#Then the questions/interrogation would start

[sunnyie-eve]

48 | Boundaries

Series: Unexpected

Paring: (Matt Sturniolo x OFC Brock!) (Chris Sturniolo x OFC Brock!)

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: mention of rape & abortion

| MASTERLIST |

Everyone was just hanging out in the living room when Colby decided to do a surprise visit. Nick was on his laptop, Chris was watching TikTok's in his phone, and Dani and Matt were watching a black mirror episodes.

All eyes went towards the front door not expecting anyone. Matt says he'll see who it was and when he saw it was Colby he mentally sighed.

"What a surprise." Matt lets him in.

"Wanted to check in on Dani." Colby says and Dani hears him so she rolls her eyes before the two join everyone.

"Colby." Dani gives him a smile.

"I wanna take you to lunch. So get ready to go. I'm not taking no for an answer." He tells her so she gets up going to her room to change bottoms.

The guys don't really chat because Dani rushed so Colby wouldn't start anything with Matt asking stupid questions.

The car ride to lunch not a single one of them said a thing and even at lunch for the first few minutes no one said anything either.

"Why did you want to take me lunch?" Dani speaks up first, "And don't lie to me because you have never done this before."

Colby chuckles nodding his head, "That is true."

"So why now? So you can interrogate me more about  my friendship with Matt?"

"I'm just curious." He tells her.

"And I keep telling you the same thing."

"And I don't believe you or him. It's; we're close friends... It's; he's attractive but we're friends. It's; we're just friends. It's; matching tattoos but means nothing." He goes on to rant.

"You never believe me. Why?" She asks wanting to know.

"Because you have lied to me in the past about things in your relationship with your ex."

"What? He was abusive and that was proven." She says more confused than ever.

"You said y'all never did anything and you did. I found papers in mom's files about your abortion."

Dani stares at him and hates that he brought that up, "I never lied because we never did it. I was raped by his older brother that just got out of jail before going back." She lowers her voice since they were in public still, "I was 15 and I only told mom about it and we took care of it. It wasn't any of yours, Gage's, or Dad's business. I went to therapy for that not just for my anxiety."

"Dani."

"We aren't talking about it anymore. And that's final. And yes, I'm your baby sister but you need to mind your own business. Especially when it comes to who I like or don't like." She tells him.

"Exactly, you're my baby sister therefore I have a right to know things. Especially when it comes to your dating life. Especially when it's maybe with a guy you met through me."

Dani rolls her eyes, "You do not have a right. And I already knew of Matt because I was friends with Nick. You only helped by letting us finally meet up. I chose to come back here after Texas not you. My choice lead to my friendship with Matt." She explains to him.

"Also I can be curious because you two barely knew each other when he asked you to move in. That's weird to me. Why would he do that?"

"Because I needed a place to go because I didn't want to go live with you again. You would do the I told you so shit!" She snaps a bit.

"Well yeah, because I told you how she was."

"Exactly my point, Colby. If I had to make that choice again not even knowing Nick the way I did... I would still take Matt's offer than live with you." She sighs.

Colby can't help but roll his eyes a bit, "You're supposed to pick family first."

Dani can't help but laugh, "Pick family first? Okay, you wanna go there... Four years ago when I came to visit you for a week. You took me to a crazy house party then left me and the party to go hook up with some girl. I had such a bad panic attack I was taken to the hospital by some strangers at the party. You had no idea I was missing until the next day was practically over with and the hospital called you instead of mom."

"How many times have I apologized for that?"

"You shouldn't have had to because it shouldn't have never happened." She tells him, "You wanna know something sad I've realized living with them? Matt knows me more than you do Colby. Those brothers know me more than my own family." She tries not to tear up, "I feel more at home with them and their parents and Justin than with my own."

Colby just states at Dani before she gets up from the table, "Where are you going?"

"Home." She wipes her tears away leaving and he follows her.

"Are you really get a ride back?"

"I am and an uber isn't too far." She gets one to go home.

"You're being ridiculous right now."

Dani spins to face him, "Me? I'm not throwing a tantrum that my sister isn't telling me if she likes her best friend or not. And say I did and I wanted a relationship with him. What are you gonna do about it?"

Before he could answer the car pulls up so she gets in it going home. As soon as she gets home she tells the boys she wants time alone and they give it to her.

"Why isn't Dani with you three?" Nick reads the twitch chat way later in the night.

"She didn't want to." Chris tells them.

"If she wanted to join us, she would." Nick adds.

"Where is she then?" Chris reads out.

"Her room." Nick tells them then reads a few telling him to go get her to join them, "I'm not making her."

"You guys flip on her so fast." Chris shakes his head, "One second you guys want her out of stuff and now you want her with us."

Dani pushes Matt's door open since she was just in the kitchen, "I heard my name." She looks at them.

"Chat." Nick tells her and sees mixed comments now about her, "Wow." He rolls his eyes at them as Dani walks into view.

She looked like she went through hell. She had been crying almost all day since she got home, "I'm not joining them because I had a bad day." She tells the chat and they could tell by her tone she was upset.

"There, she told you why." Matt says, so she could leave his room now. He knew she just wanted to be alone to cry. Hell, all three of them knew that.

"I'll lay in here for a bit." She turns crawling onto Matt's bed as him and Chris switch spots. Matt made sure to sit at an angle where Dani wasn't being shown much and Chris helps by moving a pillow to block Dani as well.

"Oh, you guys can expect a new video coming out soon on Dani's channel. With me." Chris lets viewers know.

"Because I said no." Matt spits out making Chris and Dani look at him.

"No." She tells him since that wasn't true at all.

"We had that planned. Like since we were back home." Chris tells him.

"Is there a competition going on about...who can be on her channel the most?" Matt asks the three, "Because I seem to be dead last in this with Chris in first."

Nick gives him a look, "You are so butthurt."

"That's one way to put it." Matt agrees.

"Of course, Nick." Nick says then it hits him he said his name instead as the others laugh. "At least I got Dani to laugh." Nick says proud of himself because she needed it.

[honeii-puff]

The gateway to the world

In which Soren leaves. Read on ao3!

Soren was done. Out. Finished with all this.

He couldn’t handle it anymore. He knew Aaravos was gone now, but he didn’t want to stick around for any other magical bad guys to show up.

He could think of a handful of people who would call him a coward, or selfish, but he wanted– no, needed, to do something for himself this time.

His armour was neatly stacked in the corner of the tent, the Katolis crest looking back at him in the dim light of the single lantern he had.

They’ll live without him. He needed to be able to live, too.

Soren closed his bag before draping it over his shoulder. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had left after Katolis burned. Even before that, he didn’t have much. Claudia was more fond of trinkets than he was growing up.

He pulled his dark red cloak over his shoulders, pulling the hood up over his head, before quietly stepping out of the tent.

The camp was quiet, what remained of Katolis sleeping soundly or otherwise out of sight.

Soren wove between the tents, heading to the edge of camp-

“What are you doing?”

He spun around, coming face-to-face with Corvus.

“Uh- Just going on a walk.” He didn’t want to lie to Corvus, but he knew that he was just going to stop him from leaving. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He raised his eyebrows at him. “Without your sword?”

“I have my knife.” Soren didn’t like how quickly this was starting to feel like an interrogation. He had hoped that wouldn’t happen for another few minutes, or not at all.

“And a fully packed bag…” Corvus’ voice trailed off. “Soren, where are you going?”

“On a walk.” He pressed. “Just a walk.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a fantastic liar. One of the few things I got from my dad.”

A small crease formed between his eyebrows. “That’s not a good thing.”

Soren blew out a breath. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“You’re not coming back, are you.” It wasn’t a question. Soren hated that it wasn’t a question. But if it was, he knew part of him would say no, he wasn’t. 

And he’d stay.

But he couldn’t.

He nodded after a moment, kicking at the dirt. “Yeah…”

“They’re going to charge with insubordination and deserting your post if they catch you, Soren.” Corvus seemed more concerned than he was expecting. 

He laughed a bit. “In order for that to happen, they’d have to know where I’m going, and I don’t even know where I’m going.”

That seemed only make the crease between his eyebrows deepen. Soren sighed, stepping closer to him and reaching out to smooth the crease with his thumb. “I’ll be alright.”

Corvus exhaled, his breath starting to cloud up in the air. “Destiny’s a flowing river. You’ll get to where you need to be.”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “You know I don’t believe in that.”

“I think I believe in it enough for the both of us.” Soren felt Corvus’ hand cup the side of his face, and he leaned into the touch.

“You’re making it really hard to leave.” He murmured against the palm of his hand.

“I know.” He leaned his forehead against Soren’s. “Promise me this wont be the last time I see you.”

I can’t do that.

“I promise.” The words were lies strung from his lips, promises he knew he couldn’t keep to him. His hands moved to cup the sides of Corvus’ neck before kissing him softly.

A spark of warmth in the cold of that night.

The kiss was short, lasting a moment before Soren pulled away from him reluctantly.

It was time for him to go.

“You’re making this very hard for the both of us.” Corvus said after a moment.

“Isn’t that what I do best?”

He shook his head before slowly pulling away from Soren.

He looked away from him. Looking would only make it harder.

I love you.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

But he said nothing as he stepped into the woods surrounding the camp, the incomplete silence deafening. If his destiny was a river, he’d force its course to change.

[leafyeyes417]

So Danny had tried, he really had. He had moved to Gotham because he knew his parents wouldn’t look for him there. They had never found out he was Phantom but things had reached the point where both he and Jazz decided to go no contact.

But back to his problem. He had worked out with Frostbite that he actually only had one obsession, Space. He had been happy to know that, he had been getting tired of the constant struggle to keep both ghosts and humans safe while also dealing with ghost hunters.

So his move to Gotham was both to avoid his parents but also the reassurance that there were multiple heroes taking care of things. He had enjoyed the peace for the first three months but then he had started to get twitchy. He had tried getting some hobbies but by month six he knew he was out of options. He had especially clued in when he noticed a few classmates avoiding him thinking he was about to snap. Jazz had been resigned when he let her know the news.

So that’s why he was now sitting on a conspicuous roof, wearing a mask made in the Infinite Realms, waiting for a Bat or Bird to show up. He was coming out of retirement after all. Hopefully he would be able to work with the Bats instead of working around them. He really didn’t want to end up on the Rogue list.

[peppermintack]

show tempe gang crossover with the morris islanders would actually have been the best episode of bones ever. btw

[brehaaorgana]

I sometimes wonder if other common traits that make people vulnerable to cults are:

a desire to please others/make them happy

a willingness to try new things, and to potentially compromise your usual comfort zone in the pursuit of trying something new

I've never felt I was too smart or savvy to be drawn into a cult. I *have* often felt I was too argumentative/questioning and perhaps stubborn to join a cult, though. Like I am otherwise a GREAT TARGET for cults — I am lonely, would like community, am passionate, & sometimes feel aimless. I should be the perfect target.

Neither of those things are necessarily bad character qualities to have! They can, in fact, be very positive. But indoctrination into a cult usually involves some kind of peer pressure and/or desensitization to certain experiences over time. And that's probably more effective with people who are eager to people please or gain more positive feedback from peers even if they're uncomfortable in the meantime?

Idk I've only ever had really obvious cult recruitment tactics happen to me and those ppl usually fall very flat within a minute or less. A lot of the opening salvo the VERY obvious recruiters use is just them relying on forcing someone to feel like they must be nice in order to be polite. Basically you get trapped into a conversation because you don't want to seem rude, so you let them keep talking. Or you engage because they're so friendly and nice! and if you cut them off/say something, it makes you look like the rude person. So they prey on that freeze moment where you're going along with it so you don't seem rude. The leverage is your desire to please others/seem polite.

But the trick is, if you aren't afraid of seeming a little bit rude or making things a little bit awkward— you can get them to stop talking very quickly by just directly shutting the conversation down. So I've never had anyone get past that point because I will just be socially awkward/perhaps appear rude (but not nasty!) in order to end the conversation.

Similar but not necessarily a cult— I've done this shut down thing with annoying xtian missionaries both for my own friends/myself before but also for complete stranger retail employees being harassed by other customers trying to evangelize. Like I saw someone trying to recruit a Trader Joe's employee or whatever and because I don't care about pleasing people and didn't mind seeming "rude" so I just barged in, started talking over them, and asked the trader Joe's employee if they had any rutabagas, and if so, where could I find them? Just blithely ignored the missionary and acted like I was a self-absorbed karen. Made me look really rude, but their whole evangelizing thing relied on the social rules of "appearing polite." The employee couldn't be rude to a customer so I stepped in to be rude and then it collapsed because the expectation that everyone would politely abide by social norms fell apart. The employee took my out, told me they'd look it up in the system, and so I immediately followed them away from the missionary and then whispered "I don't actually care about rutabagas, I just figured you needed a way to get out of that."

Anyways I say that mostly to be like...being unwilling to be "forced into discomfort so you don't appear rude, even though they're the ones being rude" is basically the only way I can see how I have avoided being recruited into...like, anything.

My hypothesis is that in like 10 years gen z is gonna have a big cult boom the way the boomers did in the 70s

[cuteniarose]

Me: *creates an OC*

Me: *heavily implies OC will meet a bad fate*

OC: *meets bad fate*

Me:

(Alternatively, I may have started it, but @katkastrofa enabled me and now I’m losing my mind)

[cypress-punk]

Another thing about Luigi Mangione.

Its yet to be proven he was the killer. There are details about the arrest that sound absurd and many people suspect the cops are just trying to pin it on him.

A lot of stuff has been dug up about him from his social media that people say establishes motive and lends credence toward him being the assassin. But I would challenge you to consider that maybe he's just one of many, many people fucked over by our system, and that his medical woes are symptomatic of simply living under this system. Other than fitting the roughest approximation of the shooter's description, there is nothing unique in a man who has suffered immensely due to the inhumane health insurance industry.

What i am saying is, they could have arrested any skinny white guy and we would have had an equal likelihood to find on his social media evidence for him having a problem with the Healthcare industry. We all have problems with the industry, we all hate those leeches, that's why people immediately started celebrating the UHC CEO'S death. We all hate this system, everyone in the fucking country has motive in this crime.

For this reason, remember that Luigi Mangione is innocent until proven guilty. And furthermore, remember that not all guilty verdicts are legitimate, there is an immense amount of police and court corruption in this country that makes even seemingly cut and dry cases questionable and I don't consider this one cut and dry. Innocent people go to prison all the time. Innocent people are handed down death sentences all the time. Guilt is an easy thing to conjure in a courtroom, as are guilty pleas conjured in an interrogation room.

When you consign a man like Luigi Mangione to guilt before he has even been to trial you strengthen the system that murders black men in cold blood and labels them criminals post mortem to justify it. You strengthen a system where Kyle Rittenhouse and Daniel Penny can murder with impunity, be acquited of all wrongdoing, and be called heroes because they killed people the state doesn't value.

Don't comply with power ahead of time.

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Chapter 2: A Toon's Aid

Previously // Next - (chapter list)

[contains: BLOOD / INJURY]

The small bathroom was quiet except for the occasional droplets of water from the leaky faucet. The Grim man sat on the closed toilet lid, tense, yet worn down from his nasty injuries.

Jack sat on a stool in front with a needle and thread in hand, his face taut with stress and concentration as beads of sweat slid down his forehead, trying his best to sew the wound as cleanly as he could.

He interrogates the Toon with a list of short, yet straightforward questions. They've been at it for a while now, the scarred man's cold eyes staying locked on Jack for any suspicious movements as he spoke.

“Who are you?”

"Jack Desmond, sir." He winces as the needle pierces through the edge of the wound. "I'm an office worker at-"

"Where am I?"

"C-Cel City. It's one of the- ow." Jack tugs on the strings and closes a part of the wound, cringing in sympathy at how painful it looked. "Sorry…" He habitually apologizes, feeling bad for any discomfort he might've caused the other, before continuing his sentence. "It's one of the biggest cities here, only second to Doodleheart Center."

As Jack continues to trail off giving the man some background information, the Grim man's stare slowly starts to gravitate towards the Toon’s hands. His eyes followed the way they would pause mid-air, trying to steady them from shaking, before going back to sewing carefully.

His brows furrow at this. It was unclear whether it was out of displeasure or something else, his expression as unreadable as ever, even during this painful procedure.

"What do you hope to gain from this?"

Jack blinked, looking up at the man's eyes with a startled look on his face. Then he furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Nothing..?" He answers, sounding just as questioning about his own decision as the other was. Then he sighs, pausing his task to think of a proper answer.

"To be honest, I... didn't want to bring you here at first." He angled his gaze downwards, feeling heavy with guilt at admitting to his real feelings and scared of how the other man might react. "I mean, you were scary and obviously not from around here," he fidgets with the needle in his fingers as he recounts his terrifying first encounter with the man, "so I meant to just call the authorities on you or something' n' leave..."

"But." Jack lifts his head up to look back at the other. Mixed within the nervousness in his eyes was genuine care. "You just looked like you needed help, so..."

The Grim man's gaze narrowed. Cold sweat continued to creep down the side of Jack's face as he swallowed his saliva, but he didn't look away, fearful that his true intentions may get deemed disingenuous by the other as he stared at him.

...

....

After a while, the Grim man heaves a deep sigh and looks away, seemingly done with his interrogation. Jack's tense frame relaxed the moment the man's eyes were off of him, inhaling in relief before quickly huffing the air back out in disgust as the smell of blood assaulted his nose. Right: the wound.

He went back into stitching, and the room was quiet after that.

Trying not to pay any mind to the silence, Jack's attention eventually began to zone in on the task at hand.

While working on the nasty wound, Jack internally thanked the stars for still being able to remember the important stuff that got taught to him years ago in school.

For a Genre with healing properties as ridiculous as theirs, all Toon citizens must have knowledge on basic medical care. Or at the very least, they must be able to aid wounded individuals in case of emergencies. It's mandatory to be taught in schools, some teaching it as early as Elementary.

Jack's memory on this is vague by this point since it's been such a long time ago. Apparently, a lot of the practices being tested and mastered back then were cultivated mostly to care for the people outside of their own Genre.

Aside from a few mixed-Genres here and there, Jack had grown up in a largely Toon-populated area with little to no contact to the other Genres outside his own. He briefly learned about non-Toon people being far more vulnerable to injuries than they were. Not having met one his entire life, he hadn’t quite grasped the severity of it all until he saw this man dying in that alleyway. It horrified him to see how much a person can be hurt to such an extreme degree.

He didn’t know what happened to the other man in order for him to end up in such a situation, and he didn’t have enough courage to ask him to be honest. But the thought that he may have gotten injured in a city of Toons of all places - and in an area near where he lived at that - made his heart brew with fear.

What happened? Was it an accident? Did he do this to himself? Did somebody injure him? Were there other victims? Is this place still safe?

It was an unending waterfall of thoughts and the uncertainty of it all made him feel a tad bit too afraid. He didn’t want to think about it. Not for now at least.

Honestly, if Jack had been any less reassured in his ability to at least be able to stop the heavy bleeding, he wouldn't have even thought of taking the wounded man into his apartment.

Jack did his best to finish it up as quickly as he could, though not hastily as his nerves might do more unneeded damage, imagining how much in pain the man was probably in right now.

Snip.

The thread gets cut off with a small scissor. And with that, they were done!

"Phew." Jack stretches, popping a few joints that had become tense from having to keep them steady in the air for so long. He gives the newly stitched wound a hard look, examining it.

...Still red and angry, but no more bleeding. He knows he's largely inexperienced, but he hopes this is good enough.

With that out of the way, he now had to deal with the man himself who had returned to staring at him again a while ago. The side of Jack's mouth curved up into a smile without his control, looking more like a grimace at being observed so intently by such a scary individual.

"So, uh..." His voice wobbled. He clears his throat and stands up, walking to the sink and turning on the faulty faucet to wash off the stain on his hands, struggling to appear more casual. "May I ask for your name, sir?" Jack tries to start a conversation to lessen the tension that's been building between them since the man woke up.

The other's expression doesn't shift. After a beat of silence that stretched on for a bit too long, he spoke.

“No.”

'Yep, I figured as much.' He thought to himself. "Right," Jack chuckles, drained of the usual humor he carried.

To be honest, he felt a bit tired after all of that. He could really use a quick nap right now… Jack could only hope that this (probably a) criminal guy is at least nice enough to not murder him before he falls asleep.

Turning off the stream of water, he flicks the water off his hands and turns to leave. "Well,” he notes, “feel free to help yourself here. I'll go and get you something clean to wear." He then exits the bathroom, now done with the conversation he was attempting to have.

Pushing aside how he probably hadn't been following a lot of medical rules and regulations taught to (and forgotten by) him years ago, with all the scars on that guy, he's assuming that it's probably fine to just leave him be for now, right? Surely a violence-prone-looking man like that would already know how to take care of himself when he's hurt, right? He sure hopes so. He doesn’t wanna come back to a dead body.

With that thought, Jack goes off to retrieve the clothes he had left for him by the nightstand.

"..."

Gavriel sat in silence in the bathroom, the soft hum of the distant city and the ambience of the Toon’s neighbors filtering through the walls. He was now left on his own, leaving him to reflect on the situation.

Shifting slightly, he grimaced as pain flared through his side and throughout the rest of his body. The stitches pulled, a stark reminder that he wasn’t in any shape to defend himself if something went wrong. Not that it mattered. If the Toon wanted him dead, he’d already had the chance to let him bleed out.

Why hadn’t he?

That thought didn’t bring comfort to him, only deepening his unease. The Toon’s actions were naively kind, something which he understood yet hesitated to accept.

So far, the other hadn’t given him any suspicious answers. Every question Gavriel had asked were met with genuine - albeit bumbling - honesty. The nervous man stuttered more often than not, but he hadn’t hesitated, nor had he tried to deflect or go off topic. The only weird thing happening right now was the fact that the Toon was helping him.

This behavior didn’t seem to come from a place of deception and ulterior motives. Or perhaps it did, and Gavriel just couldn’t see it yet.

In the bathroom, Gavriel could hear the other’s voice phasing through the thin apartment walls. Though his words were muffled, he sounded mournful with phrases like, "I spent money on that..." and "Tsk, tsk. What a waste." followed by a heavy sigh.

Gavriel pressed his lips into a thin line. Despite himself, the lament struck a chord.

Money and food. Those were two of the main things a person must never waste in their life. This lesson had been deeply ingrained deep into his very bones even as a child, who had the misfortune of growing up facing the struggles of being in the slums. Food was scarce, money even scarcer. People fought and killed over it, and so did he.

For him, life wasn’t for living back then, it was survival. Then, he grunts, feeling the insistent throbbing on his freshly sewn side, spreading throughout his entire torso. Well, he supposed some things haven’t exactly changed that much.

Gavriel hears the gentle pitter patter of the Toon’s feet. He appears a moment after, quietly stepping into the bathroom with the clothes in hand. He glanced at Gavriel, who was still seated on the toilet, and carefully placed the clothes on the dry part of the sink’s edge, not having much space to put them anywhere else. His movements were quick but not rushed, clearly trying to avoid intruding too much on the other man’s space.

"Here," the Toon said softly. "The clothes I left for you. I can get you something else if these aren’t... comfortable,” he offers, looking at how much smaller the size of his own t-shirt was compared to Gavriel’s body.

He glances at Gavriel briefly before looking down at the floor, the tension in the room thick, but Jack manages a kind, almost awkward smile.

"I’ll… leave you to it then." Without waiting for a response, the Toon does a polite little head bow before turning on his heel and leaving the bathroom. He even made sure to gently close the door behind him, leaving Gavriel to change in peace.

Gavriel turned his attention to the clothes Jack had left neatly folded on the edge of the sink. Standing up, he walks over to inspect the clothes given to him. They looked cheap and would probably be a bit too tight for him to wear but it was better than staying cold and bare.

He glanced back toward the door, his brows furrowing. The Toon hadn’t lingered, hadn’t said anything besides the brief statement that the clothes were for him, nor were there any lectures, insistence, or attempts to force a conversation. Just a quiet exit. Probably to clean up the mess Gavriel had left in the other room, he guessed.

Gavriel shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to people like that Toon. People who gave generously without any strings attached or wanting something back, people who respected him, not like the wariness of his enemies or the reverence of his underlings, but simply out of basic human decency - albeit with reasonable fear. The Toon… Jack Desmond was painfully normal, perhaps a touch too kind for his own good.

His mind wandered to Desmond’s face earlier. The nervous and awkward glances, the apologetic grimaces when the needle went through his flesh, and the reluctance to meet his eyes, yet his determination to keep helping despite the tension. It had been... odd. Gavriel couldn’t pinpoint what irritated him more. Desmond’s clumsy kindness or the fact that it seemed genuine.

Gavriel sighed, his breath heavy with the weight of his thoughts. His fingers tightened around the clothes.

For now, staying here and recuperating wasn’t the worst plan.

____

Special thanks to @demonicrhythms for proofreading this chapter.

[linagram]

sometimes i kinda wanna rb ask games like i do for my other ocs, but then i remember that interrogations exist and they are. basically ask games.

[moodyvoid]

You’re the newest member of the League of Villains. You get captured by the authorities.

The League quickly infiltrate the police station, taking out everyone on their way to get to you. They see you through the glass in the interrogation room, being questioned. Shigaraki stops everyone, curious to see how loyal you are.

Detective: “Tell me about the League.”

You: “What about them?”

Detective: “Any info you’ve got. Perhaps I can cut you a good deal.”

Toga, worried: “Y/n wouldn’t talk, would they?”

Twice, shaking his head: “They’d never! They’re totally going to rat us out!”

Spinner: “What do we do if they do talk?”

Dabi: “Burn them.”

Mr. Compress: “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s give them a proper chance.”

Shigaraki: “Quiet. Listen.”

You: “Alright. I’ll tell you what I know.”

The League’s expressions all fall for a moment, but then you continue.

You: “Toga always steals my body spray, Mr. Compress hogs the coffee machine every morning, Twice snores loud enough to rattle the entire building, Spinner leaves his monster energy drink cans all over the hideout, Dabi has set every couch we’ve had on fire, and Shigaraki keeps stealing the meals I prep out of the fridge, but I let him because otherwise I don’t think he eats. I even started making extra so I know he’s getting enough food—“

Detective: “I meant information about what they’re planning or their current whereabouts. Not your roommate complaints.”

You: “Ohhh… Fuck off.”

Shigaraki nods approvingly before entering the room, decaying the detective, and letting you free.

[just-some-little-lads]

A Late Night

Summary: You come back home after a long day only to find Sylus waiting for you, acting a bit differently than normal. Word Count: 1.1k SFW, Second Person POV, GN MC.

Being a Hunter was good work; you knew that. However, heroism or not, long days could still have you cursing under your breath, dreaming of living in isolated peace by some lakeside. Dragging your feet, you contemplated calling in sick tomorrow. The key to your apartment flailed clumsily on it’s ring before finally turning in the slot. Shoes kicked to the shadows, work bag abandoned on the floor, you didn’t even bother turning on your lights before flopping on your couch. With your eyes closed, you were two alluring seconds away from drifting off… Till the hairs on the back of your head prickled. A sixth sense blared warnings of danger throughout your body, urging you to fly up in enough time to grab a figure approaching the back of the couch. Tact and grace were not your close friends tonight. Amidst the self-defense, you threw yourself off the couch to tackle your intruder to the ground. If you could call it a tackle, anyway. More like keeping them pinned with your collapsed body.

Before you could fully enter “interrogation mode”, a low chuckle stopped you in your tracks. Which emotion would your tone land on today? Surprise, confusion, irritation? “Sylus?” All three, apparently.

“Do you know how long I waited for you?” Despite the words, he didn’t sound irritated, just amused. He wasn’t even pushing you off of him.

After a moment of consideration, you graciously removed your knee from the middle of his back. A subtle groan suggested that your frantic maneuver had affected him more than he would ever like to admit. Step, flick, and a mellow light illuminated your living room. Sylus had pushed himself up enough to sit on the floor, his back leaning against the sofa.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not break into my apartment? Not only is it an extreme breach of my privacy, but it is also illegal!” You found yourself hissing quietly as you scolded him, worried that shouting too loud would reach the ears of curious neighbors. Neighbors who also happened to be Hunters. Hunters who would not treat the company of the most infamous N109 Zone boss so casually. “If you’re so determined to treat this place like your own, maybe I could consider making you a spare key but—“ You cut your own lecture off, noticing the distinct lack of attention of this particular criminal. “Are you listening to me? Sylus.”

A humph left his chest as he lifted himself up to his feet, needing to use the furniture for leverage. Not a detail left unnoticed. Suddenly you were worried; after all, this wouldn’t be the first time he had come to you to wounded. “Are you—“

“I can listen to you and ignore you at the same time, sweetie. And as for the moment, I don’t have a key. How else was I supposed to welcome you home after work, hmmm?” His hum dragged out longer than usual.

“—okay.” You finished your question from earlier. “I was going to ask ‘are you okay’.” Without waiting for a proper answer, you approached him, taking his wrist in your hand and observing his body for any clear wounds. He smiled down at you while you did so. Nothing…obvious, but a gut feeling was still telling you that something was off. Wrist in hand, you dragged him to the other side of the couch and shoved him into a seating position.

Another stern line of questioning was about to leave your mouth, but it never came. A soft kiss pressed itself against the back of your hand, Sylus’ head slightly lowered. A move straight out of some knightly romance. Your heart fluttered, your face flushed, yet you wouldn’t let yourself melt so easily. Yes…affection amongst other things had started to blossom between you two; however, Sylus’ demeanor always had you thinking that this was another game of his. But this… He had never been so open like this before.

The man in question raised his head, looking up at you with another grin on his face. Only, this one didn’t have that edge of haughty aloofness that typically painted his expression. He was…genuinely pleased. Should you be worried? Something else to note was the subtle tint of pink in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “No…” you ended up stating aloud. “You? Drunk?”

Sylus’ hand waved in the air, like he had to physically bat away that accusation before it stuck. “I don’t get drunk, sweetie.”

“But you have been drinking?”

Keeping your hand still in his grasp, he idly brushed a finger up and down your wrist. The motion sent a shudder down your spine. “Maybe that…exchange I told you about went very well today.” His words went hush, a deep purr in his throat as his face came close to your hand again. His breath warmed your skin. “And maybe I celebrated another resounding success with a bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a lovely rainy day.” The anticipation for him to kiss you again ended with him pressing a cheek to the back of your hand. Sylus’ face was heated. He glanced up at you through the fringe of his grey hair. Apparently, he caught that little glimpse of eagerness in your eyes.

Slowly, he guided you down onto the couch. You swallowed something building up in your throat as he began to lean over you till your back was against the armrest. “So, you came all the way out here while tipsy?” The pounding in your chest now was obvious.

Once more, he raised one of your hands. “I wanted to see you, is that such a crime?” Voice soft and low, he pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, dragging it down to his cheek, and then finally right before his mouth. If you closed your eyes and drowned out the slight condescending hum in your ears, you'd have a hard time believing that this was the leader of Onychinus. The touch was that of an entirely different man. At least one you were not well acquainted with. Maybe Sylus was the evil one in a set of twins and you got sent the benevolent one by mistake. The gestures were gentle, tender, pleading. Pinkies intertwined while his wine-tinted lips pecked different promises on the backs of your knuckles. “Can I stay tonight?”

The word ‘yes’ kept echoing in your mind at a disturbing pace, but you wouldn’t let him win with just sweetened words and some sudden puppy-dog eyes. You weren’t even aware his face could do that. “Say please.”

Sylus practically giggled, propped up by an arm next to your head. His posture lowered till his forehead pressed against yours. The tip of his nose rubbed against your own as his whisper was as quiet and needy as you were wishing it would be. “Please?”

[messenger-of-babel]

The Call

Summary: One little call to each of them. One big consequence. (Batfamily x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 2.9K

Notes: IM LATE AGAIN. I hope you all know that I do stay up wildly late when this happens cause I want to edit before I submit, even if some of these were pre-written (its 1:30AM RAHH). ANWAYS. Batfamily, I tried to get as many as I could but I haven't collected runs for about half the family cause I am biased towards my boys, but I am trying to be as accurate as possible when I can be and that includes those dynamics! So rest assured I am doing my research and hopefully that'll reflect soon. As usual, enjoy your daily feed and I'll enjoy my nap. Warnings just for general description of violence.

Much Love~! xx

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When Dick got the call, he was in his civilian clothes.

Dick Grayson was suit shopping, needing something for an upcoming gala. He had put it off for so long, since he wore the Nightwing suit more than any other in his closet. He had let it ring out once while he got his measurements taken, but when they called back a second time, his lips dipped into a frown. Excusing himself, he clicked the answer call button, stating his name. He hears the voice of Bruce, but in the stern tone of Batman. He doesn’t think that he's ever left a store as fast as he had that day, feet thudding on the pavement and breath cold in his chest as he hurries to his car. He unlocks it and all but throws himself into the passenger seat, lines on his face hardening. Throwing it quickly into drive he pulls out and heads in the direction of the manor.

He tries to keep himself composed, his emotional training kicking in. His fingers are tense on the steering wheel, passing over the bridge at a speed a cop would most certainly pull him over for. Even though he tries to take a deep breath, there's a burning in his sternum. It builds until it creeps into his neck, making him click his tongue uncomfortably.

The sensation is a rage he hadn't felt in a while, a fire that hadn’t burnt that intensely since he was just a boy grieving his parents’ death. It had flickered when he had heard Bruce had adopted a boy called Jason after him, sputtering to life upon hearing about his death. Yet he had grown, he had risen above it and had become a shelter for his younger, extended family. He was dependable, uncrackable, and upbeat, that was Nightwing. Yet as he drives back with that painful fire in his chest, he felt nothing more than Dick Grayson, the boy stricken with fear at the idea of losing his family.

When Jason got the call, he had been on patrol.

Helm securely on his face, it kept the drizzly night rain of Gotham out of his eyes. It had been a rather quiet night, stopping a few minor robberies and assaults that were common down by Dixon Docks. He was eager to return home, wanting to swing by the manor quickly to take full advantage of the hot water system before heading back to his apartment in Old Gotham for a well-deserved rest. He had just finished interrogating some of Penguins' men, about to call the cave to let whoever was on tonight know that they finally had the location of the new drug den they had been chasing the past month. However, the communication device he had set on his bike was lit, screen full of notifications.

Calls, one after another filled the small holographic display and he pressed the button to call back, leg swinging over the side of the bike as he did so. He had only started the bike but already he screeched to a stop, making sure he heard the words properly. A curse and gruffly shouted questions were his only response and when he got the information he wanted, he cut the call and the bike roared to life. He leant forward as if that was going to help him get to his destination quicker, blood boiling underneath his skin. His chest ached with the urge to sputter out pants, desperate to start the sign of panic racing through his veins. Yet he was stronger than that, keeping his cool like a tightly wound coil, muscles tensed beneath the suit.

His mind buzzes with worry, anxiety gnawing at his ribcage like a feral rat.

Jason doesn't often allow himself to be emotional on the job, despite his tendency for rage.

But rage was different. Rage burned and warmed him up from the inside, was the force that he put behind every punch or kick. It was his kindling, and it served to guide him as well as any star. Of course, Bruce had tempered it somewhat, but he had just guided Jason into turning it into something else, not getting rid of entirely. He used rage to protect the people of the city, the outrage he felt when he saw them get treated badly. He used rage when coming to his family's defence, the sight of hands being laid on people he had come to care for sparking it too. Those were the rages he was used to using, although there was always a third.

The pit.

The rage that bubbled away in the back of his mind, hidden behind a tall wall and shoved into the deepest part of him. That was the rage that crept forth, green and poisonous in his veins and clouding his judgement in a fog of pain and despair and anger. When it would appear, he would often take a moment to himself to pack it back away, contain it once more in the bulletproof casing of his heart. Yet right now, he didn't want to put it back. It made him rev the bike harder, made him feel like he was getting there quicker. The bike kicked up water as he zig zagged through the back streets, his mental map of Gotham rerouting anytime the traffic was longer than five cars deep. He couldn't afford to lost time, to not be fast enough. Not now, not this time, and if he had to use the rage the pit cursed him with, he would.

Tim was at the manor, holed up in his room when he got the call.

It had been a long night the night before, tossing restlessly. Not that he would have told anyone, but the last fight with Bane had left him with a few more bruises than he had let on, cleverly hidden from the keen eyes of Alfred. He wanted to nurse them himself, carry his own weight. In fact, he had been sulking in his room going over the things that had been troubling him, knees pulled to his chest.

Dick was capable and dependable, and the first Robin, the biggest shoes to fill. Jason was tenacious but loved deeply, and he fought for what was right. His methods might be unconventional to the Bat sometimes, but he knew what he wanted to fight for. Steph had flown the nest to become Spoiler, Cass already had such a firm grasp of who she wanted to become now that she was Orphan. Barbara had even been able to turn her life around after being put into her wheelchair, her desire to help leading her to become Oracle when she had to hang up Batgirl. Even Damian, the true son of Bruce Wayne, was so confident, growing at a rate he knew Bruce was quietly proud of.

But then there was Tim, who stayed up on weekends trying to redesign his suit, to carve his own vigilante life, only to look on it and see the traces of his time as Robin printed clearly on it. The role of Robin had outgrown him, but there was the shred of doubt that whispered in his ear that just maybe, he hadn't outgrown it. The ringing of his phone snapped him out of his daze, and he let it go to voicemail. When it came again, he grabbed his phone with the desire to turn it off, but seeing the emergency signal had him picking up right away.

"Hello?" he called, sitting right up in bed. His eyes widened and he shelved his pity party, running out of his room.

He winds through the halls of the manor until he finds the door he's looking for. Tim's knuckles rap against the wood loudly, repeating until a disgruntled Damian comes to the door, swinging it open violently. "This better be good, Drake." he deadpans, scanning the flustered state of the older boy. Tim just turns his phone screen, showing the emergency call signal before gesturing to the direction of the grandfather clock with his head. "We've got to go." he says curtly, the young boy hot on his heels after he recovers from his shock.

Both of them head to the cave and prepare to depart immediately. Tim slips the suit over his skin like an outgrown shedding, domino mask sliding onto his face. He couldn’t recognise his own face when he caught sight of it in the glass reflection, but a mask and suit would never be enough to hide the panic that clung to him tighter than the Red Robin suit.

When Bruce got the call, he was at Wayne Enterprises.

He was making a rare appearance at the office, knowing that Lucius had something that he wanted to talk to him about. His office felt foreign and sterile, empty and unreal. The glass surfaces everywhere let him glimpse the face of Bruce Wayne, a face that he was beginning to see less and less. It felt uncanny seeing himself without the cowl, and sometimes when he was working, he could swear he saw a reflection of the bat ears in the window beside him. The night had dragged on, and he was only an hour into the meeting with Lucius when the phone in his suit pocket rang.

He and Lucius shared a sceptical look as he turned the phone screen. The call location wasn't displaying as the Batcave, the only place that could contact this phone directly outside of his children, Lucius and Alfred's personal mobile. Yet he knew Red Hood was taking the brunt of patrol tonight, and Bruce was intended to join him after the meeting. Dick was carrying out some errands downtown and everyone else had either stayed home or didn't contact him like this often. The girls preferred to call his phone as Bruce Wayne or spoke through Alfred, so who could it be?

Lucius gives a nod, silent as he sits down. Bruce's face hardens as he presses the speaker button, accepting the call.

"Who is this?" he says, lowering his voice to the gravelly timbre of Batman.

"Da...B-Batman?" comes a broken, shaky voice on the other end. Lucius's eyes widen and flick to Bruce's immediately, mouth parting. Bruce's jaw ticks, eyes widening as well when he hears your voice.

"This is the Batman. How did you get this number?" He asks, having to focus on keeping his voice low, even though the tone of Bruce threatens to creep back in.

"He-he just had it. I don't know. He just told me to speak, I-I'm not even holding the phone I can't see anything; I’m tied, my eyes are-" you begin to ramble, struggling to get through your words before you're cut off.

"Hello, Batsy." calls a voice close to the receiver, and Bruce swore that his heart fell through the floor in that moment. His fingers tighten around the phone the same way that his lungs are constricting in his chest.

"Joker."

The man on the other end cackles, if Bruce could even call him that. "Miss me?" he snickers, Bruce's mind filling with the image of a red stretched grin. "You see, this is more of a... courtesy call. You know Bruce Wayne, billionaire extraordinaire?"

Bruce's head snaps up to Lucius, who's rubbing at his face nervously.

He didn't know, did he?

"You see, I didn't make a lot of impact going after the commissioner last time, so I had to think to myself, If I wanted to really shake things up in Gotham, who else is there? Then I thought of it, who better than the playboy of the century?" he laughs, punctuated with a sharp snap of his fingers.

"Get to the point." Bruce all but growls.

"Yeah yeah, you always love to rush me, don't you?" The Joker snarks back with fake hurt, before continuing. "Regardless, I have one of his little orphan projects, thinking I might have a bit more success with this one."

He hears a thwack over the phone and a scream, making his nails dig into his palm. He steadies his breathing.

"What have you done?" he asks, low and dangerous.

Another thwack.

"Exactly what I said. But there was a rumour going around that you know Mr. Money, so I thought I'd give you a call, you know, a little gift. If you do know the richest orphan in Gotham, then I want to give you the honour of telling him I've got one of his. Better yet, I want to give you the honour of delivering their body to his doorstep. Maybe that way, you might be able to bond over losing your fake kids."

Bruce feels sick, closing his eyes to try and stop himself from making a mistake right now.

Your life was on the line. He had to play smart.

"Where are you?"

The joker tuts on the other end. "This was a courtesy call, nothing more. I don't want anyone interrupting my playtime. Tata for now~"

"Joker-" he starts but then he's cut off, line going dead. Lucius doesn't say anything, his own personal phone pulled out as he calls Alfred, studying the frozen figure of Bruce. It's almost like there's dark tendrils to the shadows on his broad body, deepening the lines on his face.

Bruce doesn't remember too much, but Batman did.

Immediately he had left the room, suit en route to him and arriving within the minute. As soon as the comfort of his cowl touched his skin, Bruce was gone, and it was Batman calling everyone at the same time. It was Dick who picked up first, a couple of rings earlier than Jason before Tim joined, the sound of Damian in the background. Oracle and Spoiler joined together, while the others were still pending. He didn’t have the time to temper his voice as he relayed the situation, immediately getting as many people on recon as possible.

There were shouts and yelling and cursing before all of their lines became inactive, replaced with trackers signalling that their suits were live. When he enters the batmobile he grips the wheel tensely. The lump in his throat doesn't seem to disappear, only growing larger with each second. His mind is filled with pictures of Jason. Pictures of Barbara. The smiling photos of you.

He might never admit it, but he had your photos front and centre in his wallet (something you did in fact know and used to your advantage frequently in 'dad loves me more' battles). He remembers the first day he ever saw you, cold and scared apart from the other kids in the orphanage. He had been investigating a potential human trafficking ring operating out of the centre, but when he saw you, the fatherly pang hit him. The way your eyes stared forward dully as he greeted children as Bruce Wayne, cameras flashing around him. He had enough wealth to buy the children anything they asked for, the other kids excitedly asking for new toys or clothes or art supplies. However, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked you want you wanted, you said only a few words, 'a family'.

And god be damned if Bruce didn't have money enough for that too.

So, he took you in, hid batman from you like he had tried to with everyone else as well. Yet he failed again, but unlike his children in the past, you never asked to join. Never asked for a suit or to stay up or to train in the cave. Never showed any interest in joining your siblings or throwing yourself in front of danger for the sake of the city. When he asked you why you had simply shrugged, giving him a soft smile.

"All I've ever wanted was to be part of a family. I don't need to be a superhero to be loved."

And then you beamed at him with a smile that could have lit up his world and chased the clouds away from Gotham, so pure and genuinely content. That made Bruce feel like he had finally succeeded as a father, and for once Bruce felt like a father. No Batman, no mask and cape. He didn't train with you; he went out with you to the theatre on weekends. You didn't jump from rooftop to rooftop, you liked to come study with him in his office when he had to take care of Wayne affairs. Batman may have been created to save Gotham city, but he was convinced that you were sent to save Bruce Wayne.

Now, he felt that he had failed you as both Bruce and Batman.

"Hold on sweetheart," he whispers to himself, letting his eyes close for a brief moment during his exhale. "I'll get you home. I promise."

He pressed the accelerator further, Batmobile display signaling that everyone else was suited up and across the city waiting further instruction. He just hoped, he prayed that when he brought you back, it wouldn't be in a body bag.

[theostrophywife]

chicken noodle soup.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

song inspiration: is it really so strange? by the smiths

author's note: just a soft fluffy comfort fic cause i've been thinking about matty lately and i needed cheering up after the end of kwaf. let's all laugh at the fact that i set a 1k limit on this fic only to fail miserably lmao 😭

Mattheo Riddle was not a fan of Mondays. 

Most of the time, Mattheo spent the first day of the week nursing a hangover and getting higher than a hippogriff at the Astronomy Tower with his friends to achieve equilibrium. The only thing he looked forward to every week was the prospect of riling you up in class. To be fair, it didn’t take much to get under your skin. Being himself seemed to do the trick. 

As he walked through the castle halls, Mattheo smiled to himself as he plotted out all the different ways he could provoke you on this dreadful day. For some sick and twisted reason, he reveled in the fact that only he could manage to rouse such a violent reaction out of you. There was something satisfying about the way your eyes blazed, your rosy cheeks tinged with heat as you told him off.

Maybe he'd flirt with you today. Tell you how good you looked in your short little skirt. Watch as you turned as red as the tie around your neck. His pretty little Gryffindor good girl. In Mattheo's mind, you were his to tease and taunt.

With his usual swagger, Mattheo sauntered into Advanced Transfiguration fully prepared to test out his new tactics on his nemesis, but you were nowhere to be found. 

At first, he figured that you were just running late. Throughout the duration of your rivalry, Mattheo had never once witnessed you skip class. He would’ve bet his entire cigarette supply that you’ve had perfect attendance since first year. When Professor McGonagall started the lesson and you were still missing in action, Mattheo was understandably concerned. 

The uneasy feeling in his stomach didn’t mean that he was worried about you though. This was purely about mutual benefit. Mattheo couldn’t very well have his Transfigurations partner skipping out on lessons. Even though he regularly did so himself. But still, that was different. Everyone knew he was a delinquent. You, on the other hand, were anything but. Until today, you’ve probably never missed a class in your life. 

Mattheo waited. Surprisingly, the two of you had the majority of your classes together. All of which dragged more than usual since you weren’t there to yell at him for dicking around. When you still hadn't turned up for Charms or Herbology, he became convinced that something was horribly wrong. Missing one lesson was alarming, but three in a row? That was entirely out of character for you. 

When Professor Sprout finally dismissed the class, Mattheo sauntered over to Granger’s desk. As always, she was surrounded by her two dimwit friends who immediately tensed the second he loomed near. Potter and Weasley shot him matching menacing glares, but Mattheo ignored them entirely. 

“Granger,” he drawled, leaning against the wooden desk. “Care to tell me where my partner’s been all day?” 

The Gryffindor girl appeared a bit perturbed by the question. “Why do you want to know where Y/N is?” 

Mattheo sighed in exasperation and produced the set of notes he’d taken during class. A first for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually listened to an entire lesson, let alone take notes, but he knew that you would have a million questions for him when you returned. The notes were his way of saving himself from your relentless interrogation. 

“Figured the little know-it-all would want my notes.” 

“Y/N is feeling a bit under the weather,” Hermione said cautiously. “I can take the notes to her if you’d like.” 

“No.” Mattheo declared rather suddenly. He cleared his throat and attempted to smooth over the sharp response. “No, McGonagall tasked me with it. I don’t want her docking points from my house when she finds out that you did my dirty work for me.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Sure.” The quirk of her mouth told Mattheo that she wasn’t convinced by his excuse. “Well, Y/N is resting up in the tower if you fancy a visit.” 

After a quick detour to the kitchens, Mattheo made his way over to Gryffindor tower. It was surprisingly easy to gain access to the lion’s den. He simply threatened a third year to let him in and got on with it. They truly needed to upgrade their security measures. One glare was all it took for Creevey to crumble and cave. 

With a satisfied smirk, Mattheo walked past the gaudy common room. For Salazar's sake, hadn't the Gryffindors ever heard of subtlety? The decor consisted solely of crimson and gold and the furnishings looked like something out of that muggle show his nan loved to watch—Antiques Roadshow. Antique was right. The worn out couch that he passed looked older than him.

Merlin, now he was starting to sound like Malfoy. Mattheo hurried along before he caught the urge to fold origami notes and chuck it at Potter's head. Fortunately for him, the place was devoid of the Chosen One or anyone for that matter.

By now, his fellow classmates were all in the Great Hall eating dinner, which he was thankful for. It was no secret that Mattheo’s presence wouldn’t be welcome here and he wasn’t really in the mood to fight his way through the Gryffindors just to deliver a note from the kindness of his black heart. Thank Salazar that there wasn’t a single soul in the tower to bicker with. Until he reached your dorm, of course. 

The relationship between the two of you was volatile to say the least. Despite Mattheo’s reputation, you weren’t shy about telling him off. When you were first assigned as partners, Mattheo had fully intended to let you do all the work while he skipped class to smoke, but he quickly realized that this would not be the case. You hunted him down at his hideout in the Astronomy Tower and discovered him blissfully sharing some premium grade mirthroot with Theo and Draco. When you found him, you were so angry that you dragged him by the ear all the way to the library, much to the amusement of his friends. Needless to say, Mattheo never missed a study session again. 

In a way, Mattheo admired you for it. Aside from his friends, everyone in the castle feared him. It was sort of refreshing to have someone call him out on his shit. Especially if that someone was a funny, feisty, ferocious Gryffindor who he enjoyed pestering every chance that he got. Mattheo always did have a penchant for girls with an attitude problem. 

Even as he knocked on your door, the Slytherin boy couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when he heard you grumbling from the other side. 

“Oh, for Godric’s fucking sake, what is it now?” 

The door swung open, revealing a very pissed off Y/N. Clad in striped pajamas and fuzzy bunny slippers, you placed a hand on your hip and frowned. Even in the throes of sickness, you still somehow managed to inject venom in your glare. Mattheo grinned like an idiot. 

“Nice slippers, princess.” 

You huffed, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Riddle?” 

“To make sure my partner doesn’t slack.” He waved his set of notes around. “Don’t think your sickness excuses you from studying.”

“This is payback for making you revise with me after you fell off your broom and broke your arm, isn’t it?” 

Mattheo cringed as he recalled the quidditch accident that sent him to the infirmary for a week. In true Y/N fashion, you were sitting by his bedside with a stack of books in your lap the second he woke up. Madam Pomfrey hadn't even put his arm in a sling yet before you were drilling him on proper spell enunciation and wand movements.

“You terrorized the infirmary with your mnemonics,” Mattheo said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s my turn now. This is sweet revenge, Y/N.” 

You squinted at his barely legible handwriting. “I’m just surprised you took your head out of your arse long enough to take notes.” 

“Glad to see that illness hasn’t lessened your bite. If anything, those teeth seem a little sharper than usual.” He leaned against the doorframe and smiled down at you. “Feeling a bit feral, princess?” 

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?” you quipped, baring your teeth at the aggravating boy. 

The gesture appeared intimidating for a full second until you sniffled and launched into a coughing fit, which made Mattheo frown. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Of course I am. I regularly cough my lungs out on nosy Slytherins whose sole purpose of existence is to make my life a living hell.”

He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. The way his brow furrowed strangely resembled concern. Mattheo trained his chocolate brown eyes on you, examining the rosiness of your cheeks and the slight pinch of discomfort in your features.

"You're burning up." Mattheo's hand dropped from your forehead to the side of your neck. He pressed his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the erratic beating of your heart underneath his touch. It was strangely intimate. "You have an elevated heart rate."

You flushed and swatted his hand away. "Well, yes. That usually happens when one is ill."

"Come on, you should sit down."

"Don't tell me what to do, Riddle."

Mattheo rolled his eyes before dragging you by the elbow. Your protests fell on deaf ears as he barged his way into your dorm and walked you over to the bed. You watched as he pulled up a chair next to you before rifling through the contents of his backpack. Out of the sordid mess of his belongings, Mattheo produced a small container of soup. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a spoon. 

“Here, have some of this. It should help.”

As soon as he pried the lid open, the heavenly smell of chicken noodle soup filled your senses. Mattheo scooped up an equal amount of soup and noodle and blew on it to cool it down before tilting it towards you. The sight of him offering you food like you were some helpless toddler was only slightly insulting. You swore to Godric that if Mattheo started making airplane sounds, you’d strangle the bloody twat.

 “I can feed myself, you know.” 

“Just eat the damn soup, Y/N.” 

You rolled your eyes in return, but obliged nonetheless. Despite the source, you could never resist comfort food.

“Chicken noodle soup?” 

As soon as you tasted it, you knew that it wasn’t just soup. It was your favorite soup. The very same one that Winky made every third Wednesday of the month. You knew because you looked forward to it every time. It was even marked on your calendar. That’s how much you liked it. 

Mattheo nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know it’s your favorite so I bribed Winky to make some.” 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “How do you know it’s my favorite?” 

For once in his life, Mattheo looked utterly uncomfortable. He averted his gaze and busied himself by stirring through the carrots and celery. “You, uh, mentioned it in class once.” 

You couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it was the fever talking, but you thought that was sweet. “You remembered that?” 

Mattheo looked up, a stray curl kissing the tops of his cheekbones as he met your gaze. The shy smile on his face was alarmingly endearing. Sometimes when you looked at those angelic curls and stupid big, brown eyes, you forgot that you were supposed to loathe him. “Of course. It’s my favorite too.” 

You chuckled, sniffling a little. “It’s like a hug in a cup, right?” 

The curly headed boy nodded. “It totally is.” 

After you finished the soup, you expected Mattheo to take his leave. Instead, he inspected the vials of potions laying out on your night stand. He read through every label, frowning a little. 

“You should really have some pepperup potion in here.” Mattheo remarked as he arranged the vials one by one. “Are you sure this dose is potent enough? Maybe you should ask them to brew something stronger.” 

“Pomfrey prescribed them herself. No offense, but I think I’ll take her years of healing experience over your expert opinion.” Mattheo gasped rather dramatically, which made you chuckle. “As much as I appreciate the notes and the soup, I don't think it's wise for you to stick around. I’m feeling a bit better, but I might still be contagious.” 

Mattheo shrugged. “It’s alright, I’m not scared of a little cold. Besides, I still have to go over the Transfiguration assignment with you.” 

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll get you sick?” 

“Not really,” he said, waving off your concern. “I know you’re going to pester me about everything you missed in class, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.” 

To your surprise, Mattheo’s notes were extremely detailed.  It was a bit hard to read given his boyish scrawl, but with a little help in translation, you were making great progress in becoming fluent in Riddle. The more Mattheo explained the concepts and ideas that were discussed in each class, the more baffled you were. You've always known that he was smarter than he let on, but this was borderline impressive.

“How do you know all of that?” 

“I asked.”

“You asked?” Mattheo stared blankly at your surprised expression. “You never ask questions in class.” 

“I never had to since you're always there interrogating the professor like the little know-it-all that you are. Thanks to your absence, I had to fill your role in class today.”

You grinned. It grew wider and wider, spreading until your cheeks hurt. Mattheo glared at your joyous expression. “What? What’s that shit eating little grin for?” 

“You missed me.”

Color flooded Mattheo’s cheeks. You were surprised to find how well crimson suited him. It was almost the exact shade of your house colors. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Riddle, you asked questions in class. You took notes for me. You brought me chicken noodle soup." Mattheo flushed as you pointed out the obvious. "You totally missed me.” 

“If you tell anyone, I’ll hex you.” 

“Admit it, Mattheo. Your day was utterly dull without me.” 

Mattheo rolled his eyes, sighing in defeat. “Fine, you’ve got me. I was bored out of my mind without you around. How else am I supposed to pass the time if you’re not there for me to argue with?” 

“There’s plenty of other people in the castle that you could bicker with.”

“Yeah, but they’re not you.” 

He seemed a little shocked by his own statement, but he didn't try to retract it. In fact, Mattheo almost seemed resigned to it.

“Careful, Riddle. It almost sounds like you have a crush on me.” 

“I’d have to be a bloody idiot to fall for a girl who absolutely despises me.” 

“That wasn’t a denial, you know.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose like the very idea of it vexed him, but you caught the little smile he hid beneath his fingers. Mattheo snatched the notes from your hands. “Focus on the lesson, will you?” He grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth. “I can’t believe I’ve just said that. Look at what you’re doing to me, Y/N.” 

“You’ll live, Riddle.” You poked a section of his notes that you hadn’t quite deciphered. “Now what in the bloody hell is the Gobstopper Ruffian?” 

“The Goblin Rebellion. Merlin, my handwriting isn't that bad.” 

“Are you kidding? A kindergartner writes more legibly than this.” 

The hours passed while you bickered and bantered. You hated to admit it, but you missed arguing with him too. Laying in bed all day had you positively bored, but yet time passed within the blink of an eye as you went back and forth with Mattheo. Somewhere between discussing the possibility of Longbottom running an underground exotic plant ring and arguing over the best Smiths song, the sun had set over the horizon. Mattheo rubbed his eyes and yawned. 

“You look knackered, Riddle,” you teased, patting the spot beside you. “Do you want to lie down for a bit?”

Chocolate brown eyes widened at you. “Lie down? With you? On your bed?” 

“Yes, that’s typically how people do it.” You smirked as he shot you an apprehensive look. “Unless you’re too scared.”’

Never one to back down from a challenge, Mattheo lifted the covers and gestured for you to make room. “Scoot over, then.” 

The jest seemed to have backfired on you because now Mattheo was crawling into bed and making himself completely at home. All the apprehension from earlier melted as he pulled you against him, his chest pressed against your back as he nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder. You stifled a giggle as Mattheo released a satisfied little sigh. 

Mattheo wrapped his arms around you until you were covered in the scent of amber, cinnamon, and leather. You never expected to unearth the fact that Mattheo Riddle was a great cuddler, but yet here you were, reaping the benefits of this newfound revelation. He slipped his fingers through yours and nuzzled closer. 

"Who would've known that Mattheo Riddle was such a great cuddler?"

"If you tell anyone—"

"You'll hex me. Put a curse on my family. Set my possessions on fire. Yes, I know, Riddle. You keep threatening me, but you never follow through. I'm starting to think that you're losing your touch."

Mattheo squeezed your hip before twining your legs together. "I wouldn't test me, Y/N. You're in a very vulnerable position right now."

You chuckled as he scooted even closer. "Maybe, but you won't do anything."

"Why's that, princess?"

"You like me too much," you retorted, chuckling as Mattheo buried his face in your hair. "One day without me and you're already a needy mess."

"You infuriate me," Mattheo whispered against your ear. "But you're also the best part of my day. I couldn't imagine fighting with anyone else but you, my dear nemesis."

"I totally loathe you, Mattheo Riddle."

He chuckled as you snuggled into him. "I loathe you too, Y/N Y/L/N."

The irony of the statement contrasted with how tangled up you were wasn't lost on you. For two people who supposedly hated each other, cuddling with your enemy had never felt so right. The steady beat of Mattheo's heart lulled you towards sleep. You were slowly succumbing to its hypnotic lullaby until Mattheo's voice broke through the silence.

“Y/N?” He murmured against your hair.

You shifted, your eyes feeling heavy as his warmth enveloped you. “Hmm?” 

Mattheo’s voice was low and gravelly, flowing like honey in your ears. “This is nice.” 

You smiled against the pillow, staring at your intertwined fingers. “Better than chicken noodle soup?” 

You felt him grin against your skin before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on your temple. “Way better than soup.” 

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @bubybubsters @criesinlies @niktwazny303 @therealallisonspear @athenalikethegoddess @clairesjointshurt @vixzwrites @elle4404

[solarpunkani]

Listen I’m not saying that *I* have the balls to buy a reflective vest and go off on a roadside or retention pond somewhere and start fucking around guerrilla gardening

But I am saying that the past week I’ve driven past many MANY people in reflective vests either doing roadwork or maintaining roadside shrubbery or whatever and the amount of times I considered questioning what the fuck they were doing is zero and the amount of times I would’ve even had the TIME to question what the fuck they were doing is zero

I saw groups of people I saw someone solo I didn’t question it I just figured ��eh they’re doing SOMETHING and carried on. Depending on the location you pick, anyone who WOULD Karen up and interrogate you won’t even have the time space or ability to

[thefailedabortioon]

Jinx, Vee and Caitlin's reaction to a serious injury (×female reader) 🙏🏻

Warnings: heavy wounds, lotsa blood

requests are open!

JINX

she’d get overwhelmed just by looking at your wounds. horrified at whatever might’ve happened to you and also angry at your recklessness for getting hurt this badly (PISSED at whoever did this)

furrowed eyebrows and quivering lips, she’ll snarl at you.

the blood gushing from your sides are already sending her into a spiral, panicked breaths are squeezing out of her lungs every single second.

jinx grabs bandaids and painkillers hastily, muttering to herself while tightening the wraps around your scars. she’ll mumble a “sorry” from the sudden pressure she’d placed, fidgeting with the knots and ties

“what are you- what were you-?!” if her brows couldn’t furrow any further, they did. “idiot.” she growls under her breath, “idiot!”

finally, jinx raises her eyes to look at you. theres nothing but worry encircling them into a whirlwind of nervousness. “take these. it’ll soothe the pain” she hands you painkillers and lukewarm water.

after patching you up, she will NOT leave you alone.

she’d sit beside you, legs hanging down from the side of your bed.

absolute non-stop pestering. “When did this happen?” “You see who did this?” “give me a description, i’ll take care of them.”

VI

she is furious. absolutely FURIOUS.

as in “vision turning red” kinda furious. my girl is reckless, your well-being wont be the first thing on her mind

but it WILL be her main focus for the next few weeks

who in their right mind would do this to you? of all people?

you didn’t deserve to get hurt, but whoever did this does.

she’s desperate to start patching your wounds. shes used to fixing herself up from the things that happened to her while she was in stillwater, though shes never done it to anyone else but herself so shes downright nervous.

vi knew she could handle serious injuries pretty well but she doesnt know how much you can tolerate pain. shes doing everything SUPER carefully

every little one of your smallest winces or grunts makes her immediately retract her hand from you

“are you okay?” “you hurt?”

after your properly dressed in the bandages, she’ll lay down by your side (she isnt touching you,) but shes still there. vi caresses your cheek, eyes softening at the sight of you. she plants a kiss on your forehead, grin spreading over her lips. she really glad youre okay.

but in the back of her mind she’s planning multiple ways to find who fucked you up this badly. all the gears in her head are turning to think of every possible “suspect” that could’ve done this to her sweetheart

CAITLYN

the look on her face is almost as bad as you look right now. she’s frightened.

despite that, shes more level-headed than careless. she’ll focus on more important things. You.

immediately shes rushing by your side, carrying you to somewhere more safe for your injuries. she spots her bed, let her sheets get stained by the blood dripping down, they can always be washed again.

once your settled properly, shes diving to her bathroom cabinets; everything is being tossed around on the hardwood floor while she searches for a medkit.

enforcer training had her prepared for situations like these, patching you up might not have been easy because of the look of pain in your eyes, but it was done faster than you thought it would be.

“does it hurt when i touch this?” “how’s your head? is it alright?”

the detective inside her came pounding with questions, everything quickly turned into an interrogation.

when, where, who, and why?

she understands you might not wanna talk in this situation so she’ll back off with the questions and start tending to you.

seriously, you’re treated like a princess in this household. you knew cait was well-off, but you didnt realize she was well-off.

there are people coming to your side for every request you ask.

especially caitlyn, she brought herself to cook you a proper meal for you to gain back the nutrients and energy you’d lost. anything you ask for.

the pampering won’t stop until you finally tell her to.

after that, she reports what happened to you to higher authorities, but if they’d rather prioritize other things over you, she’ll handle whoever did this herself.

[melloollem]

Secrets in the family|| Bruce Wayne × Batmom reader × Batboys

Summary:Your children start an interrogation after noticing that you were hiding papers from them.

Warning: Comfort, silly story, Platonic relationship with the batboys.

(Dc masterlist)

"Aren't you old enough to leave home? What are you still doing here?" The shout from your youngest son caused your attention to wander for a moment from the papers in front of you, but not enough to stop you writing frantically.

"I lived here long before they knew you existed" Tim's reply was heard from an even closer distance, a sign that you would soon see them entering the kitchen, you began to collect the papers hoping that the heated discussion would be enough for them not to notice you.

"Yeah, you lived in my house as a favor, tell me something I don't know" Damian walked in front of Tim, being the first to enter the room. You tried to move slowly in retreat, deciding to head for the dining room, where you'd have a bit of silence.

"I didn't live on favor, I was adopted, they wanted me, you know what I mean?" Tim's cheeky reply came out quickly, taking Damian by surprise.

"Mom, did you hear that?" They both turned their heads in your direction, hindering your escape plan. Damian looked at you anxiously, waiting for you to scold his brother and Tim looked at you scared, like he'd been caught doing something wrong.

"Timothy, that's not something you say to your brother, say you're sorry" You said the sentence so quickly that it didn't even sound like a complaint, walking out of the room.

You heard a cynical laugh from Tim behind you followed by a "She doesn't care", drawing a tired sigh from you. "It's not that, I just don't have time for you acting like five-year-olds. Damian, my son, Tim doesn't live here as a favor, he's as much my son as you and Tim, darling, don't say those things to your brother, Damian was as wanted by me as you or any of your brothers. Boys, I'm busy" You made the whole speech without slowing down, heading towards the dining room. The sound of footsteps behind you made it certain that the boys were following you. You let out a tense sigh, anticipating the questioning session.

"What are you doing that's more important than us?" Damian asked in an authoritative tone unaccustomed to you involving yourself so little in their quarrel.

"What are those papers?" Tim asked from beside her, much quicker to catch up than Damian and his short frame. "Nothing important." "If it's nothing important, why did you say you were busy?" Timothy retorted quickly.

"Okay, go back to discussing it in another room and enough of this interrogation," you said at the end of your walk, ready to return to your previous activity, dropping the papers on the table. "Tell us what these papers are," Damian said, standing next to Tim in front of you.

"Are those the divorce papers?" Dick said with a humorous tone of voice, as he joined you in the room, leaving everyone confused by his sudden appearance.

"What are you doing here?" Damian was quick to ask. With all eyes glued to your eldest son, you saw the perfect opportunity to slip discreetly out of the dining room.

"I'm here to finalize some reports with - where are you going?" Dick said, drawing all attention back to you, a grunt of frustration escaping your lips, but you were determined to finish your notes, turning your back on your children, determined to find somewhere minimally quiet in the house.

"Are those Drake's and Todd's adoption papers? Are you going to burn them?" Damian asked, receiving a shove from Tim and a low laugh from Dick in response. The boys' pursuit hadn't stopped, only gained more momentum now that their eldest son was also part of it.

"What are you doing?" Cassandra asked, she was heading in the opposite direction to you, possibly to the training room, based on her clothes.

"We're chasing Mom to find out what she's hiding" replied Damian "Cool" said Cassandra, joining the group. "Mom?" "Yes, dear" Now you were climbing the stairs, heading towards the second floor of the house, you already knew where you could finish your notes in peace, away from the children's questions.

"Give me the papers, please" You let out a small laugh at the girl's request "No, but you were very polite to ask, congratulations" Even without success, Cassandra gave a small smile in response to the compliment.

"Bye, kids" You smiled as you found the door you were looking for. Before the door was completely closed, you could hear your children sigh in frustration that the chase was over, you thanked Bruce for making the office a forbidden place, now you understood the reason for this rule.

"What are you doing?" Bruce's sudden voice didn't scare you, you were used to your husband's sudden appearances. "Running away from the children," you said, sitting down in the chair opposite Bruce's desk.

You started distributing your papers on the table in an organized way so that they wouldn't get mixed up with your husband's documents and for the first time since you entered the room he looked up from the documents he was reviewing.

"What's this?" He asked, picking up one of the papers on the table. "They're really your children," Bruce ignored his comment. "Letters? For what reason?" "Yeah, I'm planning to run away and leave you with the kids" Your joke was met by a serious look from Bruce. "You're not as funny as you think" Bruce said. "Sorry, should I leave the jokes with-?" "Don't even finish that one".

"Why letters?" Bruce said, looking at you like he was being interrogated. "Why not? They're just letters, no big deal." You knew that your anxious rambling had given you away, this was not only one of the best detectives in the world, but also your husband.

"You don't want to tell me?" He was being understanding, but you knew he'd rather know. You took a deep breath before saying, "I'm just afraid of the future." "And does writing letters help?"

"I hope it helps them in the future" Bruce frowned at your answer. "Has something happened, dear?" He asked worriedly. Noticing your husband's fear, you grabbed his hand that was resting on the table "No, not at all" Your tone came out as sweet as possible "I just... I want them to have something to fall back on in the future, that's all, nothing bad has happened, it's just-" Your speech was cut off by a few knocks on the door, followed by the entrance of Alfred the butler.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, the children want to see you, Mrs. Wayne" you thanked the butler for the announcement and turned towards your husband again "I have to go, I'll need a good excuse for them to stop asking questions" You got up and left the room, mentally preparing yourself for the bombardment of questions.