#Which do still put GUN as the not-that-good-guys position but you know.

[not-the-conversation-starter]

The GUN Soldiers are not exactly depicted as the good guys, they're depicted as the army fighting the aliens invading the earth. Literally anyone doing that is the good guys, such as Eggman's robots in certain levels. In the very beginning of the game there's a cutscene with Towers telling his soldiers to kill Shadow no matter what. This is partially because of his history with Shadow, but also because they didn't have any time to make it so the various enemies didn't attack you if you were working with them. (I know the exception, irrelevant)

This positions them as big dumb dumbs who happen to be fighting significantly worse guys during the events of the game. Who are still targeting you because they're also bad, following orders from an old man's irrational grudge. It's just never the hero thing to kill a guy fighting the aliens from hell who are blowing up random civilian cities. Not without like, an entire Ace Attorney sequence at least.

call me a conspiracy theorist but i wanna say that was def corporate tapping the devs on the shoulders like "hey you kinda made sonic and shadow too anti cop in sonic adventure 2. can you tone it down"

[limarkova]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yandere Al Ghuls

Pt 7.

Prev

The gun was cold in your hands. After everyone had left for patrol, you had snuck into Jason's room. Knowing he wasn't in the manner made it easier to do soon. You took one of his smaller guns and 4 boxes of ammo. It took you longer than you would have liked to match the bullet in the gun's magazine. Still you were able to find the right ones. He also had throwing knives hidden in his room which you gladly took.

Now standing on the small private beach in the back of the manor grounds, you shot at discarded cans. Your old tablet played videos on gun safety and how to aim. Still you couldn't hit a can. It was different from throwing a blades.

With a blade there were many factors. How you held the blade played a part. The best way you found was to hold the blade towards you balancing it on your middle and index finger. Than lightly push down with your thumb towards your palm. Bring that up over your head than throwing and releasing. When you released, how much power you put in, and amount of pressure you placed with your thumb depended on distance. Aiming was just a matter of when to let go.

Yet it seemed like very little of that applied to guns. Sure there were sights to help you aim. But that didn't mesh well with how you were used to aiming with knives. Plus the kick back was starting to make your wrists ache. Jason was doing this shit one handed. Maybe you were holding it wrong, the videos weren't giving you a good view. Adjusting your grip you tried again.

Bang. The can stayed upright but at least the gun didn't kick back as much. You were able to keep from flinching too much as well so you were adjusting to the noise. There was a new chip in the rock next to the can. You sighed before setting the weapon down. This wasn't working.

Yes, you had improved. No longer hitting the sand or the cliff face behind your target. Still you weren't hit the can and weren't even that far away. There was no way you could face these guys without a weapon. Grumbling in frustration, you took one of the throwing knives and threw at the can. That one actually hit.

You reached over and paused the video. It was than you heard something. It was faint an inhale of breath from behind some rocks. Breathing throught your nose, you steel your nerves. Going off on Dick ealier was going have consequences. Maybe Bruce had sent someone to take you back. There was no telling. Smiling at the screen, you said, "Break time."

You changed the video to a dance routine you liked. Taking the first position in the dance you waited.

Dance was a hobby you picked up from Barbara. You had watched her do some old ballet routines from when she was seven. Orginially she had preformed them for Dick back when you were one, you could barely remember the movements. Still caused a small spark in you, a want to be like your big sister. The spark remained for two years. You started learning from videos when you were three. You never did them where anyone could see you, preferring to learn privately. In the experiments, you would use the routines in your cell to check that your muscles still functioned properly.

Now you used it as a way to observe subtly. The spins and position changes allowed you to take stock of your surroundings. Mid song is when you saw him.

He was hidden in alcove with a deep green cloak. He was tall around the same height as Jason. A part of you question if he just came from a Ren Fair because of his clothes. However that didn't seem to matter as much as his size and the sword at his hip. He was probably trained to use it too. You didn't doubt he could fight just as well as Bruce. You would have one shot to take him out.

The choreography had you turn away from him. When he couldn't see you grabbed a knife from the holster. Twirling back around, you flung it straight for his head. He caught it by the handle right in front of his throat. Too low. "Impressive. Going for a killing blow before I can start the fight."

The man step forward spinning the blade in his hand. You step back and began thinking of ways out. He stopped five feet away from you and tossed the dagger towards you. "Though your throwing form was off causing the blade to not have as much force. I can excuse that for the creativity of blending it with a dance."

"What?" You caught the dagger feeling it sink into your hand. You turned it subtly allowing the wound to heal.

The man nodded to your hand, "That also makes you intriguing. A girl capable of healing with great potential that needs only to be refined."

The climb up the cliff's edge was not a viable option. You could run into the sea, swim or just let yourself drown. Yet you couldn't judge if he was capable of swimming or if he would buy the fake death. If he came from the experiments he would know drowning didn't actually kill. There was no way out. The man gestured, "Get into a throwing position."

You paused, looking at him. Why did he want you to get into throwing position. If he was take you back than letting you fight him seemed useless. He tilted his head making his gesture again, "Do you not wish to learn?"

Slowly you got back into throwing position. He walked over to you. The first thing he did was kick your legs slightly further apart. Afterwards he made you bend your knees slightly. He than grabbed your hand, paused, and had you pull it back just a little further.

Once satisfied with the adjustments, he walked back to his spot 5 feet away. "Throw."

You did. This time he had to stop in front of his face. The throw felt more powerful and you had an easier time staying balance. With some minor adjustments he fixed a problem you hadn't fully realized you had. This allowed you to grab another blade and get in position quicker.

He smiled once more. "Again." You did, this time aiming for his throat. He caught the knife once more, nodding once again. The two of you practice knife throwing for a few minutes. In that short time he had you do underhand throws and side thows. He clapped after another successful throw, "Enough."

You were out of knives. He moved towards you again and handed the blades over to you. As he handed them to you, he started to speak. "Don’t fuss with the gun for right now. With a blade you are more dangerous to people not paying attention."

Once done he handed you an ornate blade. It was incredibly sharp with a blood red handle in the shape of spider lilies. The handle was a polished wood that shone in the moonlight. There was a sheath underneath the blade that could be strapped to your hip. "When next we meet I will show you how to use this blade efficiently."

"Where will we met again?"

"You'll know." He turned and left without another word. You grabbed Jason's gun before leaving yourself. The whole encounter felt like a dream.

Stephanie was physically watching Orphan's assigned target but mentally she was thinking about (Name). When she first arrived at the manor, she had been fed stories by Tim. Of how she stole his mask and yelled at him for replacing Jason. So as the next Robin she avoided the girl.

Than she became Batgirl for a brief sprint. Which made her made her more wearily about accidentally coming off as replacing Barbara. When she did try reaching out to the girl it was awkward. Plus the girl seem perfectly content living life without her barging in.

Steph had left her be figuring she had plenty of other siblings to bond with. There was no way in a manor full of people she was alone. Right?

God, now she just felt stupid. Assumptions really had made an ass out of her. Right now she was just waiting for the man to get off the phone with whoever he was talking to. After struggling to find anything beyond (Name)'s mother and she had switched task with Cass. The girl seemed more interested in doing the research anyway, so what was the harm.

She would finish investigating for the day, take a nap, than take the girl out somewhere. Maybe have a girls day with Barbara and Cass tagging along. Get their nails done, haircuts, bat burgers, maybe karaoke. Was any of that stuff (Name) was interested in? Whatever the girl had gone through was pretty traumatic, based solely on the breakdown Dick described. She deserved to have a fun day where they could spoiled her. Maybe she could take her rollerskating. Steph stopped her planning as the guy finished the phone. First they had to make sure these guys were handled.

Crashing through the window, Spoiler caught the guy off gaurd. He jumped reaching for a weapon. She grabbed his wrist and pinned him to wall. "Hey Matthew. Let's have a quick chat."

"Look, Whatever you're here for I didn’t do it." The guy, Matthew Jenkins, struggled against Spoiler's hold. He had worked with James and Marcus at a security firm two years ago before spontaneously quitting four days before (Name) disappeared. The same had occurred with two other man, Henry Duncan and Gregory Hartley. Signal had already reported that Henry was dead and had been for awhile. Maybe five or six days

"Oh, okay. So you have no contact to (Name) Wayne?" Spoiler pushed on his wrist a little harder making him cry out in pain.

"Who?"

"Playing dumb won't help you. I already know you were using her debit card to pull cash." They didn't actually know which of five man were pulling cash from the card. Based on video analysis there had be at least three of them making the pulls, so odds were good.

Matthew froze in Spoiler's hand, sucking in a breath. Looks like she was on the right track. "Shit, that girl really was a Wayne?"

Spoiler twisted his wrist just a little bit. He hissed through his teeth, "Yeah. Keep talking."

"Fuck. Look we didn't know exactly what they were doing to the kid. We just watched the room they kept her in and moved her to research room when asked. They usually carted her back when we were on lunch. It was just a good paying job and she never looked to badly hurt."

"How much were they paying you."

"Fithteen hundred a week." Matthew lightly banged his head against the wall, "Shit I should have tapped out when Henry did. I knew the girl was going to get us in more trouble than she was worth."

"Henry Duncan?"

"Yeah. Is he doing okay, we haven't heard from him since he stormed off the job?" Matthew shifted in Spoiler's grasp.

"He was found dead in ditch two hours ago. Marcus Antonio was found shot last night in his apartment." Matthew let out shocked breath and shook his head.

"We are fucked."

"Maybe not. If you answer all my questions I might be able to get you out of Gotham." It was a gamble but one Spoiler had to take. This guy could give her at least a location on where they held her and maybe who was paying them. Especially if three of them were dead. "First, you mentioned Duncan tapping out. What happened to make him leave?"

"They had said the testing was almost completed. They just had one last test to make sure everything was successful before we would know if we'd be getting raises or let go?" Matthew started. "We were informed to never look in the room unless instructed to."

"Henry didn't listen did he?" Spoiler let up on his wrist. He was more scared of these guys than her right now, better to let that fear keep him talking.

Matthew shook his head, "Henry didn't listen. After the final test he got curious because she was oddly quiet. We could usually hear her muttering to herself. He said she looked like a deflated balloon."

Matthew paused taking a deep breath. "We all looked. I don't know what they did but her chest had caved in on itself. There also something growing in her. Honestly I thought she was dead until she blinked. Henry lost it, said he wasn't going down for whatever they had done to her. We all almost walked out but James stopped us. If the last test was marked successful we'd each get a raise to five thousand dollars a week."

"You know what happened to James?"

"The kid killed him. She also took out Greg's eye with a fucking scalpel. No amount of money is that shit." Matthew banged his head to the wall.

Spoiler paused processing. Money was a huge motivation to this guy, so chances were he knew who was paying him. "Where was the money coming from? Not just for your paycheck either."

"The girl’s card and her tuition. Her dad was giving her fifteen thousand a week. They use that to buy a generator and some other shit to keep the building off grid. We would pull cash for them every once and a while but most of it came from the accountant. They would divert the kid's tuition to James, he paid us." That explained where the tuition was going.

"Who was in charge?" Spoiler needed a name. Sure she had a lot to rely back at the cave but she needed just a little more.

"I don't know." The pressure return to his wrist. Matthew started struggling, "I don't know, I work with some intern chick who took notes on girl's status and the accountant."

"Good enough. Give their names." Spoiler gave his wrist one last twist.

"The intern chick's name was Isabella, I never got a last name. Just heard a rumor that she was related to the big boss. The accountant was..."

"Mr. Davis, so glad to finally be able to meet you." The man zip tied to his office chair glared at you. After the training on the beach you discovered you still had five hours before anyone got back to the manor. Using the Gotham Subway you had gotten to Davis' office. Surprisingly the man was still there. Hurriedly packing files into a briefcase. You used the knife to keep him under control until you could zip tie him to the chair. The man had proven right, a knife was more powerful.

You glanced at the files. Documents approving a change in wiring numbers, written approval for changes to the limits on your checking account as a minor, and so much more. All incriminating with Bruce Wayne's signature on the bottom. You turned your gaze to Davis twirling a throwing knife in your hand. Sitting on his desk made you eye level with him, "Now what were doing with these?"

"Fuck you brat." His word turned into a cry of pain as you threw the knife. It cut a line across his cheeks.

Standing from his desk you walk towards him. Pulling the stranger's dagger from the sheath you held it over his hand, above the knuckle of his left thumb. "Let’s try again. What were doing with those files?"

"I'm not scared of a fucking ten year old." Of course. You were a baby faced ten year old. Who would be scared of you? If you wanted information from this man you had to scare him into giving it to you.

Pushing down on the blade, he started to scream. It took a minute find where the blade could cut through. Mangled his hand pretty bad but eventually his thumb came off. He slumped in the chair, panting. Was this how you looked when they cut off your body parts?

"Will you answer me now? I really don't want to have cut off another one." You picked up his severe digit, rolling it around in your palm. There was a disturbing calm in the violence. It was as if you could finally relax. Maybe the experiments had messed with your head more than you thought, "Well."

"Fine. I was told to destroyed them." Davis spat the words out inbetween harsh breaths. Finally information.

You lifted an eyebrow and set the thumb on his desk, "By who?"

"Clint Owen. He was my son's doctor." You began to think through the people you saw in the experiments. There were six scientists that would poke at you. Clint was probably one of them, especially if he was a doctor. They hadn't used names near you.

"What did he tell you about the experiments?" The more information the better, you needed to know what Bruce gained from this. Davis stayed silent. There was an intense staring contest between you two. Finally you sighed, "Okay, fine. Your ring or your pinkie? I'm thinking pinkie, personally."

"No, I'll tell you." Davis started to struggle in the chair as you walked closer. "Owens told me, it was a way to get organs for dying kids. That's all I know, he offered to give my son one of the kidneys."

"Really? You did all of this for a kidney?" At least you knew where your kidney was now. Wrong thing to focus on but your head was getting buzzy from the violence.

"He would have died without it." Davis shook his head. A part of you felt a little bad for cutting off his thumb. The man was just desperate to save his kid. Could you really blame him for that? "Beside, the Waynes needed to be taken down a peg. Why not remind those idiots their money can't do shit to save anyone, even their own? The little bitch had it coming."

Nevermind. You stabbed the knife through his right hand. He pissed himself, gross. You began talking over his screams "Did I ask for your shit rate opinions? No, I didn't. Stick to telling me the facts or your losing the hand. Who was involved in the experiments?"

"Three doctor's from the Martha Wayne Childern's Hospital, One researcher from Gotham U and his student assistant." He screamed the words at you. A part of you contemplated twisting the knife just because you could. When had you got so violent? Eh later problem.

"Names." You sounded bored even to your own. Maybe you should be concerned, how do you get here again?

"I don't know." The darker part of you won, twisting the blade in his hand. He started struggling again. "I'm telling the truth, I really don't know. They weren't on any payroll I had access to."

"Who's Sionis?"

"Black Mask. He provided the weapons for the guards." Oh that wasn't good. Black Mask was violent hopefully you could just ignore him as an ignorant arms dealer.

You paused looking him up and down. This wasn't a lot of information. Yes, you had a name and occupations for some of the scientists. There were also the documents showing Bruce Signed off on this. The paper proved he was involved by themselves. But than the take the Waynes down a peg comment didn't fit. "Who was on payroll?"

"Doesn't matter half of them are dead."

"Is that an opinion?" You removed the knife from his hand.

He paled and began pushing back in his chair, "James Lenon, Marcus Antonio, Henry Duncan, Gregory Hartley, Matthew Jenkins. They were the ones guarding the place. The first three are dead, the fourth guy left Gotham after losing his eye. Jenkins is the only one left in town."

Maybe you could get to Jenkins before he left. Than again those guys didn't seem to know much. You could hear them talking through the door at night. They nickname for the scientists and never talk much about the experiments other than supplies. What else could you get from him, "Who was in charge of the experiments?"

"Owens."

"Are you sure?" Davis paused. He gave you a wide eye pleading look while nodding. You looked out the window while trying to connect the pieces.

If Cass was the one who found 'the school' than you needed a connection between her and Owens. Of course Bruce wouldn't let someone like Davis know he was connected. With Davis's disgruntled attitude towards Bruce, he was likely state up to rat on the wrong people. With no clue about Bruce's real involvement it be easy to brush him off as a rouge accountant. Probably claim forgery on the signatures too.

"Well. I got everything I needed." You flipped the knife in your hand. Grabbing the briefcase you turned towards the door.

"Wait, you gotta let me go." Davis tried shuffling the chair. You looked towards him and considered. He could alert Bruce to your investigation.

You gave him a sheepish smile. "Right my bad." You walked behind him and the smile dropped. The next few moments blurred into your mind but than you were the fire escape. Holding a briefcase and changing into some clothes you had brought with you. Checking time you realized you had 3 hours to get back to the manor.

The rest of your investigation would be on hold until you were fully trained and they were lulled into a false sense of security.

Bruce starred at the body of his accountant. His hands had been mutilated and his throat slit. Written in his blood on the wall behind the body was, "Don’t Forget Me."

Both remaining gaurds had implicated Davis as the one that tranferred the tuition money to them. Said they didn't know names but faces of the scientists. Their last lead pointed to Davis as having more information. (Name) wouldn't tell them anything if they went by her interaction with Dick. Yet he was dead when they got here and all of his financial records had been thrown about the office be covered in blood. It seemed most of the ones on (Name) were missing either way.

The next best hope was to look into Meta Traffickers who went off the grid two years ago. Maybe they could look into doctors too since one was needed for that kind of experiment.

Bruce's eyes drifted to the words on the wall. There was no way they would forget this person. Not until who ever they were was behind bars for what they did to (Name). Bruce's hands drifted to the center pocket of his suit and pulled out a photo.

It was him holding (Name) as an infant. A broad smile on his face as he cradled the squirming infant. Looking back at the scene Bruce made a silent vow to not let the people who hurt her get away.

Prev

Taglist:

@stove-top96 @00hellohello00 @mysticalhills @yhin-gg @charlenexoxo1 @a-lurking-fae @moondust-clouds @darkumbreon92 @jsprien213 @bellethesleepypotato @time-shardz @randomlyappearingartist @kittzu @bat1212 @vanilliona @welpthisisboring @plsfckmedxddy @tulnukaz @eyeless-kun @daisy56789

[skirter01]

AU: Dukes got a strange new teacher, Jason has a weird neighbour, Dick helped a poor civillian with two broken legs, and Tim's got a bad feeling about the knew Wayne Enterprises employee. Who knew they'd turn out to be the same person? Or... Dannys stuck in Gotham, how, why, when? To be confirmed, although, he's positive its something to do with a certain time-turning asshole. But now he's got bats on his tail and a serious case of the munchies. Good thing Sam and Tucker learned early on to slap a tracker on his phone.

----

Smol Teaser

Dick stumbled forwards, chain rattling around his foot as it pulled taunt. He hit the deck.

“No!”

Duke closed his eyes – and for a moment, he wondered what it would’ve been like if he’d just stayed home like he’d planned to – as Danny descended, mouth split into a feral smile and scythe in motion.

Then, “Bang!”

Dukes’ ears screamed as something exploded, a sonic boom erupting somewhere to his right. A fiery green blast flashed through the air, smacking into Danny like a sledgehammer and sending him hurtling into the concrete pillar in a blast of dust and debris.

Duke took in a sharp breath, eyes fettering over where the teacher landed. His eyes locked on Dick, who was staring over his shoulder from his place on the floor.

“Ha! Bullseye!” Duke startled at the voice and whipped to his right. “I am literally a God.”

Had he been transported to Men in Black right now? Because there was no other explanation for what this was right now. The owner of the voice was a young African American, with neat cornrows and dressed in a suit straight out of MIB, save for the sunglasses which were substituted for a slick pair of black framed glasses.

With a huff, the newcomer hefted an enormous smoking bazooka to rest between his shoulder blade and collarbone. He looked over the room with a grin. “Worry not ladies, knight with shining armour reporting for duty.” He proclaimed with a cheeky grin and a wink, patting the weapon’s steel side fondly, “No, need to thank me. Just doing my job.”

There was a click, and the stranger froze, “Who in the hell are you?” Jason growled through his modulator, stepping out of the shadows to the left of new guy, pistol aimed for a head shot.

The stranger’s eyes slid, acknowledging Jason’s gun from his peripheral. “Sure…” He drawled cautiously, ‘shoot the man with the bazooka. Do it.”

Jason pulled out his second gun. Head titling in challenge.

New guy grinned. “Geez, calm your tits. Names Foley, Tucker Foley.” He reached into his blazer pocket, pulling out a badge. “FBI”

The FBI?

Jason lowered his pistols. “The fuck is the FBI doing in Gotham?” Duke would like to know the same thing.

Tucker shrugged, “Shits and gigs” he said, dropping the bazooka from his shoulder, and catching its nose on his foot before he propped it up against the closest wall. He swivelled, jabbing a finger over at the downed spectre. “Mostly that troublemaker though. Do you mind if I–actually, why am I even asking you?” He stalked over to the cracked concrete pillar and jabbed at foot at Dukes downed teacher, shifting his lifeless body “Oi, Danny.”

Duke didn’t know how to break the news. “Um, Mr. Foley? He’s not–Well, he was killed by something, we don’t know what exactly. I don’t think he’s–yeah…Sorry.” Ever so eloquently put.

Tucker raised a brow, “Are you trying to tell me he’s dead?”

Duke resisted the urge to point out that this Tucker guy did actually shoot him into the wall with a bazooka. He was dead before anyway, but still.

“Obviously,” Jason grumbled, crossing his arms. “Some occult thing.”

“Right.” Tucker’s face twisted into a slight frown, and he nudged the body again. “Danny, stop foxing and get up.”

There was a groan and Duke took an involuntary step back.  

Tucker prodded Danny again. “C’mon, up and at ‘em.”

“5 more minutes.” Danny rolled over onto his side. “M’kay?”

Dick’s mouth was wide open at the scene. “Are you serious right now?”

Danny popped his head up, hair and face covered in dust, his eyes narrowed. “You’d think coming at them with a scythe would scare them off, right Tuck?”

“I told you it wasn’t going to work.” A feminine voice came from the doorway, and a woman stepped into the room. “But please, feel free to be disappointed.” She was dressed in back cargo pants, and a cropped purple tee, dark hair neatly braided down her back. She leaned against the door, “You missed our anniversary.” She said pointedly towards Danny.

Danny dropped his head back to the floor. “Can we go back to when I was just a lifeless corpse?”

Tucker gwuaffed. “You’re already a lifeless corpse, there’s nothing to go back to, stupid."

[piratefishmama]

Finders Givers | Part 2

“STEVEN MARION HARRINGTON.”

“Not my middle name.” Although Robin had made several valiant attempts in guessing it every time she needed to burst into his office all guns blazing. Which was unfortunately… often. She still hadn’t managed to crack it.

He didn’t actually have a middle name. He wasn’t going to tell her that though, this was funnier.

She slapped a sheaf of papers down onto his desk, a brief flick of the first page told him they were call logs and transcripts “What did you DO?! Claudia’s been getting calls all morning asking about renovations?”

“Okay, so, in my defence. It was Nancy’s idea.” That was his whole defence. It was Nancy’s idea. His idea had been worse.

“Explain.”

“You know, most people in my position don’t have to explain themselves to people who work for them, their people just respect them, and do as they say without argument.” He mused, mostly to himself, but he could see the woman’s eye twitch in annoyance and so he sighed in defeat, it’d only wind up with him having those papers whapped around his head. “Remember the wallet I found?”

“The one that was bumming you out?”

“Yeah! Well, when I went out for a walk, I found the guys work address and—”

“You know we have guys who do that sort of shit for us, right? You can’t be stalking people, Dingus, what the fuck?” That sheaf of papers was dangerously close to hitting him. She’d picked them back up an everything.

“Just listen! He was at work, I didn’t talk to him or anything I’m not stupid, but... his manager made this girl cry so he just decked him, laid him out, one punch an he was down, then he just quit his job, right there, shit was spectacular.” Steve could appreciate a good bit of muscle, could appreciate a scrapper. Plus the guy was hot so, that helped. “Doesn’t look like his photo either, he’s got so much hair, Robs, it’s... wow, he’s just—”

“Ew, I don’t wanna hear about your crush on some random guy, what’s this got to do with these renovations Claudia’s being spammed over?”

“Okay so, guy lost his job.”

“Quit, quit his job.”

“Defending a ladies honour, something I thought you’d appreciate.” She raised a single unimpressed brow “but, I... I was gonna just send him rent money for a few months, y’know, cover a few bills, charity!” His heart was in the right place, his head however, his head was in space.

“That’s not charity that’s stupidity, but go on.”

“That’s what Nance said! Apparently it’d be suspicious if I were to be found sending large amounts of cash in nondescript envelopes to an apartment block notorious for drug activity, so she suggested that since I’m already buying that bar nearby, it’d look less conspicuous if I just... bought the building the guy lives in and claim I was developing it, make it seem like I have an interest in building up local problem areas.” She frowned, silent in her thoughts as she processed.

“... And what about the rent forgiveness?”

“I was gonna pay for his rent, might as well just not have him pay rent, y’know? An it’s gotta be building wide or there’ll be questions, like why is he so special, it’d put him under scrutiny. So Nance suggested putting a stop on rent as we ‘renovate’ as a sort of, we’re disrupting your life so here’s a break for you kinda deal.” Honestly Nancy really was a life saver, he really ought to give her a raise, he’d have been fucked over years ago had he not pulled her into the fold.

“So that means we’re actually going to have to renovate this block then?”

“I mean—”

“Were going to have to renovate this block, Steve. We can’t just forgive the rent forever, that’s bonkers, that would raise eyebrows, and we can’t afford eyebrows being raised at us right now. So you’re going to have to have professionals go in and survey the apartments inside for renovations.” This was now an actual thing he’d have to do.

“Ah well, gives me something to occupy my time with. Also I was thinking—”

“Never a good sign”

“Shut up, I was thinking of putting Argyle in there as a plant, like... the drugs being peddled out of that block are just trash, at least we could get a solid dealer in there and get Argyle out of the Wheelers basement.” He’d only been staying there because Joyce didn’t have a basement and Jonathan didn’t have room for him.

He was Jonathan's friend, and Jonathan came with Nancy, Steve didn’t have any reason to help him out. Now he did! And that reason was getting those poor people better weed.

“Are you not worried that the existing dealers will start shit with him for moving into their turf?”

“They touch him they deal with Hargrove, he's been particularly irritable lately, anything could set him off, pretty sure he’d be jazzed to break a few legs.” Release some of that pent up rage he seemed so good at bottling up in tiny easily burstable bottles. “One visit from that nut job and they’ll settle right down.”

He didn’t like Hargrove, but he had to admit the guy was a useful enforcer. Indebted to Steve too after Jane had taken a nail imbedded baseball bat to his old employers head in a bid to help her friend Max escape the debt her stepdad had racked up with him. Billy had also been freed, being Max’s step brother, left unmoored and in danger of a jail cell.

Steve had taken them both in after getting rid of Creels corpse. It was Hopper’s idea. Billy wouldn’t have survived in jail, too many enemies in there.

“It only takes one hit to hurt Argyle beyond repair though, maybe get rid of the dealers in there already, then give Argyle one of the apartments.”

“See you’re already on board!” And there was the whack round the head with the papers, his sharp objection going ignored.

“Fine, I’m on board, but only because it’s Nancy’s idea.” She was retreating as she spoke “Yours was a trash fire, like, not just one of those little oil barrel fires I mean like a whole dumpster fire. Argyle stays out until it’s safe though, I mean it Steve, I will get Hopper involved.” She opened the door, ready to go.

“You can’t threaten me with my own Chief of Police! That’s so mean!”

“Watch me, dingus. Also you have two people downstairs from your little block purchase wanting more information, do you wanna deal with them or should I?”

“Do you think I could actually spin a good idea to explain this that won’t get immediately reworked by either you or Nance?” She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face that answered his question more than any actual answer would have. “Exactly, you deal with it, you’re better at timelines an stuff anyway.” He was more the big idea guy.

“Yeah but you’re better at people.” It was true, Steve was more the people person out of the two of them. “Fine, I’ll deal with it, and I’ll ask Nance to find some decent contractors to do the work for us. Maybe… drop into my office in like, ten minutes? Considering you let your dick lead you to places I wouldn’t even go with a gun, you should at least make an appearance for these people whose lives you’ve interrupted.”

“Ngghhh fine. Fine. I’ll be there in ten.” And she was out with a tiny salute as her goodbye.  

Part 4

[antebunny]

Babysitter from Hell

Jason changes his mind on never associating with any of the Bats ever again because of one Stephanie Brown. She had absolutely no intention of changing his mind about anything, she just showed up and started talking until Jason begrudgingly accepted his fate as the “I’ll kill for you” member of a “live for me” family. 

(That’s a lie. He’s gotten over 10% of anything that’s ever happened to him in his eventful albeit painfully short life. But he’s working on it, okay?)  

Before Jason knew any better, Steph reminded him of Dick. A cheerful, upbeat personality, a flagrant and equally cheerful disregard for Batman’s orders, an overconsumption of sugary breakfast items, a love for bright colors, and an annoying distaste for brutality, considering both are (technically) violent criminals. 

Really, the main difference he saw was that Steph fucking hates his guts. 

Jason is still sure that Dick will, eventually, after Titan’s Tower. He put his plan to give his Replacement a beat-down on hold after the Bats discovered his identity. It’s hard to maintain his level of hatred for the Bats when they keep soft-speaking at him like he’s some sort of victim they’re rescuing. That’s also why he keeps avoiding Dick. The guy treats all of Jason’s threats against the Replacement like one big joke. Who would’ve thought that the “getting pissed on the Replacement’s behalf” job would fall to his ex-girlfriend?

In summary, Jason thought Steph was a purple-clad, blond-haired female version of Dick with no emotional attachment to the second Robin, and a personal relationship with the third Robin. An enemy, in other words. Someone with every reason to be ideologically opposed to Jason for the rest of time. 

Still, she’s a kid. Jason has promised himself to be nice to all vigilantes, no matter how sanctimonious or annoying, so long as they’re only fifteen years old. So when he finds her perched on a rooftop corner, doing recon on a case that he is working on, he mutters a curse to himself and doubles back to find a good spot to grapple to her rooftop without anyone noticing. He doesn’t want to get in a fight with a kid, but he doesn’t want anyone to think they’re on friendly terms, either. Better that no one knows.

Spoiler notices him coming at the last second and rolls to her feet. Too late if he was actually trying to kill her, and she’s also giving up her position. How sloppy. Jason can’t believe Batman’s letting her out like this. 

“Go run home to daddy,” he growls. “Before I make you.”

That should be enough. Jason has a gun. (A lot of them). She can’t have more than two years of training. She clearly has been instructed not to engage with him, if the way she quietly mutters O, it’s Hood, yes I’m leaving immediately pinky promise means anything. Which is why Jason is utterly floored when she snaps back at him.

“My dad’s in jail, where he belongs,” Spoiler retorts.

“What.”

That’s all Jason can manage when Jason_Todd.exe stops functioning. Several rebooting attempts fail as they run into Bruce is in jail??? then no, obviously not Bruce then I don’t even care if Bruce is in jail then who is Spoiler, anyway? If Jason casts his mind back to who he thought Spoiler was before all this happened, he would’ve said roughly middle class, most likely orphaned, and probably had a parent that was the head of Gotham’s social services before being brutally murdered by some Rogue who hated anyone being nice to orphans. It would’ve been on par for the course, at least. Bruce’s parents were good up until they were good and dead. Same with Dick. Barbara’s dad, despite being the chief of police, was somehow the one non-corrupt cop in all of Gotham. Jason was the only unlucky one.

Or so he thought.

“So unless you’re gonna put me in jail,” Spoiler prompts. “Which would be pretty hypocritical of you, considering–”

“What the fuck is he locked up for?”

Okay, he could’ve said that nicer. And he said he would be nice to kids. But consider: Jason is just not very good at keeping his promises.

Spoiler stares at him blankly in a way only someone wearing white-out lenses and a lower face mask can. “For…being a knockoff Riddler? Ever heard of Cluemaster? I guess it’s understandable for your average citizen to not but like, this is your job, dude. How can you not–”

“Cluemaster?” Jason interrupts again, even harsher than before. He vaguely recognizes the name from the long list of minor villains that came and went while Jason was away. “Arthur Brown?”

“Yep!” Spoiler springs forward and extends a hand. Belatedly he realizes that he hasn’t lowered his gun. “Stephanie Brown, nice ta meet ‘cha!”

And that’s how Jason learns Steph’s name. 

Jason finally does lower the gun, only so that he can bat her hand away and look frantically around the rooftop for anyone who might’ve overheard. “You can’t just tell me your secret identity!” He shouts, careful to not repeat her name even when he’s losing control over his volume. “That–what the fuck! That’s Vigilantism 101!” 

Spoiler–Stephanie–picks up his hand and shakes it vigorously.

“What the fuck,” Jason repeats blankly while his hand–or more accurately, blood-stained glove–is shaken by an overeager fifteen-year-old idiot. “What the fuck. I’m a–a Rogue. I’m your enemy. How the fuck did B let you out in a mask.”

“Okay, first of all, B didn’t let me do anything,” Stephanie corrects, affronted about all the wrong things. “I was the one running around trying to stop my dad’s–Cluemaster, in case you already forgot–plans. Second of all, I know who you are, I’m not an idiot. B got a hell of a lecture on how it’s very not pogchamp to keep important secrets from us. I wouldn’t just tell anyone. Third, I thought you already knew? Aren’t you obsessed with Robin? How come you didn’t already know?”

Jason steps away from her, mind reeling with memories of two-bit criminal Willis Todd and his reign of terror in that shitty, one-bedroom apartment deep in Park Row. He would bet his (second) life that long before Arthur Brown took to the streets, he took whatever it is that’s so fucked up inside him out on those closest to him. His family, the people that needed and trusted him the most, the people that could not just walk away. 

How many times has Jason thought of Willis Todd and burned with resentment whenever the Bats preached about all criminals getting second chances? They wouldn’t get it, he’d told himself; a hollow comfort, clearly, when Stephanie is standing right in front of him, as bright and cheerful as ever, happy to be working with the Bats even while she spits on her father’s memory. 

(Not memory. His name. He’s alive, albeit rotting in prison. Just one more abuser that Batman refused to kill for someone he l–someone under his protection). 

“I know now,” Jason drawls. “Should’ve listened to their lectures on secret identities. Now leave, little girl.”

And maybe it’s the insult, or O (whoever that is, because Jason does not, in fact, know) telling her to go, but Spoiler gives him one more affronted look and leaves.

It’s not the last he hears of Spoiler, of course. Though someone clearly gives her the mother of all lectures afterwards, because she avoids him for a couple weeks. That gives him the time to do his own research. 

Stephanie Brown lives in the Narrows with her mother, a mere hop and skip from where Jason grew up. She went to public school up until last academic year, whereupon she got a scholarship from Wayne Foundation. She attends Gotham Academy, like the Replacement, like Barbara, like Dick (like Jason before that too was stolen from him).

She’s surprisingly similar to Jason. (He swears he’s not just drawing comparison for his own ego). Her mother is still alive, so she received a scholarship instead of being adopted by Bruce. But both fathers were a joke to the very idea of fatherhood. (Both mothers failed to protect them from the father). Both grew up in poor, dangerous neighborhoods with violent, criminal fathers. 

The thing is–and Jason surprises himself with the revelation–he wants to mentor her. Jason is very sure that he understands, better than any of the Bats, what she has gone through. The same soft streak which hates to see kids on the streets wants to take her under his wing.

I don’t understand, Little Wing. What did he do to you?

It’s impossible for so many reasons that it doesn’t bother stating. Jason isn’t a Bat (anymore), and the lack of trust is mutual even if the hate is not. Really, the most important reason should be the fact that Steph hates his guts, except–

“And I know he means well, but he’s just so…overbearing sometimes, y’know?”

Jason slaps another pancake down on her plate. “Tell me ‘bout it.”

They’re a farce, the two of them. Eating pancakes at midnight on the only clean kitchen counter (the other is littered with disassembled guns) while Jason is half-dressed in military-grade gear. Steph, meanwhile, speaks with her mouth stuffed full. Maple syrup drips onto her fluffy white crop top (Jason didn’t know they made fluffy crop tops), and she brushes crumbs off her purple sweatpants. 

It feels like a joke. The remorseless murderer, glowering at his mixing bowl and the teenage vigilante, resembling nothing so much as a chipmunk. (It feels a bit like having a family again).

“Like, it’s like he’s showing off how many friends he has,” Steph continues, oblivious to Jason’s inner monologue. “Which I know he’s not, but seriously. He’s been doing this so much longer than any of us, and then he gets so excited by someone new and tries to introduce them to everyone and it’s like–he’s friends with Starfire, and all the original Titans, and half the Justice League and half of Gotham’s Rogue gallery, and goddamn Superman. And he has B wrapped around his little finger and doesn’t even know it!”

Jason’s pancake suddenly tastes bland and weirdly mushy. “Yeah. Sucks ass but kinda funny.”

Somehow Jason’s attempts to look after Steph on patrol, to make sure she isn’t too injured, turned into this. Steph bursts into one of his apartments of safehouses at random hours of the day, raids his pantry, and complains a mile a minutes about anyone and everything.

“You gonna answers his calls?” Steph side-eyes him. “I know he keeps getting your number somehow and you know he really misses you.”

Which is not to say that all Steph does is complain and talk about herself. She’s all too happy to prod Jason about his (nonexistent) personal life.

“No,” Jason answers shortly, and throws another pancake on her plate. “Eat or get out.”

Steph shrugs and attacks her new pancake with gusto. She doesn’t push or pry, unlike some people Jason could mention, though she always asks. A Bat who is capable of just letting it go. Jason thought he’d never see the day.

If Jason were an “asks question” type of person instead of a “bottle everything up until you choke on it” kind of person, maybe he’d ask about her father. About what really happened with Black Mask, not just what news reports speculate. (Ask how she can stand to love the Bats when they’ve failed her so terribly, when her abuser draws breath, when her murderer walks free, when the Bats sleep easily knowing both of those facts and have no intention of changing either fact even though they claim to l–)

Jason isn’t an “asks question” type of person.

“Hey, can I bring Tim next time?” Steph asks, just shy of casual. “He’d–”

The wooden mixing spoon cracks in Jason’s hand. “Unless you wanna get him a couple’a broken bones,” he says evenly, “I’d suggest keepin’ that little parasite far away from me.”

Steph scowls, suddenly remembering that she doesn’t like Jason. “I don’t get why you hate him.”

Why wouldn’t he. The Replacement represents everything Jason loathes. It’s almost too perfect, how hateable he is.

“I don’t get how you dated him,” Jason retorts, which is maybe a little beneath him. Whatever. 

“Oh, we are not talking about my dating history,” Steph hisses. She shoves her stool back as she stands, fork clattering to the counter. “Bros before hoes. You’re the hoe. Tim’s my bro.” 

Jason is trying to decide whether or not to take offense while she produces a takeout box out of nowhere. For her next trick, she disappears all the remaining pancakes on her plate into the box, seals it smartly, and disappears the box. 

“Thanks for the food. Asshole.” Steph scowls, upset at her own manners and upset at Jason for not simpering for the little leech who wormed himself into Jason’s f–the group of people Jason would’ve once called family. 

Jason is no expert, but when someone makes pancakes for you at midnight, it’s an act of love. Or something. He could never say it out loud, but Steph gets it. She knows what going on here, beneath Jason’s harsh words (and threats, and firearms, and–you get the point). 

It almost feels like having a little sister, or a weird little cousin. Steph isn’t remotely scared of him. She inexplicably wants to spend time with Jason, as rough and unpleasant as he is. Jason doesn’t believe for one second that the other Bats don’t know about her visits, so somehow, they’re fine with it too. The only thing chasing Steph away and flaring Jason’s temper, is, once again, the fucking Replacement.

The next Bat to successfully land a standing invitation to Jason’s (nonexistent) dinner table is also one of the first. Barbara Gordon rolls up to his doorstep one night, armed only with whatever rocket launchers she has installed in her wheelchair (which probably doesn’t sound like “only” to anyone but Jason). The arched frown she levels at him from over her glasses is so familiar, so lovingly judgemental, that Jason tears up a little.

He slams his front door closed and starts dumping his gear, back to Barbara, so he can hide his face until the wetness around his eyes goes away. When he turns around, Barbara is a little closer and a little further to his left, by the kitchen counter stools.

“Hey Babs,” says Jason, at a loss for what else to do. “What the fuck happen’a you?”

“Nice to see you too, Jason,” Barbara replies dryly. “Or should I say long time no see. Since it’s been years.”

Jason meanders toward the kitchen counter, noting a few new visible scars on Barbara’s face and arms. When she leverages herself out of her wheelchair and into one of the kitchen chairs, he realizes just how much taller than her he is now. In his last vivid memory of her, he looks up to her free-flowing red hair, her smirk. Now he cants his chin, staring her down as she laces her fingers together and raises an extremely judgemental eyebrow.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were alive,” Barbara demands. 

Jason shrugs. “Well, I wasn’t. ‘N’ then I was and you didn’t care, so.”

Barbara scowls, an action so perfectly familiar that Jason tears up again. What is up with him tonight? Just seeing someone that he knew years ago is enough to make him lose it. Jason busies himself with the cupboards, once again hiding his face from her.

“That’s not even remotely funny, Jason.” 

Somewhere underneath the lecturing is genuine hurt. Shame she can’t admit to it, maybe then their conversation would be easier to swallow. (Shame Jason can’t, either).

“How would you feel if you grieved someone you cared about only to find out years later that they were alive and never bothered to tell you? I don’t think I’ve seen Dick smile once since w–”

Jason slams a half-drunk can of soda down on the counter. He’d meant to find something better in the fridge, but right now he can’t even remember taking anything from it. 

“‘Course this is about fucking Dick.” Jason loses sight of Barbara’s scowl as his vision swims in radioactive green. “You never gave a damn ab–”

“Just because I love him doesn’t mean I don’t care about you!” 

Barbara’s interruption is the sort of truth that couldn’t be tortured out of Jason. Despite everything, he smiles. Just a quick tug at the right corner of his mouth, but a smile nonetheless.

“You tell him that?”

“Shut up.” At least Barbara sounds exasperated, not mad. “His ego’s big enough as it is. Don’t try and change the subject. I don’t get what sort of game you’re playing, letting Steph stay over while running Dick and Bruce and ragged, and avoiding me and Alfred, and threatening Ti–”

Just half-mentioning the Replacement’s name floods Jason’s head with violent green rage. The can of soda crumples in his hands. Whatever soda was left spurts onto the marble countertop, fizzing sadly. 

“How can you even pretend to care,” Jason challenges, “when the Joker is still alive?”

When Jason’s vision clears fully, Barbara is watching him knowingly from across the counter, over the plastic frame of her glasses. It’s almost pitying, but Jason knows her just a little too well to believe that. 

“Why do you think,” Barbara asks, “I haven’t killed the Joker? For what he did to me. It wasn’t even about me. It was all about getting to Bruce.”

For the first time since Jason came back to Gotham, he falters. There’s so many right answers to that question, but none of them feel like Barbara’s answer. Life-changing injuries, for vigilantes, strip away their identity, their sense of worth. How do you remake yourself in the aftermath? How did Barbara do it without ever seeking revenge? Jason genuinely has no idea.

“You didn’t die,” Jason answers gruffly, feeling every ounce of asshole he is.

“There were times I wish he’d killed me,” Barbara counters calmly. 

Biting, helpless fear that Jason has not known since he saw his mom’s last needle billows in his lungs. Not Barbara Gordon. Never. She means too much to too many people. She’s survived too much to just give up.

“Fuck that.” Jason grabs two cans of soda from the fridge and slides one over the counter to her. “Don’t let that sack of shit win.”

Barbara cracks open her can, then lifts it to hide a tired smile. “You know that’d be what Bruce killing the Joker would do. Letting him win.”

“Fuck that.” Jason places both palms flat on the counter so he won’t spill this soda. He breathes deeply as the green surges. “They’re not fuckin’ comparable. What Joker’s done and just killing the Joker are not the same. That’s not sinkin’ to his level or whatever bullshit, that’s doing this damn city a favor.”

“Let me ask you a question.” Barbara rubs one hand underneath her glasses, scrubbing a loose eyelash off her face. “I’ll probably never fight again. There’ll be experimental technology holding together my spine for the rest of my life. Do you think he should kill the Joker for that?”

“I’d kill him for you,” Jason answers unthinkingly.

(The thought, if Jason had taken the time to think it, is this: Jason can never say I care about you out loud. Todd men love expressing love through acts of violence. Wayne men love unflinching righteousness and devastating justice. Jason is a little too much of both). It’s the truth, though. There aren’t many people he wouldn’t kill if they’d hurt someone he cares about and if said person would appreciate it. He has a short mental list of people to kill for Dick if he ever thinks it would make Dick feel safer and wouldn't make him feel guilty. He’ll kill all of them before returning a single one of Dick’s calls. 

“So. Yes.” Barbara taps a finger against her soda can. “So he should die for causing someone Bruce cares about severe injuries. Then he should kill his old friend Harvey Dent, for what he did to Dick. And Black Mask, for what he did to Steph.” Her gaze drops to the red bat defiantly splayed across Jason’s chest. “The Joker, for you. And then he’d kill you, for what you’re planning to do to Tim. And then himself, for killing you.”

He’d kill you for the Replacement. 

Time stands still in that little apartment. Gunpowder, Febreze and sticky sweetness emanates from the sweat-slick surfaces. Jason struggles to breathe, but for once, he doesn’t see green. For the first time, he regrets telling them his ruined plan to teach the Replacement a lesson. It made them change the security of Titan’s Tower, for starters. And it makes him sound like a monster. 

“It goes nowhere.” Barbara spreads her hands. “It never ends. Please, Jason. Stop hurting yourself. Stop hurting all of us.”

You know he really misses you.

Please, Little Wing. Come home.

Please, Jason. Stop hurting yourself.

Finally, Jason raises his soda can. “To not letting that sack of shit win.”

“To not letting that sack of shit win.” Barbara quirks a crooked smile and raises her own soda in reply.

They throw back their heads and start chugging in unison. Barbara immediately doubles forward, coughing and choking on soda. She slams the can down on the counter and wipes her mouth clean with the back of her free hand.

“Where’d you find this, the League of Assassins? This tastes like ass.”

“Fuck you! It’s a delicacy!”

So maybe Jason can accept his fate as the “I’d kill for you” member of a “live for me” family. It’s more bearable than the alternative: being alone while they worry over him from afar. He’ll even put his plans for the Replacement on indefinite hold.

Steph continues crashing his midnight angst sessions. Barbara adds him to the system she has set up and makes him swear to call for backup if he needs it. (He agrees, but need is a strong word). Jason doesn’t apologize for not telling them he was alive–he doesn’t know how–but he makes up for it by visiting Dick out in Blüdhaven. He even agrees to meet with Alfred in a popular cafe and returns with his head ringing and an armful of teas and snacks.

Best of all is the (unintentional) chokehold he has on Bruce. All he has to do his bat his eyelashes and say something wistful about never graduating high school and Bruce is falling over himself to make him fake identities. The others are all too willing to keep Bruce out of his business. It’s the perfect set up. Jason never would have guessed, when he first came back, that there was family–new family–waiting for him in Gotham. But between the comforting steadiness of Barbara, her willingness to ream him out, his begrudging fondness for his new hellion little sister, and his tumultuous relationship with a brother he loves, Jason thinks he just might stay. 

Sometimes Jason even thinks he might forgive Bruce for not killing the Joker. Maybe not soon, and not for many other flaws that Bruce has yet to sort out, but maybe. All his recent musing on Willis Todd and whether that man ever loved anyone has forced Jason to reconsider his stance on love as violence that he didn’t even know he had. 

Maybe he and this crazy family idea will be alright. Maybe he’ll forgive his dad. Forgiveness or lack thereof aside, they’ll always be some kind of father and son, for better or worse. 

But the one person who Jason will absolutely not forgive is the Replacement. 

Jason still has to deal with the Replacement occasionally. By ‘deal’ he means, of course, that he went to the Replacement’s ugly-ass manor house just to mess with him. Being on good-ish terms with Dick, Steph and Barbara doesn’t mean Jason can’t have some fun. He won’t go through with something like Titans’ Tower, not anymore, but he still can’t stand that arrogant, selfish, entitled little rich brat that wriggled his way into Jason’s family, alright? So he’s going to see for himself just how self-deluded that jumped-up Replacement of his is, sue him. 

No matter how entitled, the Replacement still has school. He goes to Gotham Academy, the school Jason died attending, and he’s in the grade Jason never got to finish. It’s not until about 4 pm that the Replacement actually gets home, so Jason shows up at 6 pm, expecting to find the Drakes having dinner. Instead, the parents are absent, and the Replacement is eating takeout in one of the many living rooms, while in the middle of a game of cards.

“Ooh! Burn a card! Burn a card!” The Replacement taunts his opponent, a girl Jason just barely recognizes as Bruce’s newest adopted kid. 

The girl–Cassandra, Jason thinks, though he hasn’t learned what her traumatic backstory is yet–scowls and slides a card from the bottom of her hand to the bottom of the pile on the rug.

“Your turn,” the Replacement adds.

Cass plays her top card without looking–an eight of spades–and Tim places a ten of diamonds. Then the game accelerates to a pace Jason struggles to understand. There’s a lot of slapping involved. Mostly it looks like they’re just playing cards one after another, until Cass slams her hand down on top of the pile.

“Wait, what?” The Replacement pushes her hand away and checks the top cards. A three of hearts and a three of spades. “Damn, you’re right. Double.”

This time Cass smirks as she scoops up the whole pile. Jason should probably stop spying from the doorway now. He only came to harrass the Replacement a little, not meet Bruce’s new kid. But then she turns her head and stares directly at him, so Jason shrugs mentally and saunters into the living room. He dumps his gun (one of them) on a comfy looking armchair as a sign of peace. 

“So. Bruce’s new kid, huh?”

Cass nods once.

Jason plonks himself down on the coffee table. Legs sprawled, his shoe almost touches their playing cards. He ignores the Replacement staring at him in something akin to awe. It’s in turns enraging, confusing and uncomfortable. 

“Lemme guess. Dad was an ax murderer, Mom died when you were young?” When Cass just stares at Jason blankly, the faintest hint of embarrassment creeps up on him. He tries again. “How’d you end up with this band of lunatics?”

Cass shrugs. She looks at the Replacement.

“Her bio dad is David Cain,” the Replacement explains, having the audacity to look something akin to sternly at Jason. “Her bio mom is Lady Shiva and she gave her away at birth, but after she escaped Cain–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason snaps, through the roaring green the Replacement’s stern look conjures. “What are you, her social worker? She can tell her own story.”

“Right,” says the Replacement, looking satisfyingly ashamed. “Yeah, of course.”

After a beat of silence, with both boys staring at her, Cass raises her hands. It takes Jason a beat too long to realize she’s explaining her story in ASL. Though explaining is a strong word. She makes the sign that Barbara came up with all those years ago, a combination of the sign for bird and the sign for bat, to mean broadly the Gotham vigilantes. Batman, Robin, all the bats and birds who call Gotham home and each other family. Then she makes the sign for good. 

Bats good, Cass says. Then she gives Jason this dead-eyed stare that feels like it’s poking around his soul and seeing all his cringe-fail moments, and asks: Why are you so–? But Jason doesn’t recognize the actual adjective. 

“She’s asking why you’re so angry,” the Replacement supplies, since he apparently knows more ASL than Jason does. A fact that Jason definitely does not care about at all. 

“I’m not angry,” Jason says, you know, like a liar.

[maybe-moonchild]

CHAPTER 2

summary: in which shit hits the fan and you are not thrilled. WC: 6.8k ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ

“I know who I am,” Peter shoots back cooly even if he’s clenching his jaw. Taking down these bozo’s would be a piece of cake… if not for you right there. Protecting you is a given. If he can do so without revealing a certain secret… then he would prefer that. 

You suck in a breath, your hands on his arm tightening as you press yourself into his back. You can’t really help it. Not when he has his arm thrown in front of you to make sure he is at the head of it all. 

Oh. Also, these goons are looking for him! Not you!

“Oh Good,” the man continues, pretending like he’s trying to make the presence of the gun in his hand inconspicuous. It’s not. Not when you can see the outline of it in the dim light each time he makes sure to flash a glimpse of it. Peter doesn’t flinch which only makes your panic rise.

Your eyes flick between all three men. There's Scar Guy up ahead, a line of jagged skin cutting through his eyebrow and continuing down his cheek. The guy standing at the edge of the sidewalk near the road is littered with tattoos that crawl up his neck and down into his hands. Lastly is the man at your backs who has a red beanie tugged over his long hair. 

“Wanted to make sure we had the right guy. Don’t think Wilson Fisk would be too happy if we didn’t.”

A flicker of recognition makes Peter tense at the realization of the situation. He holds your arm a little tighter, trying to position you even more behind him in case anything happens. 

You also recognize the name from the few times you vaguely remember reading it in the paper or hearing it on the news. He’s a businessman or something. You've never really cared enough to pay that much attention. 

“The file,” Scar Guy sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “He knows you took it. He wants it back. Return it and we won’t hurt your friend here.”

Those words make you go cold because you know that he means it. Peter knows he means it too, his eyes narrowing as the pieces start to click together. 

The file he’d managed to find the other day while snooping around those not-so-abandoned warehouses that he happily took home. He’d hoped it would give him a leg up on Fisk ever since the crime lord figured out his identity a few weeks ago and Peter had been waiting for him to do something about it. 

The file Fisk now knew he had… Shit.

This was so not how tonight was supposed to go. 

“Listen, I don’t know what youre talking about.” He tries to seem calm, to play innocent even though his hopes are low. “So I don’t know what file you’re looking for but you have the wrong guy.”

Scar Guy just rolls his eyes like he’s already over the whole thing. With a nod to Red Hat behind you, he scratches the side of his head with his gun. “Come on kid. Just give us the file.”

Peter doesn’t know how he doesn’t see it coming and he’s never hated himself more. He's so overwhelmed with trying to figure out what he can do that will keep you safe that he completely misses Red Hat guy advancing on you from behind. 

A large hand finds its way around your upper arm and roughly jerks you backwards. Peter calls out your name but when he reaches for you, you’re too far out of grasps. You fall back into Red Hat’s chest and his arm snakes around your neck. 

“Okay, okay, just let her go and I’ll go get the file,” he urges, head whipping between the three goons. His hands are clenched so tightly at his sides that he’s surprised his nails haven’t broken through skin. 

Now, Peter is starting to panic. 

“Stop squirming,” Red Hat guy mutters as his grip around your neck tightens. You try to pull away in the hopes that you can get back towards Peter. When you don’t immediately listen, he puts enough pressure on your windpipe to emphasize his order. A whimper lodges itself in your throat as you still before the thug lets up enough for you to inhale.

“Or,” the tattooed one draws out and leans back against the random car parked along the street. “You go get it and we’ll keep her until you get it back.”

And to further emphasize their point, Red Hat leans closer to smell your hair. You jerk your head away, the thought of being left alone with a single one of these assholes making you try and twist out of his hold again. 

“Fine. I’ll go get it. Just let go of my friend.”

If you weren’t so busy with trying to lean away from the foul smelling breath and escape the headlock you’re in, you would have been taken aback that Peter Parker just called you his friend. 

“File first, then we’ll let her go,” Scar Guy sneers, no room for debate in his tone. From the angry look on Peter’s face, there was no chance in hell he was leaving you with these assholes.

Peter scoffs, “That doesn’t work for me. So you can either let her go and I’ll get you the file or we can do this the hard way.”

He can get you out of this mess. He has to get you out of this mess. 

A horrible ache of guilt stabs his chest when he looks at you. You always pretended to never be scared- ever since you were kids, you’d square your shoulders and do your best at hiding your fear. 

But your wide eyes, tousled hair, and the way you struggle to stand on your toes to try and lessen some of the force against your neck are all dead giveaways that you’re terrified. 

“How about this,” Scar Guy starts again, signaling to Red Hat with a nod of his head. “We all take a little field trip to get the file from wherever you stashed it away and we don't have to do this the hard way.”

You go rigid the second you feel it. The cool of the metal pressing against your temple and the deafening click that follows. It’s not hard to realize that whatever Peter has been up to some serious shit the past four years. Flinching, you turn your head and squeeze your eyes shut in the hopes you can put some distance between your head and the barrel of the gun. 

Peter doesn’t move either. He inhales so sharply through clenched teeth and forces down the urge to lose it. His muscles are painfully tense with the urge to leap into action, fingers twitching towards his web shooters. But he doesn’t.

And it almost kills him.

“It’s not on me, okay? I don’t have it,” he snaps. In surrender, he raises his hands in the hopes to be allowed to take a step forward. The second he tries to take a step, the barrel digs a little harder into your temple which has him freezing in his tracks.

Tears prick at your eyes. You can’t help it even if you wish you could. There's a gun to your head and the feel of the thug pressing up against your back and his cheek against your hair is enough to make you feel sick. Your fingers dig into his thick arm still thrown around your neck but you've stopped trying to fight and get away.

When he’s met with silence, Peter forces himself to tear his eyes away from your terrified form and settle back on Scar Guy. He’d clearly been waiting for Peter’s attention so he could continue. 

“Here’s how this is going to work, Mr. Parker,” Scar Guy says like he’s talking to a child. “We’re going to take a little field trip to your apartment. Then, you’re gonna go in, get it, and bring it out to us. We’ll bring your little girlfriend too just in case. That way, if you decide to try anything…” he shrugs and makes a face. “Do you really need me to say it?”

“No.” Peter practically cuts him off with how fast he answers. 

Satisfied, the thug shrugs again and you feel the pressure against your head lessen. Some of the rigidity in your muscles eases as you slowly open your eyes to immediately find Peter’s. It’s easier to look at him. He tries to apologize without actually saying a word. Giving you an apologetic look that he wished conveyed the millions of apologies he was thinking.

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “But I swear to god if you lay a single finger on her, you’re going to have a lot more to worry about than a stupid file.”

For some reason, the threat doesn’t seem to be laughed off by the men around. It almost seems like they consider it.

Scar Guy digs his phone out of his pocket and shoots off a text message. The street is painfully quiet aside from the distant sound of traffic from a few blocks away. You wish someone would drive by, that one person would peek out their apartment window and look down at the scene below. 

Hell, you wish Spider-Man would swing by at this very moment. 

Peter wants to tear all three of  these assholes apart with his bare hands. Doing so would only put a target on your back now that they had seen your face and know more than just his name. 

A sleek black limo without its headlights on slowly rolls to a stop at the curb. The windows are so tinted that the glass practically looks like a mirror. You wouldn’t be surprised if the thing had just left a car wash.

“After you,” Scar Guy grunts with a dramatic wave of his arm. For a long moment, Peter just glares at him while the goon with the tattoos  opens the door. 

You can breathe. You know that- deep down, somewhere in your brain- you are well aware that your air flow is not being restricted. That the arm around your neck is not enough to stop oxygen from traveling to your lungs, through your arteries, and to your brain before turning into CO2 that you exhale. 

Remembering that is difficult with the realization that you were now playing tag along as a hostage. 

Peter grits his teeth, glancing between you and the open door. He’s weighing his options. Oblige or defy. Kick all three of these guys asses and reveal his secret or let you be in prolonged danger. 

He crosses the distance and hovers in the doorway. “Come on. You can let her go now.” If looks could kill, Scar Guy would be six feet under. “She doesn’t even know what the file is about. She has nothing to do with any of this. She doesn’t even know me anymore!”

It almost stings.

You don’t know him anymore. You hadn’t spoken in four years aside from small talk that is so forced it’s painful. The only things you know about him are the things you see on May’s facebook before you can scroll away. What you do know is that your dorky neighbor would never get involved with something like this. 

Scar Guy and Red Hat share a look. For a second, you almost think they might agree and toss you aside on the sidewalk. Instead, Red Hat shoves you roughly towards the door of the limo. Your eyes go wide and Peters do the same as you stumble. He manages to catch you before you can fully sprawl  out onto his lap. 

“Easy,” Peter grunts in Scar Guys direction but Scar Guy is too busy shooting off another text. Your hands move to grip his arms while he stabilizes you, one hand on your waist and the other on your shoulder. Once he’s balanced you out, he slowly helps you settle back into the seat beside him. 

Neither of you let go. You don’t think you could let go of him if you wanted to. 

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay- everything’s fine, right?”

You nod blindly. Maybe if you believe it, you will be. At least that was all it seemed you could do as you try to catch your breath and catch a single thought swirling around your brain. His hands cup your face and angle it in his direction. There is the faintest bruise forming on your temple from the barrel of thr gun and Peter’s thumb finds it with a frown. 

“Alright, good. We’ll be fine- as soon as I get the file, they’ll let us go and nothing like this will ever happen again- god. I am so, so sorry.” The worry is evident in his face from the crease between his brows and how he chews on his bottom lip. Soothingly, he smooths your hair from your face. 

Scar guy climbs into the back of the limo before the door shuts behind him. His gun doesn’t leave his hand but you’re thankful that it's hanging limply at his side rather than being trained in your direction. You and Peter watch him from the corner of your eyes as Scar Guy settles in the opposite seats. He’s more preoccupied with rattling off texts on his blackberry. 

You try to comprehend the situation you find yourself in- scratch that. The situation Peter finds himself in is that he has managed to drag you into eight years after the demise of your friendship.

“Are you kidding me,” you hiss. “Kingpin? You stole a file from a crime lord?”

“Okay, okay. I can explain.” Even as Peter raises a hand in surrender, the other rests where your neck meets your shoulder. “It wasn’t like that-” Your glare intensifies and he grimaces. “Okay… yeah… it was like that.”

“Oh? And pray tell, Parker, what was it like?”

There is a long moment of silence as he tries to grasp for the least stupid answer he can find. After far too long, he throws his head back and groans. 

“Look, I didn’t even think he would know I took it! It was just there and I saw it and I thought that– well I thought that maybe it would be of use to someone- the only reason I even thought about it was because-”

“Because you always get in over your head Peter Parker.”

Letting out a huff, you sink back into your seat without letting go of one of his arms. Just being able to hold onto him gives you some bit of comfort. Your glare moves to your feet because it is a hell of a lot easier to look down than at him at the moment. With a quiet hum of the engine, the limo pulls out from the street and onto the road. 

Probably taking you to your impending doom, you think. 

“Why can’t you ever stand down?” Your voice comes out softer and his shoulders seem to sag. “Why do you always have to try and play hero when it just puts you in danger?”

Even without looking up at him, you can practically feel his guilt. Can practically see his furrowed brows and the way he keeps his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. The same look you had seen hundred of times as children. Back when you were both young and the most trouble he would get in was Aunt May grounding him for a night or the black eye he’d get from Flash. 

“Because someone has to,” he sighs, finally giving up trying to catch your eye to turn forward in his seat. “I’m tired of people not being able to walk the streets and having to look over their shoulder for…”

Your face softens more at the realization that a part of him is probably doing this because of Ben. Maybe even for him- who knew anymore? Certainly not you anymore. 

“Okay, look,” Peter starts again, turning back to face you with pleading eyes. He doesn't even know what he’s pleading for at this point. “I know I shouldn’t have gotten myself involved with this. I get in over my head a lot but… someone needs to.”

“Someone does. Someone does do that. The difference is that they have superpowers and you should let them handle it.”

That someone has superpowers. That someone wears a mask that keeps this from happening.

Before he can respond, the limo slows to a stop and cuts the conversation short. You both look up and out the windows, studying the quiet street you’ve arrived on. Peters hand tenses on your arm as he sits up a little straighter. Scar guy gets out of the limo, exchanging quiet conversation with someone on the sidewalk that we can’t see.

Peter tenses before Wilson Fisk even enters the back of the limo. 

Fisk is the first crime boss you have ever laid eyes on in real life. Not that that’s much of a surprise considering you don't make it a habit to associate yourself with Manhattan's very own Kingpin. Clad in a suit that you are sure, at minimum, costs twice your monthly rent, he moves to occupy the seat opposite of us with such ease that it makes you more on edge. 

Like he belongs here; in his element.

Panic starts to creep back up your spine but you manage to press yourself a little closer to Peter's side. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he stares down Fisk who seems to be more occupied with getting comfortable. Scar Guy resumes his position at his side, his gun resuming its position and resting in his lap. 

For a long moment, the silence is so deafening, the only thing you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears. At least the sound of the limo pulling off onto the street offers very little sound.

“Mr. Parker,” Fisk greets with amused indifference, his voice demanding authority. “I’m glad we caught you at this time. Happy that you and your friend can join us.”

His attention moves to you and Peter and I both tense at the same time. It’s like being scrutinized under a microscope. Your skin crawls and you force yourself to not shift in your seat but you can’t actually get yourself to hold his gaze.

“How rude of me. Wilson Fisk.” Hesitantly, you manage to squeak out your name as he extends his hand to you across the small space.

You barely have time to consider your next course of action before Peter has moved forward in his seat to throw an arm across your body. Something about it is only more amusing to Fisk. He doesn’t look remotely offended and drops his hand to return to the top of his cane. 

“Fine. Let's cut to the chase. The file- my file. My file that you stole. I’m done playing games with Mr. Parker. I want it back and I want it back now.”

Peter doesn’t flinch. “I will happily give it back to you. Just let her go and I’ll go get it.” His defiance is emphasized by his flat stare and arms folded over his chest. Scar Guy just rolls his eyes again. 

It’s clear Peter isn’t going to hand it over until you’re out of the line of fire. 

“Unfortunately, I can’t do that,” Fisk sighs with mock sympathy. Your fingers wrap themselves around Peter’s wrist from where his hand is splayed on the seat beside you. Fisk chuckles. It’s a cold humorless sound that makes you stiffen and Peter’s other hand moves to rest on your knee. 

Whereas Peter is good at playing this game, you are not. You can’t hide your fear and play it cool like he can. 

The way Fisk is looking at you is calculated, like he’s trying to determine how much damage he can do to you if it will get Peter to fold. 

Peter seems to sense that and his face hardens. “Do. Not. Touch. Her.”

“Ah, Peter, you can’t tell me what to do. 

“She has nothing to do with this, Fisk. She doesn’t even know anything,” Peter grits out. “I should be the only one here right now. Not her.”

The crime boss wants his stuff back and he doesn’t care who he has to hurt to get it. 

Right now… that person is you. 

As the limo turns a corner, it causes the both of you to lean to the side. His arm pressed against your chest keeps you from lurching out of your seat before you both fall back into place. Each slam of your heart against your ribs is palpable in his arm but the steadiness seems to keep him grounded.

“I’m not leaving.”

All three men in the car are caught off guard by the sound of you speaking up. Peter's head whips in your direction so fast he could have given himself whiplash. 

For the love of god. 

Could you ever not be scared? Be too fearful and run when you should? Granted, this was all of his fault, but he was trying to get you out of the mess he’d dragged you into.

Fisk raises an eyebrow. “Oh, this one is feisty,” he chuckles in his low, rumbling voice. 

“Uh, yes,” Peter hisses under his breath as you stare straight ahead. “You are.” His fingers on your knee flex in warning which only makes you scowl. 

You can’t tell if you’re proud of yourself for not wanting to run or if you’re just as much of a stubborn idiot as he is. 

Maybe both.

“Uh, yes. I am,” you say slowly and glance in his direction before speaking to Fisk. “If you’re taking him somewhere, I’m going too.” You square your shoulders in the hopes of looking as confident as you can manage given the fear. Peter, ever the drama queen, throws his hands up in disbelief before tugging at his hair. 

“We have a reason for you not to be involved here! You don’t even know what it is so let me handle this. You don’t need to be here.”

“Yeah well, neither should you.” This time you do finally turn fully in your seat to fully address him. “If you had grown up at all in the last eight years and stopped getting yourself into trouble, neither of us would be here!”

Peter does that thing. He does what he always does when he gets frustrated. Where his eyes get wide and his mouth falls open to blurt out something defensive. Then he thinks better of it and snaps his mouth shut, throws his hands up, and turns away with a huff. 

“It’s different,” he grumbles. “I’m the one who had the file so I’m the one who has to fix this mess. You shouldn’t be here. This is not where you belong.”

This has got to be the worst time for the two of you to bicker. It’s not like either of you can help the way you so easily fall back into the natural ease of how things used to be. The kind of petty arguing that sounds childish and is forgotten moments after the conversation ends. 

Your glare at him. It’s the first time in four years that you’ve been this close to him and you hate that there is a brief moment that you wish the lighting in here was better so you could study every detail. 

“I was looking to have this handled but… it seems you two have some unresolved issues,” Fisk snorts and Scar Guy just raises his eyebrows at the scene. 

“One second.” You hold up a hand in Fisks direction without looking at him. Peter’s eyes go wide because you did not seriously tell a freaking crime boss to give you a moment when you're playing hostage. He yanks your hand down because you very much did and- are you out of your mind?

“How is this any different?” you continue without missing a beat. “Because your knack for trouble has just seemed to grow with you.”

“Because it is not your problem,” Peter replies sharply as he drops your hand back into your lap. “Because I created this mess. Now it’s my job to fix it. Your job is to get out of here.”

Peter isn’t going to admit it but you’re completely right- that he’s still the same person who got into trouble almost every day as a child.

He’s just grown up a little so his problems aren’t as childish anymore. That’s all.

“See! This is exactly what I expected.”

“Would you two shut up?” Scar Guy groans while his head tips back on the seat. 

Aside from a quiet scoff from Peter, you comply. You both turn back around in your seat, neither of you looking at each other and instead choosing to find anywhere else in the leather interior of the car more interesting. 

“Is this how things usually go,” Fisk asks with a chuckle even if he finds the outburst to be more of a nuisance. “You two bickering like this?”

“No!” 

Neither of you miss a beat, snapping out your answer at the same time. You can’t help being mad at him for trying to shove you out of his life the second it feels like maybe you're slightly closer to being let in. Despite the current situation, you’d had fun earlier getting pizza and joking back and forth. 

“Fine. You want to be a part of this mess so badly? Go ahead,” Peter scoffs as he turns to face you again. “But the minute that shit hits the fan, I won’t hesitate to say I told you so.”

You roll your eyes and fold your arms over your chest without looking at him. “Fine.”

“Are you two finished squabbling like children?” Fisk is fed up and it’s clear by the sharpness in his tone. There's a threat hidden somewhere in his words. 

You’re too busy trying not to grumble under your breath and he’s too busy scowling for either of you to realize that the limo has come to a stop in front of his apartment. 

The second he turns back to look out of the tinted windows, the building that you’re parked outside of looks all too familiar. Peter’s apartment is in a relatively fine part of Hell’s Kitchen and could be a lot worse. The area is mostly apartment buildings, though there are a handful of bodegas and restaurants peppered in between. 

“Go ahead. Get it. Bring it to me.”

Stiffening in his seat, Peter stares back at Fisk, eyes cold and jaw tense. You can’t seem to hold yourself as he can. You feel small and scared as the weight of the situation returns to you full force with such an intensity that you have to clasp your hands together in your lap so they don’t shake. 

“She’s coming with me. I’m not leaving her here alone with you.”

“Girl stays with me,” Fisk sighs boredly. He pays more attention to the cigar he pulls from his pocket as he inspects it in his stubby fingers. Scar Guy gets out on Peter’s side, standing by the door and waiting for him to follow. 

Now you’re really starting to panic and Peter is really starting to get pissed off. Your nails dig into your skin, leaving little half moons in their wake. Peter places his hand on yours without even glancing in your direction to try and reassure you in any way he can. 

“You go get the files, bring them back here, and we’ll call it a day,” Fisk mumbles around the cigar dangling in his lips as he lights it. The smell of tobacco is overwhelming and he takes a long drag that makes the embers crackle. “Try to run off, I’ll kill her.”

Those words hit Peter hard enough that he might as well have gotten punched. 

He opens his mouth to protest until he’s blue in the face. Over his dead body is he going to leave you, terrified and completely normal, in a situation like this ALONE. Even if it is only for a minute.

As much as you hate the idea as much as he does, you gently squeeze his wrist. It shuts off the stream of profanities ready to start spilling from his mouth and he turns his attention to you. You give him the faintest nod, telling him it’s okay. That the quicker he gets this done, the quicker everything will be over. 

“Do not touch her, not even a hair on her head. Are we clear?” Peter grits the words out through clenched teeth. You inhale slowly through your nose just so you remember to keep breathing. It’s clear Peter doesn’t want to leave you alone in the car with Fisk but… it’s clear he doesn’t really have a choice. 

Forcing his face to soften into anything that is not a look of dread is difficult but he manages. He turns to look at you and you meet his eyes without hesitation. Your eyes are wide and scared which just makes him feel even worse than he currently does. He reaches forward to brush a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Right back, okay? Everything’s fine. You are going to be perfectly fine.” Peter says it like it's something he’s sure of. He has to be sure of it or he is going to lose it before he can get through the doors of the lobby. 

Your grip on his hand tightens at the prospect of having to let go but you make yourself nod and swallow thickly. His eyes flicker around your face and he almost looks like he’s trying to smile in the hopes to soothe some of your rising panic. 

A part of him hates that he has to comply with this but he also knows he has to see it out if he wants a chance at making sure you’re safe.

With one last caress of your cheek, he untangles his hand from yours and climbs out of the car. Scar Guy shuts the door behind them and the sound makes you flinch. 

If there is one thing you are absolutely certain of, it’s that Peter won’t run off. 

Fisk lets out another quiet chuckle around the drag of the cigar. A cloud of smoke drifts slowly from his mouth and through the dimmed interior of the limo. It fills your lungs when you suck in a breath and makes you cough. At least he cracks the window. He studies you carefully like he’s trying to put something together. 

Like he’s looking for an answer to a question he can’t quite place. 

“Let me ask you something,” the sound of his voice demands your full attention. You peek up at him because you can’t seem to look at him head on. You keep your face as stoic as you can even if your skin is too hot and cold at the same time. “What is your relationship with Peter Parker? He seems to care about you.”

“We’re friends,” you murmur although you’re not entirely sure anymore considering you two hadn’t been friends in eight years. 

“Ah. Friends.” The word sounds condescending in his mouth but he slowly nods like he’s considering that as an answer. “Friends.” A small smirk makes the corner of his lips curl around the cigar. “Well, that’s definitely a nice way of saying it. Something was going on there. Wasn’t it?”

You slowly shake your head. It’s easier than trying to open your mouth to speak.

Fisk hums like he doesn’t quite believe me, “Friends? Nothing more?”

You keep your hands clasped together in your lap. His scrutinizing gaze makes you want to squirm in your spot, the overwhelming urge to flee making your muscles twitch. At least Fisk isn’t creepy in a pervy way. Just terrifying in the ‘so rich and connected to anyone that he could hunt someone down in an hour’ kind of way.

When you don’t say anything, the crime boss doesn’t seem particularly bothered. Instead, he busies himself with tapping the cigar on the window pane, the butt falling onto the street. Rain taps against the glass, each drop quiet in the background of your racing heart.

“Seems to care about you quite a bit. Don’t think I’ve ever seen him get that bent out of shape for a civilian before.”

The second the crease between your brow deepens, Fisk knows he has you. 

“What does that mean?” You're wary of the answer and you sit up a little straighter in your seat. His smile gets a little more smug but he only shrugs and looks away. 

“Let me ask you this,” he sighs, hand flexing around the handle of his cane. “How long have you two been friends- or, not friends? Whatever it is that you two are?”

It’s your turn to shrug. When he doesn’t speak, it’s clear that the answer isn’t good enough. “I don’t know. We haven’t really talked in eight years…”

“Eight years,” he says slowly. “That's a long time not to speak to someone you have so many memories with… I see… And have you kept up with what he’s been up to since then?”

Whatever Wilson Fisk’s game is, you don’t know how to play.

“Not… much… aside from facebook posts, I guess.” The confusion you feel is evident in the frown you can’t seem to shake. You have to swallow again so you can hoarsely ask, “Why?”

Fisk just shrugs again. 

“Nothing… and everything.” His eyes are steady and he takes his time to take another drag of the cigar. He leans forward in his head, head cocking to the side and you inhale sharply through your nose. Each drop of rain feels like the tick of a clock hand that makes time seem like it's moving too slowly. The longer you sit here, the more it feels like Fisk has shoved a meaty fist through your chest and is squeezing your down on your circulatory system. 

“What do you really know about Peter Parker?”

Something in your gut doesn’t like the implication of his question. 

Before eight years ago, you knew everything. You knew that he preferred watermelon flavored candy the most with the generic ‘green’ flavored ones in second place. Even when he stayed quiet, he couldn’t control his facial expression if his life depended on it. He liked sleeping on the side of the bed farthest farthest from the wall. He religiously picked and scratched at scabs or pressed his thumb into his bruises just to know they still hurt. 

Now?

So, you say nothing. You clench your hands together and somehow manage to stare him down even when you're fighting the urge to turn your head. 

A look of mock confusion settles on his face. “You’re not answering my question.”

“I don’t know,” you grit out, your voice and eyes cold. That answer makes you angry. You don’t know Peter Parker anymore. Years ago, you did and now you felt like you were wandering through the dark.

You hate that Fisk knows more about Peter than you do. At least Fisk knows why Peter got involved with files that belonged to himself anyway. 

“Well then,” Fisk draws out as he settles back in his seat and punctuates his pause by flicking his cigar out the cracked open window. The glass slowly rolls closed and the car feels stuffy again. “Do you want to know the reason he took those files?”

This is a trap. You know that and you can see it from a mile away. It’s a game that will only end with everyone else but Fisk losing. Even if he didn’t win, he would never lose. 

As you’re contemplating your answer, the door to your right is yanked open to reveal a pissed off Peter Parker. His harsh stare burns holes into Fisk before he tosses the files onto the floor so they land at Fisk's feet. The action only makes Fisk raise his eyebrows in amusement before he reaches to pick them up. 

“There,” Peter spits out from his spot in the open car door. Scar Guy hovers behind him, bored and ready to move on to whatever their next activity of the night is. “There they are. We’re leaving.” “Why did you steal the file,” you blurt out without taking your eyes off of Fisk who wet his thumb to flip through the papers. You hate that he got to you. That there is a part of you that feels so left behind in the dark that you worry you will never find your way out. You hate that you can’t stop yourself from asking instead of scrambling out of the car and into the safety of Peter's arms. 

But you need to know. 

You need to know how the hell he got involved with someone like Kingpin. Why the hell he found himself in a situation to take the files in the first place. How this all led to a gun pressing into your head before being shoved into a limo with Manhattan's most notorious crime lord and Peter is acting like this is a regular saturday night event. 

You don’t know the rules of the game. You don’t know how to play. You don’t know anything. 

Peter’s look of hatred slips to a frown at your question as he turns to look at you. He’d been expecting you to bolt from the car and right into his arms the moment he returned. The last thing he expects is for you to stubbornly stay rooted in your spot. 

“Later. Come on,” Peter says tensely before leaning inside. His hand finds your shoulder and gives you a gentle tug to try and get you moving. You don’t budge.

This time you do turn to look at him, “No.” It comes out sharper than you mean it to. “I want to know now.”

The look in your eye makes him falter. Peter tenses, his hand falling to hang lamely in the air like he’s suddenly second guessing everything that he is doing. His eyes are big and brown and urging, your name coming out like a plea. Fisk is quick to interrupt him. 

“She’s right Parker. She’s your friend. She deserves to know.”

You don’t think you understand the meaning of the word friend anymore. At least you don’t understand how you and him fit together inside of it. 

Peter says nothing. He holds your gaze, his hand extended in the air as an out to this horrible night. Clearly, he doesn’t know what the hell to say so he says nothing. You don’t think you've ever seen him look so conflicted or at a loss for words before now. The longer the silence stretches on, the larger Fisk’s smile grows. 

“Parker?” Fisk's voice is mocking but it earns a dirty look from him. 

And in his silence, you find your answer. 

At least as much as an answer as you're going to get. That he is never going to tell you anyway. Not the real reason. 

It stings.

It stings like an eight year old scar reopened and your ex-best friend poured antiseptic directly into the wound. 

Sighing in defeat, Peter takes the opportunity to carefully haul you out of the seat. You let him, eyes narrowing at Fisk as you reach out to hold onto Peter's arms. Fisk doesn’t have to say it because you can see the words written all over his face.

‘I told you so.’

You find your footing on the wet pavement but are too scared to let go of him in the fear that your legs are going to give out. It’s stopped raining but the humidity hangs in the air. Breathing is easier without being confined to the small space that reeks of leather and smoke. 

“Pleasure doing business with you Parker. It was a pleasure meeting you too,” Fisk grins, holding up the manilla folder and waving it in the air. “Next time, think twice before you steal from me.”

With the threat hanging in the air, Scar Guy climbs into the back seat with him and the slam of the car door sounds the end of the conversation. The limo pulls away and down the street as the two of you watch until the vehicle disappears around the corner. 

Fisk tosses the file onto the seat beside him, his lips curling into a sinister grin as it all clicks. He’s found the perfect pressure point for Spider-Man.

The one weakness Peter has. The one thing he won't be able to help but give anything to protect. 

You.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Unexpected Patient

For @tmnt-write-fight for @dandylovesturtles

Title: Unexpected Patient Prompt: Outsider POV of anyone getting rescued by the turtles  Fandom: TMNT 2003 Word Count: 2855  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  T Characters: OC (Samantha Craik, Peter Craik), Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, Casey Jones Warning: NA Summary: Samantha Craik did not expect for a stop at a corner store on her way home from her shift at the hospital to put her in life-threatening danger, but it did. She also didn’t expect for the life-threatening danger to put a new patient in her lap, but, well, it was, apparently, a night of unexpected things. Notes: Sam is a character I’ve had around in some form since I was 13, and Peter since my early 20s. I have fun sticking her in fics here and there. This isn’t their first appearance in TMNT fics, as I lent the both of them out to some friends in the late 2000s for their Fast Forward fics. Unfortunately, those are long lost, which is a shame, really. Back up your favorite fics, y’all! ff.net || AO3

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Unexpected Patient

Samantha Craik cursed in her head. She’d have cursed out loud, except she was positive that saying anything out loud right now was not a good idea. Normally this wouldn’t have stopped the fiery red-head, but there were children in this store and the last thing she wanted was for anyone to get hurt on account of her temper. Her blood boiled as these punks pushed through the store, demanding money from people and stealing from the shelves. Stars, Peter was gonna kill her. She should have just gone on to the subway station after her shift at the hospital ended and made do with whatever food they had there instead of stopping for a quick snack.

One of the gang members brandished a knife at her. “Hey—gimmie your money.”

Sam glared at him, but reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. He swiped it from her, opening it, and then frowning. “This is it?” he said.

“If you think I had money, do you think I’d be working at this hospital?” she shot back at him jabbing a finger towards the hospital’s crest that was on her lab coat. “I’m barely out of residency! I’ve still got loans to pay off!”

“Tch.” The punk looked at her disdainfully. “I’ll make more money hocking this wallet then what you have in it.”

“Well pardon me for being poor!”

The punk gestured with his knife. “Get over there with the others!”

Sam made her way over to the other customers, one of the punks taking a moment to look at her. Sam narrowed her eyes at him. Yeah, she recognized him. He was a Purple Dragon, and he’d been in and out of her ER a few times. Several of these guys had. And yet, here they were, doing the same crap that got them in her ER to begin with.

“Hey—you got that money yet?” the guy called out, clearly their leader.

“Yeah. Getting the last of it now,” a green-haired punk called out.

The leader nodded and turned back to look at them. There weren’t many people in the store. Sam hadn’t expected there to be, not this late. There was the cashier, a teenager who looked far too stoned to properly see the danger everyone was in; a man who appeared to be in his late sixties, leaning heavily on a cane in a way that told Sam he probably was going to need a knee replacement soon; a young immigrant woman and her two children, none of which seemed to understand much English, but clearly understood the gestures with the guns and knives; and her, a thirty-year-old doctor, straight off of what was supposed to be a twelve hour shift that had turned into a fifteen hour one instead, because sometimes that’s just how it was.

Maybe her mother was right, and she should see about transferring to one of the hospitals in the richer areas of the city.

“Hey!” a punk from outside came running in the door. “The nut with the hockey mask is coming! And you know what that means.”

The leader cursed, and Sam found herself really hoping that the kids didn’t understand English.

“I was hoping not to deal with any green freaks tonight. Alright—bag up what we’ve got and let’s get out of here.” He looked at the group. “And just for good measure—”

He leveled the gun at the old man, and Sam realized just what he was about to do. She moved, shoving his arm up. Was it the smartest thing she could have done? No. Was it what she did anyway? Yeah.

“Leave him alone, you fracking jerk!”

The shot missed, pinging on the light fixture instead, and the man growled and tried to shake her off. In for a penny, in for a pound, she figured. Sam threw herself into fighting him, something that she wasn’t completely useless in. But she was no fighter, and it didn’t take long for the punks to have her pinned to the ground, the gun on her.

“Let go of me you fricking punk!” she snarled, still fighting.

“Since you’re so eager,” the leader said, and she could see him aiming the gun at her out of the corner of her eye, “then you can be the example.”

Oh yeah. If she made it through this, her husband was definitely going to kill her.

Still, she growled and struggled, not willing to just give up and give in.

And then the door slammed open, and something burst in.

“It’s the freaks!” someone shouted, and the gun was suddenly off of her and fixated on something else, going off as a fight broke out.

Sam wasn’t a stupid woman, and she knew an opportunity when she saw it. Despite the grip the man that was still holding her had on her long hair, Sam twisted in his grasp, kicked him right in his junk, and then twisted her head to bite the hand that still had her shoulder. The man let out a gasp, and Sam rolled, not getting to her feet, but scrambling back and away from things.

The woman with her children were cowering, and Sam looked them over, trying to find any sort of cultural distinguisher on them. She knew a few words in different languages, and she hoped she guessed the right one.

“Go!” she said, her accent terrible, and pointed towards the storeroom door. The woman’s eyes lit up in understanding, and she grabbed her kids’ hands, speaking rapidly to them and tugging them with her. They all moved like they had escaped violent situations before, but Sam didn’t have time to spare more than an observation about that.

The stoned teenager must have had more sense than she thought, because he was gone, and the old man, seeing where the woman had gone, was already following along. Good. Then it was just her.

And then, suddenly she found herself being yanked backwards by her hair, a strong hand pulling her by her long braid. She had the presence of mind to try to twist around, her hair long enough to give her that freedom, but it didn’t work, and she realized that the leader of the punks had her as he pulled her to him, wrapping an arm around her neck. She struggled, insults pouring from her lips as she did, but she stopped when the gun was put to her head once more.

“No one move, or the lady doctor here gets it,” he said.

Sam twitched in his arms and growled. “Glad to know me saving your scummy life means something. Next time I’ll give it the attention it’s worth!”

“You,” he said, “don’t say nothing either.”

Sam growled again but switched her attention to looking at who else the punk was addressing. Her eyes widened as she took in who—or what—was in front of her. Four green figures, turtles, all wielding some sort of weapons, and a tall, dark-haired man in a hockey mask with a hockey stick in his hands.

Somehow, he looked the most out of place out of all of them.

Sam had heard rumors of the turtle men before. She’d not put much stock into the stories at first. All sorts of crazies came into the ER, especially at night, and some strung out druggie or beat up punk talking about karate turtles just made her double check their toxicology report. You never knew when there was a bad batch on the street.

But the stories persisted, and she heard them from other places as well. She still hadn’t quite put her faith in those stories. It all seemed like some sort of gimmick to her. But now that the proof was in front of her, well, she couldn’t help but conclude that maybe she should have paid a bit more attention to those rumors.

“Let her go,” the one with the blue mask said. “She’s an innocent.”

“If she hadn’t of interfered, we’d have been gone before you four freaks got—wait, why are there only three of you,” the leader snarled.

And that was when everything went even more wrong than it had so far.

The Dragon went to move his gun from her head to point at one of the turtle men. Sam took the opportunity to jerk her head forward to bite the arm that held her in place and reached back to grab him in a very personal way and twist. At the same time, something came flying out of the air and embedded itself in the Dragon’s hand. A turtle-man leapt forward and tackled her down and out of the way. And at the same time, the gun went off.

The Dragon howled in pain, there was a shout of pain from the opposite direction, and someone screaming “Donnie!” A thud came from the direction of the Dragon, a clack from the direction of the turtle men, and the turtle man that had tackled her out of the way and had somehow kept from squishing her, came up on his feet, setting her on hers before he rushed over towards the turtle Sam could now see being supported by the man, his red mask tails streaking out behind him.

“What the he—” Sam said, mostly to herself as she took in the scenes in front of her.

The turtle with the blue mask stood over the downed Dragon. The man was clearly bleeding out, and Sam was more than a little certain that there was nothing do to save him. A turtle man with an orange mask was hurrying from the direction of the counter towards the other two turtles and the man. The man was lowering a purple-masked turtle to the ground, clearly supporting him.

Well, it seemed pretty clear what she needed to do.

Shaking off her shock and falling back into her professional mindset, Sam hurried forward.

“Move,” she said bluntly, watching as they settled the purple-masked one—Donnie, she presumed—on the ground, the orange-masked one using his lap as a pillow for the other. She could hear the blue-masked one’s footsteps behind her.

The red-masked one whirled on her, clearly upset, his strange, pronged weapons held in his hands. “Look, sister—” he started.

Sam was having none of it. “I said, move!” she snapped at him. “I’m a doctor, I can help! Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

“Let her see Don, Raph,” Leo said. “She might can help him where we can’t.”

Raph seemed to want to resist for a moment, but he stepped back and Sam moved next to the injured turtle.

“It’s not too bad,” Donnie was saying through grit teeth. His hands were already at his thigh, trying to tie a tourniquet around it.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, reaching into her scrub pockets and pulling out a pair of gloves. She pushed her long braid behind her shoulders, pulled the gloves on, and got to work.

“Donnie, right?” said as she worked.

“Y-yeah.”

“Alright. And the rest of you?”

“I’m Mikey,” the orange-masked one said.

“Leo,” the blue-masked one offered.

“Raph,” the one with the red mask said.

“Casey,” the only other human said.

“Alright. I’m Dr. Samantha Craik. I work in the hospital down the road,” she said. She looked up at Donnie. “I’m going to take good care of you, alright? But I’m gonna need some information. I’m not familiar with turtles, much less whatever you are.”

Don chuckled a little, but then stopped when it hurt. “I’ll see what I can do, Doc,” he said, clearly trying to breathe through the pain.

Sam just nodded. “I’m assuming you don’t want to go to the hospital?” she said.

“No.” The answer came quick and sure from Leo, and Sam nodded.

“Alright. In that case, here’s what I need.”

The store had the most of the things she needed and Donnie’s bag helpfully provided the rest. Donnie had gotten lucky. The bullet hadn’t hit anything important, and it was fairly clean in-and-out wound. Ideally, she’s have hopped him up on painkillers, taken some scans, put him on a broad-spectrum antibiotic, and gotten him some blood, but none of that was possible at the moment.

Instead, she snapped out orders to the other turtle-men, sterilized things as best she could, and got to work, cursing the Purple Dragons with every spare breath she had.

“Idiotic low-life—hold his leg still—punks who can’t figure out that—keep that pressure!—that all they’re gonna have is a short and—this is gonna hurt, Donnie—violent life where no one will ever want to remember them—you’re doing good—and they’ll either—almost done with this side—die young or rot in prison—”

“I kinda like you,” Raph said to her.

“I’ll add that to my resume,” she shot back immediately, not even thinking about it. Mikey laughed, but it seemed to ease the turtles and their human friend a bit.

Finally, she sat back, putting things away and stripping off her gloves. “There,” she said. She looked over at Leo, as he seemed the most responsible of the bunch. “He needs to stay off of it. I don’t know if you have access to antibiotics, but those can’t hurt. Keep it clean and wrapped. Those stitches will have to be taken out, so—”

“We can handle that,” Leo said. “We’ve done it before.”

“Although it’s usually Donnie doing this kind of stuff,” Mikey said.

“I’ll… be able to do it… by then…” Donnie said, his face still pinched in pain.

Sam nodded. “Fine.” She hesitated. “If you need anything, come find me. Something tells me you don’t have a lot of medical access.” She looked around and picked up a discarded piece of cardboard and pulled a pen out of her pocket. “Here. That’s my number. Call me. Or come to the hospital and ask for me, or Peter Craik—my husband,” she said at Leo’s look.

He took the number and tucked it into his belt, even as Raph was kneeling in front of Donnie, shell to him as Mikey and Casey helped Don sit up. In the distance sirens sounded.

“We will,” he said. “Thank you, Dr. Craik. But for now, we have to go. Raph?”

“Good to go,” Raph said, standing up with Donnie clinging to his shell.

“See ya, doc!” Mikey said with a wave.

The four of them headed out the back, but Casey hesitated for a moment. “Ya good, Doc?”

Sam sighed. “Well, someone has to stay behind and explain this—and something tells me that you shouldn’t be here anymore than them.”

“Heh. Maybe,” Casey said. “Seriously, though, thanks Doc.” He headed out the back as well, following behind, leaving Sam standing in the middle of the store with a dead Purple Dragon and several that were tied up—although she had no idea when that had happened.

She sighed and sat down on the floor as the sirens got closer. This was going to be a mess.

Sam was right. It was a mess. She had to explain over and over again that some vigilantes had come in and saved them, that one had gotten wounded, and that she had done her best to treat him, as per her oath, but that, no, she didn’t know what they looked like under their masks and that, no, she had no idea who they were or where they had gone. By the time it was all over with and the police accepted her statement, the sun was up, and her husband was waiting on her.

“Sam!” he said, rushing towards her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m tired, my hair is a mess, I had my life threatened, I had to do field medicine, and I’ve not slept in nearly twenty-four hours,” she snapped. “What do you think?”

Peter just grinned at her. “I think that, if you’re snapping like that at me, that you’re probably alright. Let’s get out of here.”

The two left the police station, and headed home, Peter holding Sam’s hand. They were quiet for a moment, and then, softly, Peter murmured to her.

“So, are you going to tell me what really happened?”

Sam didn’t answer for a moment. “…when we get home,” she said.

“Why didn’t you tell the police?” he asked, not condemning, but clearly curious.

“Because sometimes, ‘do no harm’ is more than just the patient’s body,” Sam said irritably.

Peter laughed. “And that’s why I love you,” he said.

“Because I take my oath seriously?” Sam demanded, shooting him a look.

Peter grinned at her. “Because when you’ve decided something’s your duty, nothing can stop you—especially if it’s for the good of your patients.”

Sam harumphed, but he wasn’t wrong, she reflected. And as they walked down the street and down into the subway station she should have entered into last night, Sam wondered if she’d ever see those particular patients again.

After all, a good doctor always followed up.

[spideysquake]

“good answer” - p.p

summary: peter is scared to love as much as he does, but sometimes you have to do the thing that scares you. [i got the idea/inspiration from ‘banyan tree – interlude’ by machine gun kelly, even though that guy kinda sucks and his music is generally pretty mid]

word count: 1k words

warnings: cursing, i genuinely cannot tell if this is angst or fluff and i’m okay with that, this can be imagined as any iteration of peter bc i know everyone has their favorites

a song on the side: banyan tree – interlude by machine gun kelly

“You know, I would do pretty much anything for you.”

You were sprawled out on Peter’s dark blue comforter, your head resting against his thigh and your feet dangling off the edge of the bed. The sky was beautiful and gloomy and there was a good chance that it was going to rain – the kind of rain that makes you want to light a candle and dig out the heavy blankets from the back of your closet. It had been about twenty minutes since either of you had said anything – Peter had been almost positive you were asleep until your words broke the silence in his tiny, dusty apartment.

“What do you mean?” Everything you did was vital to Peter. Everything you loved, he wanted to love. Everything you craved, he wanted to give you. Everything you thought and felt and said, he wanted to know and hear and understand. The day would never come when he felt he was too close to you or knew you too well. To know you was to love you, and he was content to spend the rest of his life doing both.

“I mean it. I would do just about anything for you,” you hummed, though you refused to make direct eye contact with your boyfriend. Instead, you traced your fingertip over the set of initials you had inked in Sharpie over the hollow point of his wrist, where the soft skin met the jutting tendon – your initials on his wrist, and his on yours. “Anything you want me to do, I’ll do. Anything you want from me, it’s yours. I’m yours.”

It was the most romantic and terrifying thing Peter had ever heard. If he was just another broke, anxious twenty-something college student, your words would be the greatest thing he’s ever heard. But he’s Spider-Man. And being Spider-Man means constantly putting the people he loves in harm’s way. As long as he had these powers, as long as he used his abilities, you were never really safe. Peter hated that he was putting you in danger, but he couldn’t let you go. He had lost too much. For once in his life, he wanted to be selfish. And he wanted you more than anything.

“I don’t want that, though.” Peter felt like his body was on fire. Whether it was from love or fear, he wasn’t sure. Was there really much of a difference? “I want you to be you. To be free. Don’t just do things for me.” His desperation was clawing at the inside of his chest like he was holding it captive. He was damn sure going to try.

“No, I know.” You were sitting up now. “But that’s what I mean. Like, doing things for you isn’t just doing things for you, you know? It’s also doing things for me. They aren’t really different anymore. Making you happy makes me happy.” You threaded your hand through his overgrown curls, your thumb smoothing back and forth over his freckled cheek. His ears were hidden under small tufts of untamed locks, but he could still feel the tips of them heating up as you gazed lovingly as him. Suddenly, he was overcome by his need to be holding you, to hold your head to his heart and to feel the comfort that came with knowing that you were real, and you were with him, and you weren’t going anywhere.

“What makes me happy is knowing that you’re safe, that you’re on the other side of the phone, waiting to pick up when I call you. What makes me happy is knowing that you are going to live a long and happy and fulfilling life, and that you get to wake up every morning and know that you are loved.” Peter buried his chin into your hair, which he noticed smelled like his minty conditioner. There was a weight behind his eyes, but he refused to cry when the conversation began with an admission of your love. “Even if that means it isn’t with me.”

“Baby, that’s not… That stuff only matters if it’s with you. I don’t want any of that otherwise. I only want a long and happy life if I’m waking up to you every morning. Without you, it’s not a happy life. I’m happy with you.”

Peter was scared. If he’d learned anything in this life, it was that bad things happened to people who loved Peter Parker. He couldn’t be your downfall.

“But Spider-Man… What if you — What if I do something? What if someone bad finds me, or finds out who you are to me? What if I’m the reason you —”

You wiped at Peter’s tear-stained cheeks with your fleecy sleeves, and you pressed your forehead to his – so close that you could the smell the peppermint tea he’d been drinking when you first laid down together.

“Pete, baby… We can’t control any of that shit. Yeah, bad shit is going to happen. And yeah, maybe some of it will happen because you’re Spider-Man. But even if you weren’t, bad things would happen. That’s life, honey. But we can’t run away from the good things because they could end one day. I would rather die knowing that we loved each other as much and as hard as possible than live forever wondering if there was ever something I didn’t say, or a kiss I didn’t give you. If I die knowing exactly what it felt like to love and be loved by Peter Parker, then I did it right.” You pressed your lips to Peter’s forehead, and he wondered what he could’ve possibly done to earn you.

All he could think was that he would spend the rest of his life earning this moment: your hand in his hair, your scent in his sheets, your warm breath against his cheeks, and your heartbeat lined up right next to his in your chests.

His throat felt thick and his voice felt heavy, but he couldn’t let such wonderful words go unanswered.

“And just when did you get so wise about matters of the heart?” Your noses brush and it’s the most glorious millisecond of his life.

“It comes with the territory of being so hopelessly in love with the best guy I’ve ever known.” You beam up at him like you hold the secrets to the universe under your tongue, and it’s all he can do not to go searching for them.

What a wonderful answer.

[distant-screaming]

GMM2025 Lineup Game

Rules: write your thoughts on all the gmmtv series pilots released today (or just the ones you plan to watch) and tag any 3 (or more! or less!) ppl whose thoughts you wanna know about!

thank you for the tag @bubbalakebrome!! I actually was writing out my thoughts for @ranchthoughts and thought this was the perfect opportunity to put em up in public too! I'm very fried from exam stuff so if these are poorly worded please forgive me <3

'dee,' you may ask, 'which of these shows are you going to watch?' no idea. I watch stuff after it's done airing, and I'm not sure how much time I'll have next year. still, if I have a positive impression of a show I'm very likely to watch it, so take that as you will!

Dare You to Death - joongdunk: it's....crowded? there's a lot going on, and it feels kind of like they mashed together two separate ideas they had for shows? but I love shows with guns because I get to kill people in my fics so LMAO!! also joongdunk are cool

Head 2 Head - seakeen and surfjava: deeply ambivalent to the actors and I've never seen them before, the plotline seems fine enough but not really my kind of thing? kind of a weird enemies to lovers I think

Burnout Syndrome - offgun + gundew(?): fascinating stuff happening here!! however. unfortunately. I don't really care. offgun are not my thing and the plot doesn't really intrigue me, it just feels dark and edgy in a way that's not my style. gun in black lipstick was something though!!

I Love A Lot of You: LIKE… OKAY GUYS… CAN WE LEAVE THE ABLEISM?? anyway. het show so I wasn't really paying attention, also has kind of split personality disorder but I'm not sure how well gmm will handle it based on their track record? anyway nanon's in it but shrug

Whale Store XOXO - milklove and junemewnich: .........shrug? sorry yuri fans I'm very ambivalent to this one, it feels like fluff the way 23.5 was fluff? not a high school gl at least! I might end up watching this, but I'm not on the edge of my seat for it

Only Friends season 2 - earthmix, ohmleng and jossgawin: INSANE. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this one because (glances at season 1)......theatre kids only friends is incredibly funny though

That Summer - winnysatang, mondryu and neomint: WINNYSATANG MAINS YAY!!! the more amnesia, but it looks interestingly done at least, and it's a jojo show and I trust him. tang being a prince is... this drama has the space to either become overdramatic fanfic or really really good and I'm desperately hoping for the latter. tang's chara is an amnesiac prince. I get to write ballroom dancing scenes. I win. mond kisses a guy which is awesome, neomint is a thing and I am deeply ambivalent to mint

My Romance Scammer - juniormark, ohmfluke: this one's concept is deeply funny to me, but the execution could vary! lowkey the energy it's giving is mame show if mame was not obsessed with blurring consent? trashy fun watch energy. also, ohmfluke doing this one is great because their most well known show is like Heavy and Serious and this one is 'I marry this guy as a gay marriage scam and fall in love'. incredible no notes. also can the actors start naming themselves fluke1, fluke2, ohm1, ohm2

Melody of Secrets - forcebook: YES. YESSSS. THIS ONE'S FOR ME. LITERALLY FOR ME. CLASSICAL MUSIC, HORROR ESQUE PLOT, SEMI MURDER, ESTABLISHED GAY PEOPLE, MAYBE MISTAKEN IDENTITY? INCREDIBLE NO NOTES. also forcebook are like, solid actors for me so yay no issues there! I want my blorbos in incredible angst STAT

Love You Teacher - perthsanta: age regression. also perth's character is just a dick to kids for no discernable reason. amnesia. age regression????

Mu-Te-Luv - multiple pairings (seven I think?) gay ones are ohmleng and seakeen: I'm usually pretty chill with anthology style shows, they're fun enough! jamie's in this one and AHEM CLEARS THROAT I LOVE JAMIE JUTAPICH!!! so. the chances of me watching this are low simply because of my backlog, but it looks interesting enough! also there's ladyboy (I hope that's the right term) characters, and I don't know how good the representation is gonna be but it's there! neo is one of them (??)

Cat for Cash - firstkhao: this is just firstkhao get paid to flirt and play with cats the series, and honestly good for them!! a little supernatural element ie first can hear cats' thoughts, which I'm curious where that will go? but overall very low stakes show, seems like the kind of thing I'd binge in a day. firstkhao are fun. I hope people are capable of being normal about a low stakes show heart emoji. I personally think it's a chill watch but I'm not bouncing off walls excited. first is handsome though

Girl Rules - namtanfilm, milklove, viewmin: high heat messy drama shows I prefer to watch in gifs and skipped around eps, but we love messy lesbian representation always!! view plays a straight (soon to figure out she's not so straight) girl which I think is kind of funny. I hope they make out a lot

Boys in Love - papangpodd, lukemick, astonchokun: hello there, obligatory gmmtv high school show! I'm pretty happy with this one, because the actors are all actually young I'm pretty sure and they're all new so it's a nice start for them, very classic. I don't know any of them. papangpodd are there, and as soon as papang appeared I started crying loud and violent tears because I am deeply and unambiguously in love with him. I hope he commits hr violations on school grounds

My Magic Prophecy - jimmysea, teefranc: it's a doctor x psychic, and it feels like a vice versa but not really. the trailer was kind of boring in the sense of composition and scene choices and such. forced proximity trope, which I sometimes do not really like so this one is on thin ice. no idea who the side pairing are yay

A Dog and A Plane - taynew, marcpoon: banger cast!! I haven't seen taynew in anything yet I don't think? but I've heard good things? marc is my beloved, of course. the plot is incredibly interesting at first look, though the cheating thread kind of bothers me? whether it will win out over my enjoyment of the rest of the trailer is yet to be decided. judgement's still out on this one

Me and Thee - pondphuwin, perthsanta: overdramatic spoiled rich kid pond who is obsessed with lakorns x photographer phuwin. incredibly hilarious dynamic. I enjoy pondphuwin, and I enjoy rich kids who grow. seems interesting for sure

Wu - skynani (bl or bromance? unclear): they really looked at the skynani popularity, said bet filmed one (1) scene and stuck it in the lineup. good for them! I hope they kiss! there's golden thread of fate involved, which is fun. I don't want to watch if it's bromance though, my backlog yearns to be freed as is

Ticket to Heaven: RELIGIOUS TRAUMA AND INTERNALIZED HOMOPHOBIA CATHOLIC EDITION THE SHOW????? FROM G4???? WILD STUFF. WIIIILD. I'm very excited for this one, it seems there's heavy topics so hopefully they're dealt with well. g4 will slay I know already. religious imagery goes hard in fanfic if literally nothing else. I will probably cry with this one. I will still watch it. I was also informed that gem went to a catholic high school. fun!

Tagging: @winnysatang @jojotichakorn @lamonnaie @pondphuwin @jjsanguine @cornflowershade! apologies if any of you have been tagged before <3

[pinazee]

Shawn (and Gus) of the Dead

First of all, that is a perfect title.

Now, this episode is one of my favorites of season 2. Its so funny, its such a fun concept, and the ending is fantastic! The crime is so elaborate though its kind of insane. To summarize, this guy killed his dad by pistol whipping him down the stairs. The gun gets willed to the museum. Lassie is gung-ho about solving it because its a big name and he’s getting lots of press. This guy, who’s on the board of the museum, apparently having tried everything to get the guns except appeal to their sentiment, then decides to bribe the warehouse guy into hiding him in a snufflophagus, tilts the camera (though apparently him walking out of the coffin wasn’t caught??) so you can’t see him at the case, fails to open that same case, kills the guard, goes back for the van, apparently sees gus and shawn tailing him and books it, even though he doesn’t know who they are, crashes the van into a tree for some reason, puts the mummy in the drivers seat (lol), then runs into the forest like a madman. This guy had to have been on cocaine or something. I’d love to hear him explain to the other prisoners how he got caught.

Carlton was kind of an ass to sophie for no reason. Like i get that he thought the case was beneath him, that he was eager to return to the homicide, but considering she knew Wyles, you’d think he’d have at least treated her like a witness instead of completely disregarding her (and being pretty misogynistic)

But kudos to juliet for standing up for her. One of the things that irritated me sometimes about juliet and carlton was when they’d have her apologize for his behavior- but i love when she stands up to him. I’m not a big fan of the idea that a person can “fix” another person (its too long to explain right now), which is what i think juliet did, or at least, helped him face his own behavior throughout the series. I don’t think its fair to juliet to be placed in that position, though. It honestly feels like she’s babysitting him sometimes.

Heres a few scattered notes:

Two things: 1. How dare wardrobe make this poor woman wear these peep toe high heels. They look so uncomfortable. 2. I had to point out Shawns shirt because it made me realize that i do in fact, still find James completely huggable haha. I bet he gives amazing hugs.

Impressed by Dulé’s run here haha

James, i swear to god. He does not waste a single goddamn frame lol

The fact that gus keeps sniffing women, makes me believe his attraction to them is heavily scent based haha its so creepy.

This moment feels like the writers roasting both james and shawn simultaneously haha

This might be an unpopular take on this, but Shawn helping Karen get the job seems like a really thoughtful thing to do for her, and the way they shot the scene with her looking at him appreciatively certainly makes it look so, but if im honest, i think it had more to do with self preservation. Shawn has a good thing going. Im sure part of it was because he liked karen, shawn is a genuinely nice person, i just don’t think its the main reason. (Sidenote: i think its so cute how excited Gus is about it though)

Now for the Henry of it all.

I love how close henry came to having a nice moment with little shawn and then absolutely blowing it. I think that sums up his parenting pretty well haha like he means well, but he just sucks at it.

I think its so interesting that Maddie returning makes him so flustered. He doesn’t hold any anger or resentment towards her, he’s not biting at Shawn because he hates her, he’s nervous. He’s cleaning the house because he wants to impress her. I have to believe this is the first time she’s going to be seeing him since she ran off. Which is kind of sad because they share a kid together. They’d didn’t once have a family Christmas since then?

What i don’t understand, is how she managed to contact henry before shawn. They’re divorced. I know shawns phone broke, but is she really calling so infrequently that it never came up? Im going to discuss maddie more next season when we actually meet her. Right now she’s more myth than anything.

Which really helped make the season 2 cliffhanger so freaking potent! Its so simple, and yet the tension built up was effective as hell! I think more tv shows should take note. Too many tv cliffhangers these days feel like life or death and not enough are riding on family drama.

P.S

What do you mean that wasn’t his first time alone in a coffin?? Wha-why? Why was he in one?? What was he doing?

[ratgrinders]

2 for all of the rat grinders

YESSSSS

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

Kipperlilly - I LOVE her little passive aggressive jabs at the Bad Kids even before she outwardly lost her cool at the cafeteria. Calling them the Photosynthekids because she knows Adaine doesn't like the name, looking Directly At Them when saying her platform is based on fairness, that 30 seconds of silence at the food trucks when Kristin asks how she could be studying if the rogue teacher found her. My girl is fighting TOOTH AND NAIL to reign in her rage and keep a relatively pleasant, put-together outward appearance and even then she can't resist doing these petty, immature little things to get under their skin she's so funny (Goro Akechi-core I'll never shut up abt it).

Ruben - I like how Genuine and earnest he defaults to being when he doesn't have an excuse to be rageful. The Wanda Childa bits where he seems genuinely into her and kind of nervous around her, saying dorky one-liners that he thinks will impress her ("stay chill-da"), saying he's getting mobbed by autographs when he and Wanda are the only people on the bus, the fact that he said "frick" instead of fuck. Just based off of these I really get the impression that he isn't the most experienced with being an angry person and so much of how he acts is performance because he's now Expected to be mad.

Buddy - HE'S SO FUNNY "It's why I never hit anybody. I raise my hand, and sometimes a spell comes out and obliterates people" WHAT DO YOU MEANNNN THATS INSANE. I think I like the description of him at the party best, "positive but deeply judgmental", my guy will say the most snarky shit but with an upbeat positive tone, "You and what god?".

Mary Ann - Honestly just the fact that she's stayed the same since freshman year with her pink sweatshirt and Tamagotchi. My girl knows what she likes and is STICKING with it which is DEEPLY relatable. Plus I just love the concept of a tiny 3-foot tall barbarian with a squishmallow collection lmaoo

Ivy - Ivy we haven't been given a lot to work with but I LOVE the interaction she has with Fabian at the party, "Your ping-pong table's fucked up. Legs are different lengths, yeah?" "Fuck you." "Is that a threat?". I wish Ivy and Fabian got more chances to interact thanks to this scene alone. Plus her jabs at Oisin are very fun I love the dynamic those two have.

Oisin - I know I've said this before but "You didn't see the storm coming? Must not be a very good Oracle." SO GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!! HE ATE HE'S SO SNARKY!!!! Bro went OUT OF HIS WAY with a 3rd level spell slot to send that to Adaine he's so DRAMATIC I hope Adaine gets to punch him.

Lucy - This is more about the concept of Lucy than who she is because we still don't rly know a lot abt her canon personality, but her entire situation is just the perfect tragedy, the way all her friends came back Wrong but she "stuck to her guns", the clearly fond way some of them look back on her, plus the entire scene in the clearing after Frosty Faire where the Bad Kids discover her and Yolanda's body. I thought the entire scene of seeing a reflection of the two of them in the lake was very beautiful.

[backmuscles21]

Past Lives

Tsu'tey x Reader, Past Miles Quaritch x Reader

Summary: You are now full Na'vi and mated with the best warrior around, Tsu'tey. However, going out with Jake's kids could put that into jeopardy when someone from your past comes back to make you confront it.

Warnings - Suggestive themes, past violence, past child neglect, emotional manipulation, manipulative relationship, past abusive relationship, past unhealthy relationship, implied sexual content, swearing.

The day had started off so normal, so how did you find yourself currently being held against a sky demon as a man you knew when you were human, questioned you. It’s quite simple really, you have decided to let your best friend’s kids break some rules.

The day started off normal, you woke up next to your mate, Tsu’tey, and you both kissed for a while before it was time to get up. You got up and had breakfast, you started on some chores and right before you went over to Jake’s place. Tsu’tey kissed your forehead and told you he was leaving to hunt with the other warriors. You pulled him down for a real kiss, to which he chuckled and turned to leave with his bow in hand. You smiled as you watched his tall slender body walk off, you would never get over that man.

You remembered fighting against the sky people, you remembered hearing over the comms that Tsu’tey went down and you panicked. You flew over to his last position and helped him onto your Ikran and took him back to the tshaik. He was healed and after some rest, he healed properly, it was then as you cried over him that you confessed to him. He smiled at you and pulled you down to kiss you, it wasn’t long after that, that you and him mated before Eywa.

You went over to Jake’s place and met up with him, he was heading out to fly with Neytiri and Neteyam. Jake would commonly leave Kiri in charge and they always had you nearby if they needed help. So, they left out for a ride and the five of you guys hung around for a while before you ended up running around the forest. You knew where you were getting close to, you remembered this place, you remembered being here and living here. You knew Jake’s rule, no one was supposed to be here, but you found yourself in a trance, you were reminiscing.

You felt a tear begin to fall down your cheek, so much pain came from here and so much heartache. You could hear the kids talking and you didn’t come back to it until you saw the person that looked like Na’vi but clearly was not. They wore human clothes, they held guns, and they looked like the military. You remembered when sky people returned to Pandora, it was a hard day for the Na’vi, and no one wanted them back.

“Stay calm. We will sneak off. These don’t look like good people,” you whispered.

“We should tell our father,” Lo’ak said.

You took a deep breath, you knew Jake would be pissed at u and his kids, “fine, call him.”

Lo’ak used their linked comms to call his father, Lo’ak told him where they were and that they needed help. Jake responded right away, help was on the way, and you could hear how pissed Jake was over the comms you wore. You tried to slowly get the kids out of there unharmed, you needed to flee right now. However, Eywa had other ideas and Tuk was caught by one of the men.

The men had all of you held hostage, they held your arms and your hair and pushed you to the ground. The only one they weren’t rough with was Spider, that’s when you heard the voice of a man you never thought you’d ever hear again.

Miles Quaritch.

You didn’t even know he was still alive, but that was his face on a Na’vi body. You almost felt terrified, you never wanted to see or hear him ever again, not after what he did to you. You wanted to forget your life before you became full Na’vi, you wanted to forget what your father made you do, you wanted to forget how you believed him and Quaritch. You didn’t even talk in English anymore, not to a single soul, as far as you or anyone else was concerned, you don’t exist anymore. You kept your head down as Quaritch talked in English, it was only when he started to ask about Jake that your ears perked up. You planned on staying quiet and not moving, but when he started to pick on Lo’ak and Lo’ak was getting mouthy did you start to get concerned.

“Oh, you’re his alright.”

Hearing that come from Quaritch made you more alarmed.

He started to walk around, looking at the others, you knew he would come around to you at some point and you imagined that he would recognize you. You tried to keep your head down and you’re breathing even, he was baring his fangs as he looked at all the kids. Then his eyes landed on you, you peered up at him through your lashes, his face looked to be confused. You saw him squatting down to get closer to your eye level, he motioned to the person holding you. You felt your hair being tugged so your head was pulled back, and your face was revealed to him.

His eyes held shock, you knew what was going through his mind, last anyone had heard, you were KIA. His mouth would open then close like he was trying to find his words or choose them carefully. You tried to keep your eyes off his face, you didn’t want him to realize who you were. He stands up and moves back over to Lo’ak and your fear increases again, Quaritch pulls a gun from his belt and points it at Lo’ak. No way were you going to let Lo’ak die, this kid had been through too much and he’s been dealt a rough hand.

“Go find another bitch to hoover then count the days until you lose her,” you yelled at Quaritch in English.

You wished you could’ve seen his face, his tough military bad guy exterior cracked and his eyebrows raised. He remembered that line, that line haunted him for months, he remembered when you spit those words at him while at the original Pandora base. He slowly turned around and put his gun back into his holster, he walked over to you and brought you to your feet by your braid. You whined out at the pain from him pulling at your sensitive que, your hands grasped his wrist to try and alleviate the pain.

“I thought that was you. I didn’t think you were still alive. I thought you died years ago during our first battle.”

“To you I am dead.”

“I can’t believe that you are alive and that you are full Na’vi now. Just like Jake. You both betrayed us.”

“You betrayed me asshole. I wanted to help you and my jackass of a father at one point. You lied to me. I gave you my heart over and over and you traded it.”

“Sweetheart, I never lied to you.”

“You lied to me every goddamn word that came out of your fucking disgusting mouth.”

“Not every word was a lie, like when I told you how gorgeous your body was or how tight your pussy was,” he yanked on your braid harder.

You took a breath to avoid whimpering at the pain, “shut the fuck up, Quaritch.”

“What don’t want your family to know how many times you fucked me. Do they even know English?”

“They know enough.”

“What you afraid they will go home and tell Daddy about how many times we fucked. You think he will still want to be friends with you after that?”

“That’s not how things were then.”

“What back when you were so naïve and did anything I asked of you just because I gave you attention? You were always just a good lay princess, nothing more. Even Parker, your father, was okay with me fucking around with you.”

“Go fuck yourself, Miles,” you felt a tear run down your cheek.

One thing you didn’t know while you hoped and prayed for Jake to get here quickly to save you and his kids, was that your mate was hunting nearby. He just happened to hear all the commotion and sneaked over to watch what was happening, seeing you made him want to jump in and help you. However, Tsu’tey waited he loved seeing how you handled these situations, at least he was there if things went downhill.

When he watched that man pull you up by your que he flinched and seethed, he wanted to jump in to save you. Yet, he knew that would make things worse so again he watched the scene unfold, he listened as you spoke English. That was the first time he ever heard you speak it, he kind of forgot that it was your first language. He hated hearing you speak it and not to mention you and that man spoke in words he had never heard before and he was so lost and confused. You looked angry and so did the man, Tsu’tey wanted to run in there, yet his body kept him held back, he couldn’t take it.

Then he watched the tear fall down your cheek, that man made you cry and he was going to pay. Tsu’tey jumped out of the forest with a war cry, he shot arrows into the chests of the people surrounding you and the ones holding the kids. Quaritch kept a firm hold on your braid and used you as a meat shield, you stared at your mate with passion.

“Who might this be? You rope someone else into a situationship?”

“We are mated, dipshit.”

He cackled, “I’m surprised someone wanted you.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Tsu’tey kept his bow trained on Quaritch, neither you nor Quaritch saw the person coming up behind you. It was Jake, he put Quaritch in a headlock, Quaritch let you go to try and pull the arms around his neck off. Neytiri gathered the kids and ensured their safety, you had to face a piece of your past today, one that you wanted to bury the most. Not only did you have to come to terms with the fact that you were at one point against the people you love, but you were also so in love with the worst person for you.

Tsu’tey treated you properly, he was kind and caring and loved you till the end of the earth. He really was the perfect mate to have for anybody and he chose you and you knew so much about him and you only let him know what you wanted him to know. Human life was ugly and dark and Pandora wasn’t like that, you didn’t want him to have to see that. Yet, you knew that mating with him showed him what life was like for you, but stories were different than that.

Jake had knocked Quaritch out and you all left safely for now, you all flew back to home base.

“I can’t believe you let them go to the old shack,” Jake was chewing you out.

“I mean I missed it and I knew it was bad but I didn’t think it was the end of the world. Quaritch being there was not something foreseeable.”

“What were you two talking about?” Tsu’tey asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I listened for a while; I don’t know most of the words that you spoke.”

“Nothing. He was just being a prick.”

“You were speaking English?” Jake asked.

“Obviously.”

“I didn’t think you still did that. You never talk to me in English?”

“Cause you need to learn the language.”

“What was he saying?”

“Well, he’s looking for you. He remembered me. He thought I was dead which I guess makes sense. Norm said my profile says I’m KIA.”

“You two used to be close but I’m still surprised he cared.”

“Oh, he doesn’t.”

“You were close with that demon?” Tsu’tey asked.

“Briefly. He was close with my father so I saw him a lot.”

“Your father? What was he like? You never talk of your family.”

“That’s because being human sucks and it's shitty. Life for us was dark. My father was an asshat and that’s all that needs to be said about him.”

“You need to stop getting yourself into danger,” Tsu’tey said pulling you into his side.

Jake smiled at you, “you got to have kids then you’ll be less inclined to go running off.”

“Hasn’t stopped you,” you smirk at Jake.

“And it never will.”

Lo’ak walked up to you three and he wanted to talk with his dad, he looked like he had an important question. Jake excused himself for a moment to talk to his son, “what is it?”

“I don’t know what it means but I heard that guy say it, what does pussy mean?” Lo’ak butchered the pronunciation but it was enough to get the point across to his father.

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed, “don’t say that word. It's not a good word to say. Don’t let your mother hear it either, she’ll kill both of us.”

“Yeah, but what does it mean?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

Lo’ak sighed deeply and walked off as he did Jake walked over to you and pulled you by your arm. He wanted you away from Tsu’tey, he knew that this was going to get a little ugly.

“Do you want to tell me why my son asked me what Pussy meant? He said he heard Quaritch say it to you.”

Your eyes widened, “umm...”

“What happened between you two?”

“Before I was forced into the Avatar Program, I would train with Quaritch. He was a better father than my real one. Then things got sexual especially as I was in the Avatar Program. He would say a lot of things to me, and give me orders to follow to get the Na’vi people to do things. I did them because he was nice to me, I thought he liked me. But that was decades ago now. Not long after you joined, he and I broke it off, and I realized my father and him were conspiring against me and lying to me. I love the Na’vi people and I wasn’t just going to fuck them over.”

“So, what did Quaritch say to you back there?”

You felt a tear threaten to fall, “nothing.”

“Clearly it’s not nothing.”

Tsu’tey walked up to you both as he saw his mate in distress.

“What is happening here?” Tsu’tey asked.

“He said he didn’t lie about everything. He tried to prove a point by saying that he didn’t lie about my body. He was just trying to get to me.”

“Can you two speak so I’ll understand,” Tsu’tey was frustrated.

“That man that held me captive back there.”

Tsu’tey nodded.

“We used to be intimate when I was human. He said that it meant nothing and it was never real. Although I knew that, I know that, it still hurts. He showed me love I had never experienced. But now I have you and no one has ever been as kind or nice to me. I’ve never been happier in all my years.“

Tsu’tey was quiet momentarily, then he pulled you in and kissed you.

“I am glad you opened up and told me. I will kill that man next time I see him.”

“Please,” you said kissing him again.

Also posted on my Ao3 - Bakcmuscles

[keen-li]

CLAWED | JJK | 03

Synopsis: "do you honestly think I want your help? I'm desperate " you can still see the hatred he has for you in his eyes, but you can also see the desperation.

Genre: e2l, angst, fluff, smut-ish. Convict jk x police officer reader

Fem reader x jk

Warnings: cussing

_________________________

The usual side comments and mumbles are heard as you walk through the station to the chief's office. You ignore everyone and mind your business, as you always do, when you feel a large strong hand grab your ass.

"It's just how we talked about boys" you hear sunho, one of the officers, yell as his friends cheer him on.

This crosses your boundary and you punch his nose, which causes him to grab his now bloody nose and groan. You threaten to pull out your gun but the yells coming from the other officers telling you to stop held you back. You decide to continue your journey giving sunho one last nasty glare and you notice how he grabs the tissue his friend gives him.

"Whore" you hear one if sunho's friends yell towards you but you keep moving and finally reach the chief's office. You'd have to tell the chief about this.

You walk in after his authoritative 'come in'

"Good morning officer" he greets "I'm sure you have the report I asked for" he says this his attention not fully on you but on some papers.

"Good morning sir and yes I do" he stretches his hand signaling you to give them to him which you do. He doesn't look at it but simply puts them away to the side.

You stand in position seemingly waiting for his attention so you can tell him the other thing you have to him.

He looks your way meeting your eyes with his cold ones.

"Anything else I can do for you?" He asks not rudely but it definitely sounds that way. Before you can start your sentence someone walks into the office and after lecturing the officer over knocking he lets the man speak.

"We have some leads on the Kim robbery" the chief stays silent for a moment takening in the information and turns to you.

"I'm pretty sure you're concern can wait can't it?" He didn't even get to hear you out. You nod taking it as your cue to leave. You close the door behind you and you wait before you leave, standing in front of the door for a bit. No one could see you.

"We've located one of the guys, taehyung but he's on the run" you hear the officer say

"but the other two are nowhere to be found and we still dont know how many in total they are"

"no description of the others?"

" No "

You decided to walk away not wanting to snoop any further, if they wanted you on the case they'd let you.

You've been hearing about this case. A group of guys apparently robbing the largest Kim company and holding people at gunpoint, even killing two and one injured. You wonder what idiots would think of robbing the Kim company. But it also surprises you how they've seamlessly been able to slip and hide.

__________________________________

You didn't get the chance to eat yoongi's brownies that he brought you two days ago, you hope they're still okay but you don't worry cause stored them pretty well. You hope he isn't mad at you for how long you've taken to give him the feedback.

So you're now bent over your counter stuffing your face with the brownies while going through your phone. These brownies are so good you'd swear he bought them from a bakery. You haven't had anything this good in a while, well except for the caffeine you take in everyday, nothing can beat that. While you're stuffing your face with brownies you see a message from your Dad.

"Don't forget your mother's birthday. We're having a Birthday Gathering I hope you can come."

Shit, you forgot that this weekend's your mother's birthday, you feel so horrible for forgetting. So you decide to punish yourself by closing the brownie box and stuffing it back into the fridge.

You're still beating yourself up when you're startled by the sound of the tap turning on. You thought you were alone.

"when did you enter the kitchen?" still startled you ask jungkook who's washing his hands and for a second you see him stare at your ass. Who can blame him you're wearing your pajama shorts and on your tippy toes stuffing the box on the top and highest shelf of your fridge.

He turns his gaze away as he dries his hands.

"just got in" he lies, he was watching you as you beat yourself up for forgetting your mother's birthday and stuff your face with yoongi's brownies. As a matter of fact he didn't even need to wash his hands he used it has an excuse to enter the kitchen.

"Anyway" you change the topic and walk to the other side of the island. You're trying to find a gentle way of saying what you want to say.

"It's past 4 days" you beat around the bush and fiddle with your fingers. You didn't want to be rude about it but it had to be said.

You don't want to hurt his feelings, but think about all the times he's hurt your feelings you think to yourself. You think for a bit remember the times he'd hurt your feelings, what you're gonna say can't be worse than that.

Jungkook watches you knowing what you want to say but wanting you to say it.

"It's passed four days and and you're still here" you say sternly finally finding your confidence.

"when I moved in this house I didn't plan on feeding two mouths."

Jungkook looks at you but you can't keep the same eye contact, he doesn't say anything just letting you speak. The silence lingers for a bit when he finally speaks.

"y/n if you want me to leave just say so" he says leaving the kitchen, you immediately rush over to grab him by his tattooed arm to stop him from moving.

"That's not what I meant" what are you even saying it is what you meant, and why are you holding onto him. You quickly pull your arm away from him as if his arm had suddenly turned into a hot coal.

Why are you trying to 'plead' or justify what you're saying, you should be standing your ground. You didn't want jungkook in your house and that's final. But again somewhere in you, you didn't want to kick him out like a dog.

"You know jungkook, I don't know what happened to you" your tone is a little loud and rough and he has his back to you but he doesn't move.

"You were the best, better than me better, than sunho for fucks sake, better than everyone" you continue to yell.

He truly was the best at everything when competitions came around and people knew he was participating they would honestly forget about winning. You always had hope that someone would beat him and you'd hoped it be you.

And after he wins he'd always commend you for believing in yourself, mocking you of course, you honestly didn't know why you hated jungkook. Maybe it was because he hated you or that he hung out with shitty people, sunho, you really hated the fact that you three graduated together and got the same job at the same office. It didn't make life any better for you.

"Ever since you lost your job" you can't continue and take a much needed break to calm yourself.

"what happened to you" now you think about it you never actually knew why jungkook got fired it was so early on and sudden. Alll you knew is that he got fired and after that you never saw much of him.

The guy who spent his entire time at the Academy and work making your life hell, got fired. You should have been happy that he got fired but it didn't bring you much pleasure and you didn't know why. You often thought about it and him but you always brushed it off your brain telling you you should be happy that one of your nightmares were gone.

Henhasn't turned to look at you or even speak but when he does you can't tell what you see in his eyes, but it's nothing you've ever seen in him even when he'd tell you the most hurtful things.

"I never liked how you never knew how to mind your own business" he says so calmly but with so much bitterness.

"how can I? How can I mind my own business when you're living in my house?" you start to move your hands around showing your confusion towards the situation.

"for all I know you could be a criminal on the run jungkook" you don't know why you said it but it's the first thing that comes to mind.

You see jungkook's face change when you say that and he scoffs.

" you really think I'm a criminal? You really think I could be one? Huh? y/n" he presses the question.

"I don't know" you lower your tone unsure. You actually don't think jungkook can be a criminal but your mind is clouded that you don't know what to think.

"well if you want to know why I got fired so bad" you stand not wanting to speak, you had already spoken your mind.

" I got to charged for fraud"

your jaw drops both physically and mentally. Fraud? jungkook?what?

_________________

Prev | next

[warping-realities]

Retributive Justice

...three days after the exchange of fire between the police and the criminal organization, information is still scarce. Police Chief Thomas' statements were not at all illuminating, but conversations here on the street where the shooting took place point to the fact that a very important figure in the criminal organization was hit in the altercation, his whereabouts being unknown, but leaving behind him a tense atmosphere due to fear of some kind of retaliation…

Finn Thomas looked away from the television screen, still thoughtful. The twenty-two-year-old man still cared about his father's work, even though he was no longer actively working on the streets. That kind of undertaking and the repercussions it might have on his father would apparently always be a source of concern. Still distracted, the college student was pulled out of that state by the arrival of his smiling roommate.

"Why the frown bro? Cheer up, it's the end of the semester and we've got two rounds of free drinks to enjoy!"

"Hey Andre... I know, man. It's just that I can't stop worrying about my dad."

"Chill out, man. You worry too much, about everything. Your father wouldn't be a police chief if he didn't know how to defend himself."

Finn indeed was a serious man, he couldn't help it, making a huge contrast to his friend. Andre, in reality André, although nobody could pronounce his name correctly, was the son of Brazilians, brought to USA by his mom a renowned botany professor when he was sixteen yeras old, after his father death. His mother also passed away soon after he reached the age of majority, leaving him alone in the world. Which could have made him a bitter person, but that wasn't how he operated, always with a carefree attitude, it seemed like there was nothing that could take the smile off his face.

“Speaking of which, I never asked you why you don't follow your family's legacy." He remarked to Finn as he took a sip of his beer.

"Are you kidding? If to this day I worry about what might happen to my father, do you really think I would deliberately put myself in a position of risk? Besides, I can't stand guns."

"Ah, that must have made for an interesting discussion!"

"I don't deny that he was disappointed, but in the end he told me that a good father always knows his son's limitations." Finn replied with a sad smile.

"Clearly he took it well." Not wanting to revive the subject any further, Finn decided to change the course of the conversation.

"That's water under the bridge. Changing the subject, how did you get free drinks in an Irish bar?"

"Dunno, man. A guy was handing out coupons on campus and he gave me two. I thought there were more college people around here."

"Weird…"

"You know what else is weird? You're not drinking. I want to see you finish that glass in one shot!"

...

Finn woke up with the worst headache he'd ever had in his life. With blurred vision he tried to identify where he was, without success. It looked like some kind of medical facility, but it certainly wasn't one he'd been to before. He tried to get up, but his legs didn't obey him, the same happened with his arms, his head and even his mouth, only his eyes seemed to obey him. Which made him panic internally.

He felt momentary relief when he saw the door to the classroom open in front of him. However, the feeling of anguish returned redoubled when he saw the man entering the room. He was a middle-aged, well-groomed man, wearing an all-black suit, very well aligned to the body, with the bearing of a fighter, he had a shaved head, accompanied by a blond goatee, with a smile that did not reach his icy eyes. Everything about that man conveyed the sense of imminent danger.

"Hello, Mr Thomas. My name is Aidan Walsh, your father may have already told you about me, although I doubt it. I imagine you are in a rather uncomfortable situation and for that I apologize. But unfortunately it is necessary. I'm a practical man, a man who does things the old-fashioned way." Said the man with a slight Irish accent.

"What does this have to do with you, you might be wondering, Finn. I'm going to call you by your first name if you don't mind and very soon it won't matter as we'll be treating each other differently. Have you ever heard the expression Law of Talion? No? It's the Latin form of an expression you may know otherwise. An eye for an eye... or as I like to call it, Retributive Justice. Look, lad. Your father took something very important from me and in return I will take something equivalent from him... you!" Finn screamed inside his own mind, that man would surely kill him, he knew that his father's work would one day lead to misfortune! Seeming to understand the boy's state of mind, the man widened his smile.

"Don't worry, lad. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be here listening to me. Which is something I can't say about your father. A couple of nights ago, the little operation he ran created a casualty that shouldn't have happened. My son. He was a vivacious boy with a sharp tongue, he always made me laugh but he wasn't prepared for my world. He shouldn't be where he was. But he was eager to prove himself, to show service. You see, I wasn't a very present father. After the IRA's cease-arms I became an outlaw, and my ex -wife felt that accompanying an arms dealer was not the environment to raise a boy. I should have followed my instincts and taken him with me, but I gave in and he grew up without the proper preparation. The work he was doing the night he was killed occurred without my authorization or supervision, it was supposed to be a surprise for me and in fact it was. The worst surprise of my life. But then I received a more pleasant one. When I ended up with the person directly responsible for his death I found out that the The bastard truly responsible for my boy's death also had a son. A son the same age as mine. And with a name that... it was like a sign. Nothing can really bring my son back, but I think we'll do just fine.

Lad, I've found some interesting things doing my work around the world. And one of them will open the door to a new reality for you, give me the opportunity to make things right as a father and give your father what he deserves. See you in a few days, son!" And left the room, while Finn felt heavy-eyed and fell into unconsciousness.

...

Darkness, sinking, icy water around him, suffocation, despair and suddenly strong hands pulling him up.

"Calm down, boy! Dive carefully, one day I may not be here to help you!"

A man. Father. Security, trust, admiration.

“Dive again”

"Fionn, a real man needs to know how to survive, the world will always be against men like us, so we must always be ready to reciprocate. Are you ready son?"

"Yes father"

....

"This forest surrounds our property, I'm going home now, your mission is to find your way back alone."

"What if I get lost?"

"Are you a real man?"

"Yes father"

"Then you'll figure it out."

...

"Your body needs to be prepared, son. But the real battle takes place in your mind. Don't let yourself be dominated by lesser men, know your place and defend your position. But it's not because you're above that you should distance yourself from yours men, on the contrary. Be like them, share their joys, their losses. Laugh with them, tell their jokes, fight with them, get women with them. Be one of them. But always remember who you are, son. "

...

"What the fuck do you think you're doing with that gun boy?"

"Shit..."

"Exactly, this obsession of yours is a piece of shit. I told you I'd teach you when the time was right, Fionn."

"I don't want to be left out of family business anymore!"

"You're right, sometimes I forgot you are fifteen years old, lad. Allright. Let me teach you a few tricks."

...

"Looks like you’ve been blocked again, old man"

"Since when did you become so disrespectful, boy?"

"Since your hair started to gray and fall out, father!"

"You'll be lucky if I let you live long enough for the same to happen to you, you foul-mouthed boy"

"You can try!"

...

"Where are we dad?"

"Far away from home".

"So it's time?"

"Indeed. Son, I taught you all I could, but some things can only be learned by living. You have a legacy to assume, but until then I want you to make a name for yourself. When the time comes I will I'll come to you. I love you boy, but don't try to look for me, for now you're alone."

...

"Hold still boy. You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

"And I thought I could use my charm to get away, Officer M. Jennings. What does M. come from? Mary, Monica? It's the third or fourth time we've met and to this day I don't know your first name. We already have an intimate relationship and you still haven't told me.

"Oh boy, save that Irish charm of yours for the naive little girls. After two years of watching you escape the law I'm finally going to get rid of you. I'm the one who's going to love what happens to you where you're going. Happy birthday, It's was pleasure to hear that you turned eighteen!"

...

...transfer this one to the higher security ward. The guy thinks he's a fighter, knocked out three guys on his wing and two guards who tried to contain him. Put him with Bull, let's see how the two will do...

"What's up? Bull, right? Why they call you that?"

"I thought the picture spoke for itself." Answered the other man in his cell.

"I'm Fionn, not Finn, Fionn. What’s your real name?”

"Andre.”

"Why are you here?"

"Theft."

"A man of a few words, you. So, theft? Just that?"

"And resisting arrest."

"How much did you resist?"

"Enough to send two officers to the ICU.“

"Lad, I think we'll get along great!"

….

"I like what you've done with your hair, there's nothing more pathetic than an old man trying to hide his baldness."

"Hello to you too, son!"

"After three years, one of them in this shitty place is that all you have to say?"

"I could say many other things. For example that I'm proud of you, you've survived on your own for two years and you've handled it here very well, I hear you've even made a good friend. Or I could say it's time to go home, that you have a lot of toys waiting for you, or I could tell you that it's time to take your place by my side. Or finally I could tell you that I missed you and that I love you, boy."

"You got soft after old age, soft and smooth like your head."

"I'll make you pay for those words boy! Now come hug your old man."

"First I want to ask you something. A little compensation for those shitty years."

"One day you will have a child and understand that for men like us this is necessary. Tell me what you want and I will do it if I can."

"I want to take someone with me."

…

"...put that gun away and go inside, Fionn. This is not a toy, three years under my command, trading around all the world and sometimes you still act like a clown."

"The most dangerous clown in the world!"

"Get serious for once. Are you sure you can handle the delivery yourself? I can reschedule my appointment or at least get Andre to help you."

"Dad, you and Andre have your commitments and I have mine, I'll be accompanied by my men, it's just a weapons delivery in Boston, I've participated in several similar ones, relax."

….

"...Boston P.D. Lower your weapons!"

"Fuck!"

"You are surrounded, I repeat, lower your weapons!"

"No fucking way!"

….

...he was having the worst headache he had ever had. He couldn't even open his eyes, the lids felt like they weighed tons!

"I leave you alone for a few minutes and you fall asleep in the chair, Mr. Walsh? That way I don't know if I can release you to get back to work!"

Fionn opened his eyes and was rewarded by one of the most beautiful images he had ever seen.

"Hey, Doc. Sorry, my head still hurts a little but I can promise you I'm better than ever. It was just a silly accident. The gunshot just grazed my face."

"Yes, but you hit your head really hard, it could have been fatal!"

"But it wasn't, I'm fine."

"That's for me to say. Your father paid me handsomely to deliver his son the way he wanted. So you can strip down to your underwear." Said the doctor with a mischievous smile.

"Sounds like you're taking advantage of your patient, Doc." He replied with a much more mischievous smile.

"Stop wasting my time Mr. Walsh. Your father is looking forward to speaking with you. He is currently in his office upstairs waiting for your exam to be over." If there was anything Fionn had been worried about these last few days it was his father's reaction, he almost screwed up. Thinking that if he delayed that exam any longer his father's mood might get worse he quickly got up and followed the doctor's instructions.

"... lastly raise your arms flex for me."

"Now I'm sure you want to take advantage of me, Doc. Like what you see?"

He didn't want to arouse his father's fury, but he couldn't miss that opportunity either.

"Wait a moment Mr. Walsh, I'll be right back." Answered the doctor leaving the room apparently ignoring his comment.

"Cunt"

"Sometimes I am. And as I told you Mr Walsh, your father paid me to see that everything was in perfect order with you, all of you."

….

Aidan couldn't hold back his anxiety, that would be the moment of truth. Even though he should have been sure that everything would work out, after all, just a few minutes ago he saw the stupendous result of the secondary project. That was the line of defense, someone to watch and if necessary control the boy. But main project was special, it was his son. That's why he found himself letting out the first real smile in days when he saw the shirtless man walking through the door of his office.

"Fuck, what a relief, I was scared shitless of being met by you with a second shot."

"Don't play with that boy, you almost gave me a heart attack!" Aidan responded with a frown.

"Sorry dad, I really screwed up with the whole operation!"

"Do you really think that's what I worried about, Fionn? I worried about you! But the moans I heard just now put my mind at ease."

"The shot took my face and not my dick. Speaking of which, why did you shave the beard?"

"They had to shave yours to take care of the injury, as partly responsible for what happened I think it's only fair that I had to shave mine."

"Better than shooting yourself..."

"Speaking of shaving, you're free to let your hair grow, I should have done it earlier, but every time I went release you , you come up with a lame joke."

"Oh dad, don't tell me you lost hair because of that!"

"Asshole, I should now revoke my release, but a promise is a promise, you can grow your hair."

"I don't think so, I've gotten used to it and, moreover, it's become part of my identity and that of my men, a kind of representation of our bond. What you've always taught me is extremely important."

"And here I thought you hadn't learned anything. Speaking of learning and in your men. You lost your entire team. We are in only three for now. So, I wasn't the one you should be scared shitless of." Aidan replied looking behind his son.

Fionn quickly turned and found himself facing the man known as Andre the Bull.

"Fuck!"

...

"I should have broken you in pieces, you little piece of shit." Andre said, sitting down with a straight face across from his friend at the mansion bar.

"You know, Andre, smiling never killed anyone. You could try sometime." Fionn replied, placing a glass of beer in front of him.

"I'll smile the day you stop shitting everything, Fionn."

"So you're doomed to a life of seriousness, brother. Speaking of serious things, as I've been locked up all these days in the makeshift medical ward in Boston waiting for a way to get back here, I didn't know what the answer was to my almost farewell to this world and the loss of our men."

"Don't joke about it. I wasn't there to take care of it. But you know your dad and that whole eye for an eye thing..."

"Ah yes, good old Retributive Justice."

"Exactly, but I heard that the Boston Police Chief's son and his roommate are missing. And you know what's weird? The boys' names, Finn and André."

"And why would that be weird?"

"Come on, given our names..."

"I told you when we met Bull. I'm Fionn, not a Finn and what name is André?"

"It's how you pronounce my name in Portuguese, jerk."

"Oh! Are you from Portugal by any chance?"

"Brazil, the boy was Brazilian."

"Ah, that changes everything! So, Are you Brazilian? It would have been useful for us if you spoke Portuguese at that deal we had on the border between Brazil and Paraguay!

"You are an asshole Walsh. I was just saying how weird the situation is.”

"You know what else is weird? You're not drinking. Come on, you down one glass and I'll down another. An eye for an eye, a glass for a glass!"

[ma1less]

I don't know who's going to see this, if it'll be seen at all, but I wanted to ask this question somewhere and maybe get one or two answers.

This is directed to the Lunime Gacha Community, so I'm not expecting some positive answers from them (I just had a past idea that got absolutely crapped on so I'm a bit skeptical, that's all), but feel free to provide your points of views. I just need to know the different perspectives and how to approach these things on my end, so whether you're for or against it, I'm willing to take it into account.

(although don't blame me if I start arguing with you if I feel that my point wasn't understood)

Anyways, the question I have at hand...

How would you feel if someone criticized your series/mini movie?

I do want you guys to read the rest of this blog, too, as this question has a lot of open-ended questions or can lead to certain assumptions.

It's something I've always wanted to do for a long while, but I've been putting it off since... you know... criticizing stories made from a younger generation that most likely had little to no experience with creating a story? Really?

But regardless of that backlash, I love helping others, and if it's through writing a story (something I'm extremely passionate about, especially since I've been writing for over 13+ years), that'd be even better. Additionally, I know this sounds kinda bad, but I believe that criticism can be given to anyone regardless of age, experience, and other factors. Of course, as long as it's not "criticism" that specifically targets and belittles certain group.

Which, I think that might be the reason why I'm always cowarding away from doing this---I feel like the term "criticism" lost its meaning over the years and it's almost used like another adjective for hating and/or gatekeeping certain works. In this case, I guess it's only proper to define it in my point of view.

Criticism to me is a form of grading and teaching. The criticizer would find flaws in the work, explain why it's not as great as the artist may see it as, and offer ways to improve. Of course, just like teaching a group of people, criticizing should only be choosing the most problematic and discuss different ways to get to the solution, and this should be done with little to no feelings attached. Being biased would only lead to unfair treatment, in which case would only cause more problems than solutions. Of course, this doesn't mean going full villain mode either as that doesn't do anything other than agitate the other party---unless that is the choice the criticizer decided to go with yet still has the same value as what I've said above.

That's a lot to take in, but criticism is a bit complicated too. I mean, it's more in terms of perspective of how it is given and received, and a good majority tend to receive criticisms as if it's another hate mail.

But, keeping an open mind, I do wonder if this kind of definition shown to the community would be accepted. I mean, I've been a ghost in the Lunime Gacha Community just as long as I've been writing (whenever Anime Gacha came out), so I've seen a lot of bad, bad, bad things happen here. And because of those terrible situations, the community, I feel, had gotten a lot more defensive and tend to jump the gun more faster than most.

I mean, to be fair, that's probably like every community out there, and I can't really blame them. Who wants a community with those types of people roaming around?

Anyways, if you actually read this, thanks. Lemme know your thoughts cuz I wanna proceed with this with a bit more insight from other people that's been, I guess, more nitty-gritty with the community.

Might be deleting this blog too, unless I either forget or feel like it's fine keeping up. I don't know. I'm always on and off about this idea. Not to mention I want to make this as some kind of career (not the whole criticizing a bunch of nonprofessional stories if possible but at least in the editing department), and maybe this can be a practice for me? I don't know.

And if I get no responses........ Meh, oh well. Wasn't really expecting one anyway.

Anyways, thanks. Bye.

[rlyc00l]

Rhys is going to put his skills to work and make these people trust the crap out of him if it kills him (Actually, he doesn't want it to kill him, he's actually going to try to avoid dying). Zer0's ego goes through some stuff. Everyone could benefit from like, team building exercises or something.

Also under the cut

The first thing Rhys did, after giving up on lying sleeplessly and considering his new position, was draft a message for Vaughn and Yvette. “Hey, I’m alive, on Pandora. Vasquez tried to have me killed. Sorry for doubting you. I don’t know what he’s gonna do now, be careful. I’ll be back soon.” He paused and deleted the “soon”, replacing it with “Sorry to be vague. I’ll explain everything next time I see you.” before sending. It wouldn’t satisfy them. When he got back to Helios, he’d launch the two of them up the corporate ladder (just slightly below himself) to make it up to them. And then he’d brag about this forever. 

But first, he had to secure his victory.

Step one: Gaining trust. He’d been a pro at that up on Helios. Building trust with your coworkers was one of those pillars of success in business (it went hand-in-hand with “strategic betrayal”). There was even an acronym: DARGH. Dependability, Approachability, Respect, Gratitude, and Honesty. Three out of five were easy, he could do those without trying. He’d have to do away with honesty, which left dependability. Dependability required competency, and he was far from competent in this setting. He still hadn’t even figured out how to reload. Luckily, he had the ECHOnet. He activated his ECHOeye and pulled up everything the Hyperion database could teach him about guns and shooting, and found diagrams of the two guns in his possession.

By sunrise he was outside, dry firing the pistol while aiming at distant bullymong holes, trying to get used to the gun’s auto-stabilizers. 

“What are you doing?” 

Rhys flinched, fumbling with the gun. It was Zer0, of course. The others were still asleep. His immediate impulse was to snap at them–why the hell were they always there? He restrained himself for the sake of DARGH and instead summoned all his Hyperion brand faux-affability. 

“Oh, hey Zer0.” Fake smile. Cheery voice. “I-I’m practicing. Getting ready for today, you know? You’re welcome to join.” Goddamn, that sounded phony. He was better than this. The whole double agent thing was throwing him off his game. 

Zer0 looked at him, then his gun. “There’s a camp, not far. / Living targets are better. / With a loaded gun.” 

“That…I-I’m good, thanks. I’d rather conserve ammo, y’know? For those uh, those Fleshripper guys?” 

“There’s a vendor, there.” They thumbed over their shoulder. An Ammo Dump vending machine leaned haphazardly against a nearby building.

“I don’t have–” 

“Oh, right. Your wallet’s empty. / Save your bullets, then.” A smiley face.

“W-wait, you saw who stole my money?”

They ignored that. “Still, practice, needless. / Today, I’ll kill the bad guys. / Just stand back again.” The word “coward” didn’t fit at the end of their haiku, but it was implied. Their “>:P” made that clear.

Later, as they ventured through Fleshripper territory, he did his best not to deserve the label. At least, his best within reason. He stood back, sure, but only because he didn’t have a shield and the others did. A thrown buzzaxe bounced right off of Axton’s head when it would have split his skull open otherwise. Salvador walked right into oncoming gunfire to kill the shooter. A grenade landed at Gaige’s feet and only gave her a few scratches. A shield was undeniably a necessity, here. 

Rhys checked bodies for one when he got the chance, but there was little intact for him to take. A few dollars here, some bullets there. The bandit’s actual killers got first dibs on everything. So he was forced to shoot from afar, careful to avoid his “allies”. Most of his shots missed, but sometimes they hit, and sometimes the bandits died. Those kills didn’t feel like that first time, but at least he wasn’t almost dying. Small victories.

A further small victory came for his “DARGH initiative”. With Zer0, of all people. 

Bringing up the rear occasionally put him near them, when they’d switch from up-close fighting to sniping. Their sudden appearances had startled him the first few times. They seemed to teleport, but it was a clever combination of hologram and cloaking technology. Rhys found that if he paid attention, he could sometimes see when their footprints in the snow parted from the hologram. Even then, he missed it more often than not.  

Zer0 may have been a total asshole, but it was pretty cool to watch. They’d appear with their sword buried in one man’s back. When the next bandit fired on them, the hologram would feign an attack from the front while they climbed a nearby roof, blowing his brains out without him ever knowing he’d been tricked. Rhys wondered if Jack knew about their method, or if he should report it. If Zer0 meant to fight Hyperion, the soldiers should be forearmed with that knowledge, the way these Fleshrippers weren’t. 

As he was considering recording them for Jack, a gunshot rang off from his left and two bandits dropped dead at the same time. Zer0 appeared with their sniper rifle on a low roof next to him. “Holy crap. Did…Did you just do that?” 

“Yes.” They projected a “:D”. 

“That was actually pretty badass.” 

They didn’t respond, only moved to a higher position, taking out another pair of bandits the same way, then a third with a headshot.

If he didn’t know better, he would have thought they were showing off. But there was no way they cared what he thought, right? It was worth testing. Rhys was well-practiced in the art of sycophancy. “You, uh, you think you could hit that guy way down there before Krieg gets to him? The one taking cover behind the crates.” 

The bandit in question was on the other side of camp, firing at Krieg as he charged. Only a small portion of his head was visible. 

A second after he said it, they’d shot, and the bandit’s head vanished in a spray of red. Krieg slowed to a stop, with a bellow of “Disappointed!” 

“Nice!” The enthusiasm in his voice wasn’t hard to fake. He never expected Zer0 might actually be easy to win over. 

“As I said before. / You need not participate. / I’ve got this handled.” 

“Right, clearly.” It was the same on Helios, flattery didn’t get you respect in return. Still, if he’d swallowed his pride and sucked up to Vasquez, the man wouldn’t have tried to blow him up. Zer0 was more the “literal backstabber” type, but still, the point stood. 

———

Captain Flynt, leader of the Fleshripper bandits, was the last thing standing between the Vault hunters and the mainland. He’d made his throne on a wrecked freighter sitting precariously atop an icy clifftop. Rhys lost count of how many the group had killed on the trek through the surrounding camps and the climb up to the ship’s deck. At that point, a reasonable person would surrender. Captain Flynt wasn’t a reasonable person. 

Claptrap had raced in ahead of the rest of them, waiting at the top of the ramp that led to the ship’s deck. “Yoohoo! Minions, this way!” He waved them on impatiently. 

Maya stopped there. “We should go in with a plan. One would have to be pretty hard to kill to lead a bandit clan of this size for more than a week, and Hammerlock claims he’s tough.” 

Zer0 barely glanced at her as they moved on after Claptrap. 

“I was thinking we shoot him full of bullets. Until he dies.” Salvador said, passing her.

“Yeah, that was more or less what I was gonna say?.” Axton stopped for only a moment, hesitating before jogging after Zer0. “Sorry, not about to let them get all the glory!” he called over his shoulder.

“I need to get keelhauled!” Krieg followed the other three. 

“Hey, wait up!” Gaige had the decency to look guilty as she passed. “Sorry, Maya, but I mean, we have more guns?” 

Rhys could only offer a shrug. “For what it’s worth, I was onboard with the ‘having a plan’ plan.” 

The battle was underway by the time he and Maya caught up. Flynt wasn’t alone, at least twenty more bandits fought alongside him. He was unmistakable among his cohorts. The man dwarfed even Krieg–but part of that might have been the thick, padded suit and the tall horns atop his helmet. He wielded both a flamethrower and an entire anchor with ease. Also, he was on fire, which didn’t seem to bother him.  

Yesterday, Rhys might have stayed on the ledge overlooking the deck, never directly joining battle. Today, he had a promotion and a turbomansion to look forward to, and DARGH to think of. Amazing what getting contacted personally by Handsome Jack could do to a guy. At least, it was enough to make Rhys hop down onto deck–only to slip on a patch of ice and fall on his face. Thankfully, this went unnoticed. The bandits were too occupied with those who got there before him. Each Vault hunter seemed to be fighting their own battle. Huge plumes of fire intermittently shot up from the vents in the deck, leaving thick clouds of smoke in its wake. Maya was already further up, he saw a flash of purple lift Flynt into the air. A buzzaxe-wielding bandit took notice of him as he was getting to his feet. Rhys shot him as he charged, and he stumbled to the ground and didn’t rise again. Then a second bandit was shooting at him. Bullets whizzed past his face, barely missing. Finding flimsy cover behind a wooden crate, he returned fire. Either one of Rhys’s bullets hit the mark, or someone else’s did. Regardless, that bandit fell too. 

He got another glimpse of Flynt near the broken edge of the ship. Zer0 was behind him, sword bearing down at his back. Flynt turned, delivering a blow with his anchor that knocked them off their feet. He lifted the anchor, ready to bring it down on them. Flames went up. Rhys fired a few shots where he’d seen Flynt. The fire faded. Flynt was running at Salvador, whose pair of shotguns seemed to do little to slow him. No sign of Zer0. 

“Krieg, come on! You’re in the way!” He heard Axton before he saw him. He was shooting over a pile of crates. His turret was perched on a crate firing at Flynt, only, Krieg was in front of its target. 

Fire again. A flaming bandit came rushing out of a nearby vent, screaming in agony. Rhys backed up, pulled the trigger. Out of ammo. The bandit fell anyway. He ducked behind cover. His shotgun held only two shots in it, and he’d never actually used it before. It would be better to stay here and wait for the fighting to stop. He heard more screaming–a voice that had to be Gaige’s. 

Could be a hero. That’d be worth points. 

He moved along the intact edge–towards the screams, trying to keep track of Flynt. The jet of fire from his flamethrower gave him away on the far side of the ship. 

When he found Gaige she was crouched behind a junk pile, reloading her submachine gun. Her robot was fighting off a bandit on the other side. Another three bandits lay dead nearby. 

“You okay?” he needed to raise his voice to be heard over the battle. She was soaked in sweat and covered in ash but otherwise, she looked okay. 

She gave him a strange look, then turned to finish that last bandit. 

He ducked down next to her. “I–someone was screaming. Was that Maya?” It hadn’t sounded like Maya.

“Oh! Yeah, that was me! Look at this shit.” She stuck out her leg. Her nylon tights had partially burned away, revealing her calf red and blistered beneath it. “Hurt like a bitch!” She’d sounded like she was being murdered. “Right. So you’re not in any immediate trouble?” 

“Nope. You’re bleeding, by the way. Like a lot.” She turned back to the battle. It was quieter now.

“Haha, what?” He looked down, not seeing any blood on him. “No, I’m not.” “Your face.” 

He was so soaked in sweat, it took a moment to find the blood on the right of his face, longer to find the gash starting at his temple and ending just past his ear. He hadn’t felt it until now, but suddenly his body seemed to remember that this was supposed to hurt. “Oh jeez… How…How bad is it?” “I think you just got grazed, dude. You’re fine.” 

“Owwww…” It burned.  

Gaige, put away her gun, getting to her feet. “Anyway, I think we’re done?” 

Clutching his head, he followed her lead. There were dead bandits everywhere. On the far side was Flynt, lying in a heap on the deck. Flames had stopped coming up from the vents. “Huh, wonder if he was like, remotely controlling the fire somehow…”   

“Dunno.” Rhys couldn’t find it in himself to be that curious right now. He couldn’t remember the last time so much blood was coming out of him.  “First time being shot?” Axton joined him and Gaige as they crossed the deck to meet with the others. 

“Kinda hope it’s my last.” Axton laughed. “Good luck with that.” He looked him up and down. “Hell, did you ever get a shield?” 

“Couldn’t find one.” “Why didn’t you say something?” Axton stopped, opening his storage deck holoscreen. He was using his left hand, his right hung at his side, covered in blood. 

“Kind of got the sense that uh, begging would be a bad look?” 

Axton shrugged. “This isn’t Hyperion. And I mean, a little more to the left and you’d be dead.” He’d produced a Tediore shield, handing it to Rhys. 

“Thanks.” He clipped it to his belt.

They passed Salvador, looting a corpse. “Y’all see what happened to Zer0?” he asked. “Cuz if they’re dead, I already called dibs on that gun. The acid one.” 

Rhys glanced at where he’d last seen them, half expecting their mangled corpse. They weren’t there, but between the sheer number of corpses and trash on deck, they could still be dead and he’d just missed them. He didn’t feel like looking so hard, his head hurt. 

Maya and Krieg waited outside the deckhouse, beneath Flynt’s throne. Krieg sat on a still-panic-moded Claptrap. A buzzaxe was half buried in his shoulder, and Maya was trying to calm him enough to pull it out. She scowled when she saw them. “Couldn’t have spent a few minutes trying to coordinate an attack?” 

“Hey, the guy’s dead, right? And we’re alive.” Axton radiated self-satisfaction. 

“Hell yeah, you are!” Claptrap popped out of his panic-mode, almost knocking Krieg over as he rolled out to gloat over Flynt’s corpse. “Take that, Flynt! My minions are certified badasses!” 

Maya ignored Claptrap, grabbing the buzzaxe’s hand with both hands. “Your turret drained Krieg’s shield.” She gritted her teeth as she yanked the blade out. 

“No! I needed that there!” Krieg protested. The wound already began to knit together before Maya jabbed a hypo in the flesh near it. “Augh! How will I find anything now?!” 

She ignored that too. “Not to mention, if I hadn’t made it in time, Salvador would have gotten crushed by that anchor. And, I have no idea where Zer0 went.” 

“Another one into the pit!” That one took her a moment. “Wait, they went over the side?”

Krieg tensed, grabbed his head, and then managed an exaggerated nod. “Anchors aweigh!” Crap.” She looked around at the others. “There’s more hypos inside, get yourselves fixed up. I’m going back for Zer0.” 

Inside the deckhouse was what once was a lounge for the crew, when this was still a functioning corporate cargo ship. Now, maybe it was still a lounge, but hanging from the ceiling were bouquets of human skulls, and staked to the dart board was a man’s corpse, dead at least a few weeks. After the bandit camps, this kind of decor seemed pretty standard. Rhys took a seat on one of the lopsided, threadbare couches opposite the corpse. At least it was cold enough it didn’t smell, much. 

Gaige, Salvador, and Axton were going through the chests and crates that lined that wall, arguing over loot. “I did get the kill, so y’know, I think I should get the shotgun.” “You only got the kill because my turret softened him up!”  

“Oh come on, you guys killed one guy, me and Deathtrap killed like, a gazillion of them while you were fighting him.” 

“Those little guys? I was saving them for after.”

“Yeah, they weren’t exactly our primary objective.”

“So next time I should just let them shoot at you? Cuz I totally will.” 

Rhys tuned them out, absently studying the crude map next to the dartboard corpse as he tried to distract himself from the pain. The map must have been made by one of the bandits, it was an indecipherable mess, there was no way it was to scale. Was that supposed to be the ocean? Then that there would probably be Sanctuary… But what was that thing in the center? It didn’t match up with the maps he studied in his ECHOeye, but maps of border planets tended to be lacking… 

“Oh, right, Rhys!” Axton crossed the room to him, holding out a hypo. There was a bullet hole in his forearm, rapidly closing up as he offered it. “Hate to see a face like that go to necrosis.”

He took it with a “Right, thanks so much,” and a forced smile. It was only once his face started to heal that he realized Axton had probably been flirting with him. He didn’t know what to do with that fact, did it still count as a win for DARGH? Did that mean he was doing a good job winning these people over, or should he just take it as a testament to his looks? 

It was then that Zer0 finally limped into the cabin, just ahead of Maya. They crossed the room without looking at any of the others. “The path is open. / We board Claptrap’s freakin’ boat. / And get out of here.” They sounded pissed. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself!” Claptrap said as he followed them. “Let's board me mighty vessel and kiss the shelf goodbye!” 

“Woah, wait, Zer0, You alright, dude?” Axton asked. 

“Yes,” they said. 

“Cause I have like, one more insta-health here.” He held up another hypo, smirking. 

“Give me it.” “I dunno. If you’re okay, I might save it for later. Does our untouchable assassin really need some healing?”

Zer0’s hand closed around the hilt of their sword. “You have eyes.” 

“Axton, just give them the damn instahealth.” Maya stepped in. 

Axton sighed, and Zer0 snatched it up. “This feels like enabling their crap, y’know?” 

———

Considering that the boat they were to take belonged to Claptrap, Rhys expected the prize to be some sad little dinghy. He wasn’t well-versed on boats, but it had actually probably been some sort of fishing trawler. He wasn’t sure how a Claptrap would end up with something like that, but it had SS Claptrap spray painted on it. It was a good-sized boat, even with eight passengers there was space to spare. Sturdy, too, though that didn’t make Rhys feel much better as they lowered it into the water from a pair of cranes attached to Flynt’s wreck. He clung to the side as it was slowly lowered into the water, wondering if the shield would save him from falling to his death. Every bump felt like it might be the end, but somehow the ship touched down without incident.  

“So, how long is it to the mainland?” Gaige asked when they finally got moving. 

“Fifteen hours! But don’t worry chums, I’m sure it’ll pass in a flash! I know some great boat trip games!”  

“Ugh. If anyone needs me I’m gonna go over there and tune up Deathtrap.” 

“Yeah, uh, shouldn’t you be steering? Keep us from hitting any icebergs, or something?” Rhys tried.  

“You’re absolutely right! I guess you guys can have fun, I’ll provide the background music. Just gotta load up some sea shanties, and it’ll be a party in no time!” 

Rhys just hoped that Pandora wasn’t home to any horrific sea monsters. Before anything else, he found a tiny little bathroom in the boat’s cabin, a mirror on the door. There was a sink, but no water ran through it. Instead, he was stuck wiping what blood and sweat he could get off with his sleeve–Maybe Sanctuary would have actual laundry machines. 

It was then that Vaughn called him back, the notification lit up in his ECHOeye. He ignored it, no telling what the Vault hunters would do if they caught him communicating with someone on Helios. A moment later he got the voicemail and played it directly into his implants. 

“Holy shit, Rhys. I just saw your message. I’m so glad you’re okay. Or, I hope you’re okay. I’m gonna choose to believe you’re not answering because you are busy actively surviving that hellhole. What happened? Where are you? Can we do anything to help? Yvette can send down supplies? You, uh, you don’t have to worry about us. Get this, Vasquez disappeared, his nameplate’s gone, office cleaned out, no one knows what’s going on. But supposedly, he got called in for a meeting with Jack, and you know… Try to get back up here soon. And don’t drink the water down there! Or eat anything weird. Call me back. If you’re still alive, I mean.” 

Rhys texted a reply, practicing with the ECHOeye functionality he’d used to message Jack: “Still alive. Can’t call you, I’m surrounded by bandits. We’ve reached an understanding though, they trust me. I’m not going to be in mortal danger anytime soon unless I start openly talking to someone on Helios.” 

The text response from Vaughn came a minute later: “Holy shit, dude. Are you sure they’re not planning to eat you? I heard Pandora is chock full of cannibals.” 

“I’m sure.” 

“Okay, still, you should really find a Hyperion base or something.” “I’ll keep an eye out.” A lie, but he wasn’t about to give too much away. 

“I gotta get back to work, Don’t want anyone else up here getting called into Jack’s office. I’ll message later. But seriously, you need anything, let me or Yvette know.” “Yep. See you later.” He had to smile–Vaughn had nothing to worry about up there, Jack had already done him a favor and gotten Vasquez out of the way. He played this right and he could get his friends comfy, safe positions before this was over. 

He passed Axton on his way out of the cabin, already napping on one of the little cots. 

Outside, the rest of them were keeping their distance from each other. Krieg was at the prow of the ship, yelling incoherently at the sea ahead. Maya sat on a crate nearby, somehow ignoring him enough to be reading a book. Gaige worked on her robot, disassembled parts laid out across the deck in front of her. Salvador was cleaning his shotgun. Zer0 was just leaning against the side of the boat, arms crossed, things like “B0R3D”, “...”, and “UGH” occasionally flashing over their helm. 

Claptrap, at least, was too occupied with steering to bother anyone with more than singing.

Everyone still seemed too tense to approach, but he still had a lot of material on the Hyperion database that may or may not come in handy to study. He sat down leaning against the cabin’s outer wall, and pulled up an entry of their destination, Three Horns. 

“Three Horns is a small region named for its three stone crags. Ringed by mountains to the east and precipitous cliffs to the west, the area is…” 

“That should be removed.” Zer0’s voice interrupted his reading. They were kneeling in front of him. “Before we reach the city. / It may get you killed.”

“Wha..?” He closed out of the ECHOeye entry. “What?” 

They poked his chest.  “Oh. Yeah.” It barely peered out under the bandit’s jacket, only the “Hy” visible, but it was undeniably Hyperion’s logo on his vest

“In Sanctuary / I hear they find clever ways / Of killing your kind.” They projected a “;)”. 

“Right…” It was a nice vest. Expensive, hardy. He couldn’t just throw the whole thing out. But he could probably cut through the stitching. “You’ve got a knife or something?” 

“Yes,” they said. 

He waited. They made no move to offer him anything. 

“Can I use it?” 

They cocked their head, seeming to consider for a moment. “No.” They stood and returned to their prior spot. 

After half an hour of fighting with the label, he’d managed to pull it a third of the way off. Hyperion stitching was good. He was considering resorting to using his teeth when a folded pocket knife landed in front of him. He looked up to see Zer0, and took the knife with a “Thanks? Wish you’d given this to me before?” 

The knife was marked “DAHL”. 

“Er…Did…Did you steal this from Axton?” 

“He is still sleeping. / If I were you, I’d work fast. / He will wake angry.” They projected a “:3”.