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sseniita · 1 year ago

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hero's new management

part 1 part 2

(this one is almost 3000 words sorry hehe)

The battle had lasted for hours so far. Televisions were interrupted by live updates from terrified reporters, the police surrounded the whole of downtown, and the Hero was fighting for their life.

Supervillain had been targeting Hero for months and they had finally found them. News of Hero quitting shot the villain community by storm. The city’s shiniest and most powerful hero had left their city defenceless. Well, almost. Once Hero was out of the picture completely, City Hall was up for grabs and far, far more achievable. Almost immediately Hero had been victim to multiple attacks, but they did one thing right. They stayed hidden. The Hero dawned a scrappy new suit, dull in colour and insufficient in actually protecting the Hero but it was the best they could do without a permanent home or income. The police and military- who were usually at the Hero’s beck and call- were commanded to ignore any interactions with Hero or in between Hero and the many villains that had piled up.

Hero was trying to get themselves back up after being shot through a wall and into an office full of cubicles and scared employees. After ensuring the civilians were safe and their wounds were bandaged they led the civilians down the building and they flew back up to meet with the Supervillain once again.

“I’m getting bored, Supervillain. If you’re gonna ‘destroy’ me, you better do it quick before I ditch you!” the Hero yelled to the Supervillain, who was currently busy destroying some residential buildings.

“Keep your spirit up, Hero. I’d love to smear it off your face once I get my hands around your neck!”

“Kinky.” the Hero muttered.

Before the Hero could attack, the Supervillain hurled a car at them, sending Hero crashing again, this time into a city park. While they regained consciousness and rubbed the dirt off themselves they noticed two toddlers hiding behind a park bench quivering in fear. The Hero immediately cursed and without thinking they grabbed the two kids by the waist, hoisting them up and wincing at the new found pain on the side. They flew between the trees to try to get them to safety.

Frantically, they looked around for a safe place to hide them. The smaller one began to cry as the older one started begging for their mother and that was all the Supervillain needed to corner the Hero. With two kids behind them and Supervillain monologuing about how long they had waited for this, the Hero panicked and began an attack. They motioned to the kids to get behind them as they finally lunged at the Supervillain and everything went black.

The Hero awoke, with a headache and incredibly comfortable. They blinked a few times to adjust to the sunlight pouring into the room. The pleasantly decorated and cozy room. The room with exquisite taste in decoration- they recognized this room. The sheer, blue curtains, the daisy bed sheet, all things they had picked out themselves. The Hero quickly got up and once they managed to get off the bed they promptly fell to the floor, alerting a worried Villain, walking into the room carrying a silver platter with eggs, toast and orange juice.

“Hero! Geez. What part of an IV and bandages covering your body tells you to get off of the bed?” They set the tray down and attempted to help the Hero up. They were met with a swat at their hands and through tight teeth the Hero asked “Where are the kids? Supervillain? What happened?”

The Villain gave them a pitiful stare and forced their arms through theirs to help them back on the bed. Hero accepted begrudgingly.

“The kids are ok. They’re actually in the other room playing. We’ve located the parents and they'll be on their way shortly.” The Hero nodded.

“Supervillain? Is the city destroyed? What happened?” They pleaded. The Villain held their hands up, as if to say slow down, it’s all ok. Just as they had many times before this whole mess.

“Supervillain is in custody of the State. The city is -mostly- undamaged. I found you. I don’t know what you did but the Supervillain was knocked out… and so were you. I know you're technically wanted for treason so I brought you back here. Just to recap- everything is settled.” The Hero’s stare didn’t leave their lap.

“Casualties?”

“None.” The Villain sighed appreciatively. “Thanks to you. You single handedly beat Supervillain and evacuated all civilians.”

The Hero stood quiet for a second. They tore off the IV and began towards the door again. “I told you.” They shoved the Villain aside, rejecting their help completely.

“Hero- wait! Let’s talk.” The Villain followed behind the Hero and they limped across the room.

“We have nothing to talk about.” Hero sounded cold, and not only because of their weak and trembling voice.

“Oh come on, I’ve been looking for you for months!

“Get in line.”

“Give me a chance, let me explain!”

“We have nothing to talk about!”

“Maybe we don’t, but I do.”

“I think you’ve said enough.”

“Well, I don’t.” Hero rolled their eyes and reached for the door.

“There you go again. Y’know- I used to be the loud one. The one who spoke too much. When did the roles reverse?”

“Great question! Let’s sit and talk about it! I made you breakfast.” the Villain pointed desperately at the serving platter on the bed.

The Hero took a long look at the eggs and toast. “It’s the bare minimum of a breakfast.” The Villain exasperated, “It’s breakfast.” The Hero considered it.

Feelings quickly began to bubble to the surface, feelings the Hero had tried their hardest to fight off. But seeing the Villain, casually dressed and smelling of burnt toast had them helpless.

“I’m angry. You can’t make me not angry.” They said, making it a point of not looking at the Villain

“I’m not asking you not to be. Although I admit I hate it.” The Hero had gotten better at masking emotions in the past few months but something about the Villain made them so desperately want to come loose, to cry, to scream. For three months the Hero had been living out of motels and dingy alleyways. Eating leftovers and a terrible amount of fast food fries. They were dirty, tired, angry, but something they didn’t let themselves feel was sad. And now, standing in front of the Villain who broke their heart- they were sad. But worst of all, they wanted to be sad.

“Why’d you do that?” They finally asked. Pathetically, like a child asking where their parents are or a dog whining for some food. They didn’t know what they were expecting, maybe it was closure. They wanted the Villain to hammer in the last nail so Hero could close that chapter forever.

When the Hero finally looked up, the Villain looked shattered. The Villain had expected curses, cold shoulders, even a fight. But this was so much worse. For years Villain hid behind smirks, witty comments, flirts and anything opaque enough to never, truly be seen. And perhaps that’s why the shiny hero caught their attention. They were larger than life, so tragically transparent and so regrettably brave. While nothing ever escaped the Villain- the Hero could never hold anything back. The work of hiding should have been easy, but the weight crashed on them like a ton of bricks and they finally collapsed.

“I’m sorry.” the Villain croaked. “I’m so sorry.” The Hero stood silent holding an excruciating eye contact with the Villain. The Hero laughed incredulously.

“What. No. No, you can’t just say that. You broke me. You finally did it. You were cruel and evil and mean. You can’t say that.” the Hero sputtered.

“I didn’t want to be! I…” they faltered. Finding the right words took a lot. But the Hero didn’t seem to be thinking either. So even if they did embarrass themselves it’d be worth it if they got their Hero back.

“I was scared. I saw you quit and I got scared! We- we’ve gotten so close and I had gotten careless and said so many things that should have stayed in my diary- but they didn’t and you’re so good! You are so good. And I’m not. You got to live your cushy life and people love you. You have everything and I can give you nothing. As if you wanted anything from me! I was wrong to assume but it was the only way I could think of to get you back into that life. I wish you could know how much I regretted it the moment you went away. I’ve been looking for you ever since!” The Villain ranted, they took no breaths as the Hero stared absentmindedly, tears welling up in their eyes. Villain had managed to keep their composure so far- but with fear that they might lose it they continued just as Hero opened their mouth to say something.

“If I shot down any possibility of anything, then you could have gone back! Nothing is worth losing your prestigious seat at the top of the world! And- and I know I should have been better. I wasn’t thinking, it was all so fast and I’m a coward.” They took a breath and pushed their hair back with one hand.

“I know the Company is a terrible place. And I know Captain is a terrible person. But in my twisted mind you were better off with them. At the very least, you were safe. With me, your reputation would have been ruined. You’d lose the city’s trust and you’d lose the one thing you love- being Hero.” The Hero held their upper lip with weakness, it was trembling and tears smeared their cheeks.

“Why do you get to decide that? What if I didn't care about that? There were some things that mattered more to me!” Hero tried to explain. “Why didn't you help me? Why send me back somewhere where you knew I hated. Somewhere I complained about time and time again?” pleaded the Hero. “I needed you.��

The Villain didn’t know what to say. So like a venom slowly killing them, they spat out the truth.

“You were safe there. And I couldn’t help losing you, Hero. I was so scared of losing you- even under my guidance, I would have been useless to you and I guess that scared me too. I was selfish.” They whispered to the Hero. “But regardless, I did lose you. And now you're hurt and half the city is destroyed because of me.”

The Hero sniffled. “You said the city had minimal damage.”

“I lied- not about the kids or casualties- but I did about the city.” The Villain exasperated.

“Oh.” the Hero sighed nonchalantly.

They stayed silent for a moment. And it almost felt like before when silence was comforting between them, back during the nights of meeting up on rooftops, calling each other by name, knowing each other so well that fist fights turned into dances. The first time Hero appeared in the Villain’s lair with a newspaper headlined Hero and Villain spotted together they had laughed and read the article together. The second time Hero had been too shy and pretended they knew nothing, giving Villain easy access to tease the poor Hero. Years and years of a bond so strong, of being the only person the other knew so fully and honestly. Was it all a lie? Regardless, the Hero finally allowed themselves to mourn something they weren’t even sure actually existed.

“So, it was all a lie?”

“Ya. I’m a bad guy. We tend to lie.” they answered, timidly.

“Yes, I know. I just didn’t think you’d lie to me. Even for something like that”

“I would. I’m a coward, a-” The Villain confessed.

“A villain.” Hero finished. Silence.

“How much?” Asked the Hero. The Villain perked up, raising an eyebrow. “How much of it all was a lie?” they asked, stronger this time.

The Villain shot their shot and smiled. “Well, all of…that. Um, eight years ago when I said I preferred contacts to glasses, I don’t- I just thought you wouldn’t like me with glasses. I think it was two years ago when I said I was allergic to strawberries, I actually just don’t like them, but you baked me a cake with them so I didn’t know what to say. Five years ago, when I lied and said I never read Pride and Prejudice so that you’d invite me to watch the movie-” The hero laughed, catching the Villain off guard and making them fall in love all over again. They continued.

“And everytime I said ‘I was in the area’ or anything similar. I’d go out every night with hopes I’d run into you. And in my worst days, when I said that you couldn't exist without me. The truth is, I can’t live without you.” Finally, Hero gave them a smile.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

They stood silent for another minute, the dust had settled and the silence had once again become a comfort, they both relished in it. Hero was conflicted and yet ready to face her fears, it might have been childish, but Hero wanted to love the Villain almost as much as the Villain loved the Hero, they wanted to forgive the Villain so badly, but they weren’t willing to lose themself again. Before the Villain was about to start begging on their knees, Hero started, “This doesn’t change much. Villain, I’ve never loved anything. I thought maybe I did but…”

“You thought?” Villain heartacheing whimpered.

“I don’t think love is supposed to make me feel this way. But, I’ve never really tried to deal with my emotions, ever before. I’m willing to try, Villain. I’m starting to remember why I quit in the first place, although not entirely for you, I had hoped you’d be a part of it.”

“I want to be-”

“Ah-ah. Wait, let me finish.” Hero interrupted. “You made me go through three months of hell, and-” They winced at the blood beginning to seep through their bandages, Villain quickly rushed over and Hero allowed themselves to be shuffled back to the bed where they were carefully hoisted up on the bed by the Villain. “I think I need to recover.”

“You do. You have three broken ribs” added the Villain, sympathetically.

“Oh…”

“Yaa… “ The Villain cringed.

“Anyways, my point is… I really want to believe you. But it won’t be easy, but I really, really want to try.” The Hero begged, not to the Villain, but more to themselves.

“First of all. Stop thinking on my part, I’m grown up. I can use words… Second, stop with the lies, I don’t think I could take it anymore. And third…” The Hero hesitated. “Please try. Please restore my confidence in you. I want to feel like I did when I quit.” The Hero looked down, feeling foolish and desperate. But they took that as a clue they were doing the right thing- at least that's how people in love said they felt like in the movies.

“I want to help you. I want to be on your team, Hero. I spent a decade on you, I can spend even more trying to convince you.” The Villain smiled. “I’ll do anything to pick up where we left off.”

“Well, we gotta get there first.” the Hero reminded them.

They smiled, although insecure and uncertain, and excited and giddy, they kept smiling. “I guess I could start by reheating your eggs?” asked the Villain, tilting their head to the gross pile of eggs sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Ya, that’d be nice.”

The Villain rushed over with the platter towards the door, before stopping and turning to Hero, “By the way, You’re free to stay in the guestroom. However long you’d like. It's basically already yours.” The Hero could have split in half. “Ya. Thanks.” The Villain nodded and quickly went to bring some more eggs, this time when they arrived, the serving dish had french toast, a cup of coffee, freshly made eggs, cut fruits and a single rose in a tiny porcelain vase, the first of many roses to come. Except those times they meant something much, much nicer.

pls read!! :)

I hope its good!!! its very cheesy and the villain is a simp but oh well tee hee,,, i hope u all like it! i tried to make it not easy yknow? reading week is soon so i hope to update more often to please all those who liked pt 2 lool! I also made this like super long sorri! I'll reread this in the morning to edit and stuff but i've been working on it for so long i kinda wanted to get it out hehe... also! trigger warnings,, idk how to properly label, suggestions always very welcome! thanks love u byeeeee

#villain x hero #hero x villain #writing #It’d be on their wedding night where Hero would finally confess that they thought the cockiness of fake Villain was kinda hot #much to Villain’s dismay.#criticism welcome

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