#like this is not a white or black situation

[seewetter]

They are making admissions, but it's a different set.

They:

Get involved in other people's business whose lives they don't understand. They have no evidence to think this person is hired for any reason, including this reason.

Are prone to gossip and backstabbing.

Believe that they are to be treated as an authority on the lives of strangers.

Disbelieve a stranger's qualifications without evidence.

Are prone to a form of gossip and backstabbing that only affects potential diversity hires, which means they are prone to a form of gossip and backstabbing that they and people like them are unaffected by. Which means they are likely self-serving people.

Use their opinions about DEI as a shield to go after individuals whom they don't want working in a place. This shows us its not really about DEI, its about controlling this one place that they work at or shop at.

Have no bad conscious about exerting control in a way that only people not like them might be affected by.

The reason the first 3 statements are not guaranteed is:

Unless you know (with evidence) that the white whiner is reliably going after all black and brown people, accusing as many as they can of being a diversity hire, they are not necessarily going after all who occupy positions of significance. In fact, the "diversity hire" gossip is often particularly effective as a form of racism because those who employ it (A) exert direct control on black and brown individuals whom they don't like or want power over, rather than on all black and brown people, which would be far more noticeable (B) does not target all black and brown people by default, instead creating strategic vulnerabilities for specific people -- the default assumption is that black and brown people are "just like you and me" but that "some" are people who gain unfair advantages. This is commonly coupled with implicit racist assumptions about (unchangeable, legitimate) factors that hold back black and brown people as a community, thus allowing racists to maintain a "inclusive hierarchy" where specific individuals are treated (more-or-less) as equals, but the majority of those communities are treated as illegitimate if they attain certain positions (C) people who buy into this racist narrative are sometimes genuinely not even trying to exert control over black and brown people (and may even be black and brown themselves) because DEI programs often appear (superficially) unfair (D) some DEI programs are genuinely unfair, because some of them are designed with an anti-union, anti-solidarity pattern in mind -- this does not justify assumptions about individuals who receive aid through any DEI program, but it unfortunately contributes to gullible people (i.e. Joe Rogan fans or whatever) drawing on real experiences (and propaganda) to become unwitting agents of racism

See above. People that whine about "diversity hires" often think their bad customer service experience or work difficulty with a colleague is explained by DEI. Quite a few (not all, some are propagating intentional racism) of these people would welcome a person of Colour whom they perceive as "more qualified". But note the double standard! A person of Colour f*s up at their job? It's a DEI thing. White person f*s up? People pull out humanizing explanations about how difficult work is or what must be going on at home in their personal lives. Gullible people that propagate DEI witch hunts are often drawing on "progressive" neoliberal policies the dysfunction of which they personally witnessed or on Joe Rogan-style misinformation. They don't think white people are more qualified, but they are using a shorthand to think about the situation which relies on this double standard.

"Believe that sharing power disadvantages them, which is an unconscious acknowledgement that they currently hold it all". The person who whines about DEI at the workplace is also at risk of being fired, just as the individual they gossip about. "They hold all the power" mystifies what is going on. It treats our society as one of white overlords who even at the very bottom of an organization determine the fate of non-white people, rather than a society where powerful ideologies like progressive neoliberalism and right-wing populism are employed to pit people against each other.

"Progressive" neoliberals never see complaints about lack of educational resources in South Side Chicago and think "wow, we should put political pressure so that all schools receive a standard minimum of educational resources". Instead they think "wow, lets turn this into a DEI issue and demand that specifically black communities get more books. Lets use the ongoing history of racial injustice as the only possible angle for this injustice." Thus they can fulfill their neoliberal program (keep denying funding to school that aren't their concern, keep narrowing down the scope of people eligible for funding: downsize privatize gatekeep girlboss!) and give themselves a progressive appearance (they are helping communities in need).

Right-wing populism wouldn't be populism if it didn't achieve popularity. It doesn't do so by preaching racial hierarchy. It does so by sowing suspicion. Progressive neoliberalism is everywhere: it's in the rainbow capitalist progress flags on storefronts (even if in the US they're quickly scraping this stuff off to appease the current administration), its in corporate promises of DEI and in the art exhibits or film festivals sponsored by large banks or corporate interests. A lot of discrimination would become impractical if people didn't live in a cutthroat world where removing someone else's job opens that position up for you. If everyone has guaranteed education, healthcare, employment (if they want it) and a enshrined immovable right to not be deported, then racists can't use the institutions that make these guarantees to their ends without trying to affect notable changes.

But neoliberals can't make racists lives that difficult, because these policies are not all compatible with neoliberalism (some might be, as a compromise, but not all). And so neoliberals who do progressive politics do a muted form of it: which is what DEI hires are. When people detect discimination in affirmative action in a certain sense they are right. Under neoliberal conditions, where the goal is to cut down on jobs to make businesses more money... jobs are artificially scarce and any program that gives person A a foot in the door does so at expense of person B. We don't live in an ideal world where we can fully guarantee that every recipient of affirmative action is "deserving" (everyone is deserving, affirmative action should not be necessary, I only use the word "deserving" in scare quotes to indicate that some DEI recipients might genuinely could be, from a corporate perspective "not the ideal candidate"). Thus people start having discussions about the racism of anti-DEI opinions, discussions which only happen in the broader context where DEI is offered as the consolation prize for living with and accepting neoliberalism. In my experience, job applications and interviews that involve DEI usually involve hilariously extreme anti-minority biases. With people even for government jobs that don't even write back if you acknowledge you have any "weakness" (belong to a marginalized group). So I would agree that black and brown people who are DEI hires are probably excellent fits for their jobs in most cases and accusations of incompetence seem, where I'm coming from, hilariously misplaced. But I also know that some DEI hires are expected to tow the party line, to institute neoliberal reforms (examples can be found in the writings of Nancy Fraser) . And that some DEI hires basically just have that role and do nothing else. This is where some of the animus comes from. When the entire investigative team for a sports event gets fired by the people they are investigating for corruption and replaced because of "diversity" or when a prestigious art school board erupts into a panic because the black candidate they hired is just black...and not, which they had assumed was implicit in hiring a black candidate, a person willing to do cost-cutting and downsizing within their institution... when "diversity" or "anti-racism" or "inclusion" is used as the reason for outsourcing labour, there will be people, who never once considered black and brown people inherently inferior, who become receptive to simple DEI myths or nasty DEI gossip. Yes it requires ignorance. Yes it has a racial angle. Yes its an exercise in normativity and power. Yes its awful. Yes it has a human cost. Yes it maintains a white supremacist status quo. But no, it's not always based on assumptions about what kind of people should be occupying the positions of significance. And the people who fall for this crap do not hold all the power. Presenting them as all-powerful is precisely how "progressive" neoliberals manage to justify their ignoring of some of the most basic injustices of society. Gentrification and lack of healthcare and bad education and being forced to live in exploitative environmental conditions are rephrased as racial issues ("environmental racism" etc.) and thus even the majority of their victims can be erased (~20% of the victims of gentrification and police violence are black).

[writeriguess]

Hi! I love that you're back here on Tumblr writing. oh, I came to request a Bakugou x reader. She is a celebrity (I leave it up to you what kind of celebrity) and Bakugou is a prohero! They want to blackmail him into doing something to his beloved famous girlfriend. Angst is fine but with a happy ending I have no complaints, thanks u guurl 🙇🏼‍♀️❤️

author's note: Thank you <3

Scandal and Smoke

You always knew dating a pro hero came with risks. Paparazzi swarmed like vultures, tabloids twisted every glance, and the constant scrutiny of your every move never let up. But you could handle that. You were used to it—fame had clung to you like a second skin since you were sixteen.

What you weren’t prepared for was the darkness that came with it.

Katsuki Bakugou, Pro Hero Dynamight, had always been fiercely protective. He didn’t tolerate anyone looking at you wrong, let alone threatening you. But this time, it was different. This time, the threat wasn’t just some faceless internet troll or a rogue villain looking for leverage.

This time, it was someone with power. Someone who had something on him.

It started with a phone call in the middle of the night. You barely stirred when he slipped out of bed to answer it, his voice a low, dangerous growl. You recognized that tone—it was the one he used when something was wrong.

When he returned, his jaw was set in a hard line, tension rolling off him in waves.

“Katsuki?” you murmured, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He hesitated for half a second—longer than usual. Then he forced a scoff. “Nothin’. Just work shit. Go back to sleep.”

But you knew him too well. And you knew a lie when you heard one.

Days passed, and Katsuki wasn’t himself. He was distracted, irritable, pulling away from you in ways he never had before. He stopped kissing you before he left for patrol. Stopped calling you in between missions. When you tried to touch him, he flinched—like he was afraid of what would happen if he let himself get close.

Then came the first message.

A sleek black envelope, slipped under his agency’s door. Inside: a photograph.

A grainy image of you, taken through the window of your apartment, unaware of the camera. On the back, a single sentence:

Make her do it. Or we will.

Katsuki’s blood turned to ice.

It took three days for him to admit the truth.

“They want me to trick you into—” His voice caught, fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. “They want me to set you up. To get you alone with one of them.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean?”

Katsuki turned away, his whole body shaking with barely restrained rage. “They want me to make you trust someone—let ‘em get close. To get you in a situation where you can’t fight back.” His breath hitched, voice breaking. “They want me to give you to them.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating.

You took a step closer. “And if you don’t?”

His laughter was bitter, hollow. “They’ve got dirt on me. I dunno how, but it’s bad. Bad enough they think they can control me.” His eyes burned with frustration. “They said if I don’t do it, they’ll hurt you themselves.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears. The thought of someone using Katsuki, of forcing his hand like this, made your skin crawl. But you weren’t afraid of him.

You were afraid of what they might push him to do.

Days passed, and the threats grew more direct. A package arrived at your apartment with an unmarked USB drive. Footage played of someone tailing you through the city, lingering outside your agency, taking note of every routine you had. They were watching your every move, waiting for Katsuki to obey.

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

And that’s when they pushed too far.

Katsuki met with them under the cover of night, a controlled explosion of fury barely restrained in his bones. He pretended to comply, feigning hesitation, playing into their sick little game.

The moment they let their guard down, he struck.

“Did you really think you could make me betray her?” Katsuki’s voice was a growl as he dodged a swinging pipe, grabbing the bastard’s wrist and twisting until he heard a satisfying snap. “You thought I’d hand her over like some fuckin’ package?!”

A second attacker lunged at him, but Katsuki ducked under the blow, shoving his palm against their chest. “Die,” he snarled before a controlled explosion sent them flying into a pile of crates.

Another man stepped forward, smirking. “You think you’ve won, Dynamight?” he taunted, wiping blood from his lip. “You’re outnumbered.”

Katsuki cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. “So what?” he spat. “You’re all just dead men walkin’.”

The explosion rocked the empty warehouse, sending metal and concrete raining down. Before the dust settled, he had taken down the first attacker, fists meeting flesh with bone-crushing force.

Backup arrived within minutes—his own setup, a team of trusted heroes swarming in to dismantle the operation. The blackmailers were subdued, their leverage destroyed, their threats turned to nothing.

When he finally returned to you, bloody but victorious, you could barely breathe.

“Katsuki!” You ran to him, hands hovering over his injuries. “Oh my god, you’re hurt—”

“I’m fine,” he grunted, but his hands shook as he pulled you in, pressing his forehead to yours. “They’re gone. They can’t touch you.”

Your vision blurred with tears. “You should have told me sooner.”

“I know,” he admitted, voice raw. “I was scared.”

You cupped his cheek, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your palm. “Of them?”

“No.” He let out a shaky breath. “Of losing you.”

You kissed him—desperate, relieved, grounding. His arms tightened around you, holding you like he’d never let go.

“You’re safe,” he whispered against your lips. “We’re safe.”

Tears burned your eyes as you held him tighter. “We are.”

And for once, the only thing left to burn between you was love.

[sakur4ii]

Code Name: Rabbit

Chapter 2: The Rescue

←previus next→

English is not my first language!!

Warning: kidnapping, death, mention of corpse, mention of prostitution.

January 18, 22:00 PM

You're furious right now, and your heavy footsteps give it away. As soon as you finished watching the footage from all the cameras at that specific moment, you got up from the couch, changed into black, comfortable clothes, and put on your mask.

You're armed—one gun on each side of your belt and knives tucked under your pants in case of an emergency. You enter the building practically fuming, but even with your heavy steps, you're silent due to your lack of footwear—a signature trait of Rabbit that Lyara always found amusing.

You climb the stairs, noting the deafening silence, the cold beneath your feet as you ascend each step. You try to control yourself, reminding yourself not to kill anyone the moment you reach your destination. As you arrive at the base of the stairs leading to the third floor, you glance at the camera Lyara installed—when it recognizes someone, the live feed is displayed on a screen on the third floor. Good. They know you're here, and you want them to.

You start climbing the stairs, your brow furrowed—it's been that way since you left your apartment. You reach the door, which only opens when you place your hand on a touchscreen, identifying you as one of the few people with access to this floor. The door slides open, and pastel colors flood your vision—a bunch of sofas, a mini kitchen, a giant TV, and the bathroom door, all visible from the entrance. Everything except what lies behind the curtain against the back wall.

Seated on the couches in the center are the girls Lyara asked to gather, Omar, and the one person you’d shoot on sight if you could.

Judging by their worried expressions and the fact that no one greeted you, they’ve already noticed your bad mood. So you decide to keep this short and walk toward the center.

"Dan, come to my office, please." You manage to keep your tone calm.

You don’t see it, but Dan swallows hard.

You move to the curtain and push it aside, revealing a door. You open it and step into your office without looking back, walking toward your desk and pulling out one of the guest chairs.

Dan—the guard or bodyguard responsible for securing the stairs leading to "The Forbidden Garden"—enters your office, shutting the door behind him. Smart choice. You offer him a seat, and with poorly concealed anxiety, he decides to take it.

Without him noticing, you draw one of the guns from your belt, step behind him, and press the barrel against the back of his head. His face twists in absolute horror.

"I think you know why we're in this situation right now, so start talking, or I’ll blow your brains out." Your voice remains eerily calm, though inside, you’re itching to pull the trigger.

Dan starts stammering.

"They blackmailed me! I swear!"

"Who?" You press the gun harder against his head, urging him to keep talking.

"A man—from the Garden! He was wearing one of those white escort masks..."

You shove the gun against his head again, and he stammers once more.

"He asked for information about you and her. I told him the little I knew, then he gave me his phone number and told me to call him the moment she was alone in the building. Please, don’t kill me."

The man looks like he's about to burst into tears, sweating like a pig. There's something he’s not telling you, and that only deepens your frown.

"What did he blackmail you with?" You push the gun harder against his skull, and his reaction confirms you hit the right question.

Before speaking, he swallows loudly.

"I already told you everything. Please, don’t kill me."

You lean in close to his ear, tilting your head so he can't see you, but he can catch a terrifying glimpse of your mask.

"With. What. Did. He. Blackmail. You?"

"He offered me a million dollars."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting you to shoot him.

"Please, please, please..."

You almost pity him. Almost.

Your jaw tightens. This idiot can’t be serious. You knew something was off about him when Lyara hired him, but his record was spotless—too perfect for someone wanting to work in one of the darkest corners of Gotham. Lyara convinced you it was just paranoia. And now, this man has betrayed you both for money. Fantastic.

"Give me the phone number and get out. You have one week to find another job. You're fired."

Dan pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, sets it on your desk, and bolts out of your office as fast as he can.

You start pacing the room, replaying the traitor’s words in your head.

Then, you slam your fist into the nearest wall, ignoring the dull pain in your knuckles and the fresh hole in the concrete.

---

January 18, 23:45 PM

The night is dark; you can hear the crickets and the cars. Hidden in the bushes, you watch the kidnapper’s house, ignoring the cold and staying as concealed as possible. A drone hovers near one of the house’s windows, and even from a distance, you recognize it as one of Oracle’s drones. Fuck. You need to find a way inside without Barbara detecting you, and you must be careful—there’s a chance one of the Bats is already inside.

The house is registered under Marcel Gravois. Unfortunately, the man is dead, so you dug deeper, discovering that Elliot Gravois, Marcel’s grandson, inherited this house and several other properties. You have to thank Lyara for teaching you her hacking tricks, and also thank Elliot for being an idiot—it was as easy as tracking his number and pulling his IP. It didn’t give you an exact address, but this is the only house under a Gravois in the area.

Elliot Gravois seems to be involved in illegal activities beyond kidnapping; otherwise, Oracle wouldn’t be here. But you’ll investigate that later—right now, your priority is finding Lyara.

Silently, you step out of the bushes, feeling the cold grass beneath your feet. Near the house, you hear sounds of a fight coming from the top floor. You move in the opposite direction from where you saw the drone.

There are several windows. You approach the nearest one and pull up with all your strength—nothing, it’s stuck. You move to the next, but it has wooden planks nailed across it, so you don’t even try. The third is also locked. Frustrated, you approach the wooden door—also locked.

You sigh in resignation. Kicking the door down feels like a bad idea, so that leaves you with one option—the window near the drone. You walk toward it, and of course, it’s open. The drone turns toward you. You wave and make a shushing gesture, hoping it gives you the benefit of the doubt—or that you don’t end up in a cell within seconds.

"Alright, here we go," you think. You jump onto the window frame and, as quietly as possible, slip inside the house. The first thing you notice is the intense fight happening upstairs—walls shaking, furniture crashing, like they’re having a good time.

You reach for your belt and draw one of your pistols. Keeping controlled steps and maintaining a Low Ready stance, you begin clearing the perimeter.

The living room is surprisingly neat. No photos, no television. You check the kitchen—it looks used, but not much. Moving into the hallway, you notice a smaller drone following you. You turn—it’s another of Barbara’s drones. You ignore it. She was going to keep an eye on you anyway.

The hallway is empty—no paintings, no pictures, just closed doors. You scan each one. A bedroom with a bathroom—empty. A guest room—empty. A bathroom—empty. At the end of the hall, a different door. You press your ear against it—silence.

You glance at the drone, then press yourself against the wall, keeping your gun close to your shoulder with the barrel pointed upward. Your free hand grips the doorknob, turning it slowly and silently. As you open the door, you peek inside—a staircase leading down. A basement.

Your free hand returns to your gun, still aiming at the ceiling. Moving sideways, you descend carefully, step by step. The dust and dirt beneath your feet make you wince, and the creaking wood makes you tense. The drone behind you is getting on your nerves.

It’s pitch dark. If it weren’t for your rabbit mask, the dust would have you sneezing. Halfway down, the fight upstairs is no longer audible. If something happens to you down here and it’s not worth it, you’ll blame Barbara for the rest of your life.

A faint light catches your eye as the staircase takes a sharp turn. More steps lead further down. You crouch slightly, spotting the light illuminating a chair at the end of the basement. But it’s not empty—you see sock-covered feet.

Another step down—you see knees. Another—you see a lap. Step by step, until you finally see the unconscious figure.

As soon as you recognize the hair color, you holster your weapon and rush forward, heart pounding with anxiety and fear. You reach her and check her pulse.

Thump, thump, thump. Steady. You exhale in relief.

You bring a finger under her nose—she’s breathing evenly. Just unconscious, with some bruises.

Kneeling, you begin untying the rope binding her feet to the chair. That’s when you notice her dislocated knee. That bastard.

You start planning how to get Lyara to the hospital without revealing your identity. You pull the knife from beneath your pant leg and cut the ropes. But just as you finish freeing her, you notice the drone rotating between you and a whiteboard you hadn’t seen before.

Annoyed, you step away from Lyara and approach the board, noticing the photos pinned to it and the desk cluttered with papers beneath.

As soon as you see the images, your stomach churns.

Each picture shows a different woman. Some are naked, others clothed. Some are badly injured, while others show no physical wounds but wear expressions of despair, horror, fear—even rage. None of them were okay.

One of the photos is of Bea. Taken in this same basement.

You scan the papers on the desk, fury building inside you. Careful not to leave fingerprints, you sift through them. They’re reports—each woman listed like cargo. Names, ages, details. Some pages even have sticky notes—probably from Elliot Gravois.

Then you reach Bea’s file, and your heart sinks.

Name: Beatriz Sullivan

Age: 26

Sex: Female

Accepted or Rejected: Rejected

Reason: Not a requested woman. Clients do not want transgender women.

Post-it: January 18, The Burrow

Hands trembling, you pull out your phone and take pictures of everything—papers, images. You’re going to get to the bottom of this. You’re going to find out why Elliot Gravois made this personal.

Stowing your phone, you return to Lyara. Carefully, as if she were made of glass, you lift her bridal style and prepare to leave.

The drone follows, but this time, it moves ahead—leading the way. Good.

You ascend quickly, squeezing through the doorway without jostling the blue-eyed girl. The fight upstairs still rages. Practically sprinting through the hall, you hear a loud crash above—then silence. The fight is over. Shit.

Reaching the window, the smaller drone peels away, leaving you with the larger one, still stationed outside. You sit on the windowsill, swinging one leg out, then the other, making sure Lyara’s head doesn’t hit the frame.

You start moving quickly—but freeze. A shadow stretches from a nearby building.

You look up—and there it is.

Gotham’s most feared and admired silhouette.

You feel his eyes piercing into your soul. But you don’t have time for this.

You start walking again.

You don’t care if he follows. You’re heading straight to the hospital. You already have a plan.

---

You leave Lyara with the doctors and run out of the hospital—you need to get to your apartment as soon as possible, and luckily, it’s close. You sprint through the streets of Gotham, staying within the shadows. Your bare feet press against the cold pavement, adrenaline surging through your body, but all you can think about is Lyara.

Once you reach your apartment, you pull off your mask and rush to your bedroom. You change into something comfortable but not the clothes you usually wear as Rabbit. You get rid of your weapons, keeping only the knife hidden in your boot. Then, you head to the bathroom, wash your feet, and put on your shoes. Taking a moment, you run your fingers through your hair, throw on your signature cap, and leave your apartment. As you descend the building’s staircase, your phone rings—it’s a call.

You don’t stop walking. You keep moving down the stairs, exiting the building as you answer the phone.

—"Hello, good evening. Am I speaking with [Name] [Last Name]?" A woman’s voice comes from the other end of the line.

—"Yes. Who is this?" You respond, masking your breathlessness, pretending you weren’t waiting for this call or running through the streets.

—"I’m calling to inform you that Lyara Valtieri has been admitted to Mercy Hospital. Your number is listed as her only emergency contact. Could you come in to fill out some paperwork and discuss her condition?"

—"Of course. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes."

The woman hangs up after telling you they’ll be expecting you. You shove your phone into your pocket and start running even faster, this time with the wind at your back.

The night is surprisingly calm for Gotham, and you reach the hospital without any distractions or obstacles.

Inside, the stark white lighting is blinding compared to the dark streets. You approach the reception desk. The receptionist immediately recognizes your voice and hands you some forms to fill out. After completing them, she gives you directions to Lyara’s room. You thank her and head toward the elevator.

As you press the button for the third floor, you think about what the receptionist told you. Lyara is stable—some bruises, but the only serious injury is her dislocated knee. A couple of months in a cast, followed by rehab, and she’ll be good as new. Now, all that’s left is to wait for the drugs in her system to wear off. After some final tests, she’ll be discharged.

You step out of the elevator, making a few turns—right, then left—until you find room 407. Your hand grips the doorknob. You take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, and exhale slowly. Carefully, you crack the door open and peek inside.

Lyara lies unconscious on the hospital bed. The receptionist mentioned that she had woken up briefly, given her name, begged for you, and then passed out again.

You step inside and close the door behind you. Dragging the stool from the corner of the room, you place it beside her bed and sit down, gently taking her hand in yours.

Guilt settles in your chest. If you looked in the mirror right now, you'd probably have the expression of a kicked puppy. You truly feel awful. Both of you knew what you were getting into when you turned The Burrow into a place where information is sold—a meeting spot for the rich and the criminals, a refuge for women desperate for money.

You still remember how recruitment worked at the beginning—wandering through Gotham’s red-light districts, handing out business cards with the club’s address and a wad of cash to women who needed an escape. How difficult it was to earn the respect of the criminals in the area. And thank god it was Lyara who handled the rich clientele, because you can’t stand them.

At some point, exhaustion takes over. you don't even notice when you fall asleep.

---

As soon as Barbara saw a person wearing a black bunny mask with bulging red eyes, she should have alerted Tim, who was inside the house fighting with Elliot Gravois, informing him of an unwanted company and a possible threat. However, it was the gesture for silence that made her hesitate, because who sees a drone and asks for silence? So she decided to stay quiet and follow this mysterious person, there was no need to distract Red Robin for now.

What Barbara didn’t expect was to find a poor girl kidnapped in Gravois' basement, nor did she expect the mysterious person to come just to save her. She imagined her surprise when she saw the amount of information in that basement. She watched as you took pictures but decided to let it go, preferring to focus on helping you protect the girl, guiding you through the house.

—Who is that?— A rough voice asked over the communicator.

—Not a threat, let them go, the girl in their arms needs a hospital.— Oracle responded without room for debate, earning a grunt from Batman.

—Try to find the girl, maybe she can give us useful information.

—Of course.

Red Robin captured Elliot Gravois and decided to be the one to interrogate him. He didn’t touch the evidence, it wasn’t necessary; Barbara had scanned it with the drone, and the physical evidence could be handed over to Commissioner Gordon. While Red Robin interrogated Elliot, Batman called Nightwing. As soon as Oracle found the kidnapped girl’s name and the hospital she was admitted to, she sent the information to both of them so they could investigate together.

Barbara continued to delve deeper into the girl’s life. Her name was Lyara Valtieri, there was scarce information on her besides living in an apartment in the Upper East Side and owning a nightclub in The Narrows, nothing particularly important. There was barely any information about her parents, but it seemed she came from a wealthy family. This only made it more puzzling that she had been kidnapped, as up until now, the kidnapped women were prostitutes or homeless women without families—women who wouldn’t be missed. This made her furrow her brow in confusion.

She reviewed the information again—wealthy family, apartment in an affluent area, nightclub in The Narrows... Where was this nightclub located? Her hands quickly typed, finding the address and the name of the nightclub. "The Burrow" sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it... oh wait, of course! It was the nightclub her father mentioned at lunch, where they found a murdered woman... She typed again. Beatriz Sullivan, 26 years old.

A hunch led her to search through the reports she had scanned with the drone. She went through a lot of names of different ages and found what she was looking for. One of the women kidnapped by Elliot Gravois was that girl, Beatriz. Why did he leave the body at that nightclub? Why did he kidnap the owner? How could the two women be connected?

The night was going to be long.

Mercy Hospital; January 19, 4:57 AM

Your consciousness slowly awakens. You begin to hear muffled voices that become clearer as you start to stir. You feel a tight grip on your hand, which is strange because the grip seems like a pattern. You don’t open your eyes, even though your back hurts and you want to stretch, a voice in the back of your mind tells you to pretend to sleep. The voices are now clearer in your head, a man is speaking to Lyara.

—Did you know the man who kidnapped you?— The voice is serious but kind, with a tone of understanding, as if not trying to pressure her. You’ve heard that voice somewhere before.

—No, I’m sure I’ve never seen him before.— Lyara responds, she’s lying, but that’s something only you can tell. And even if the man notices, it could go unnoticed, as if she wasn’t sure she hadn’t seen him, as if she had forgotten, but the man doesn’t press.

A second voice surprises you, and this is when you’re grateful to have your face hidden between your arms because your eyes widen in surprise. Now you understand that the grips were Morse code "don’t move" was what Lyara wanted to tell you.

—Do you know the person who saved you? The girl with the bunny mask?— The voice is rough and intimidating, dry but direct, it’s impossible not to recognize it, because it’s Batman’s voice, and now you know who the other man was—Nightwing is in the room too.

You close your eyes again and try to focus on your other senses, especially touch and hearing.

Lyara tightens her grip on your hand, she’s good at acting but is too tired, afraid of slipping up if she hasn’t already. Two years ago, you both created an entire story for situations like this. You repeated the lie so many times that you almost started to believe it yourselves. But should she really? She could just say she didn’t know what they were talking about, she was unconscious anyway. Now she would appreciate having woken you up when she woke up.

—I’m not sure what are you talking about, Mr. Batman.— She opts to say.

Now, Batman is no fool, he’s been observing, scrutinizing her gestures and micro-expressions, but from his position at the door of the room, he can’t see the person who is sleeping next to her very well. He can’t see the grip on their hands because she made sure to hide them away from the bed, hoping Nightwing noticed that.

This interrogation isn’t helping them, they’re not getting any useful information, Batman grumbles. Nightwing looks at him over his shoulder and catches the message “let’s go,” so as soon as the younger one says goodbye, they both leave the room.

Once they leave, Lyara starts breathing normally again; she didn’t even know she had been holding her breath. You lift your head and stretch your back. The pain you had been ignoring starts to become unbearable, and the crack of your bones from stretching doesn’t surprise you. You let out a yawn.

—Oh my god, my heart almost fell out of my chest.— Lyara says, putting a hand on her chest and letting out a long sigh.

—How long have you been here?— You raise an inquisitive eyebrow that doesn’t last long, then rub your eyes to clear away the sleep.

—About five minutes before you woke up, when I noticed your breathing change, I almost freaked out.— She laughs and takes your hand when you place it back on the bed.

You can’t help but look at her with a mixture of concern and admiration. Even with the bruises on her face, even with a cast on her leg, she still finds a way to laugh.

—We’re going to have to talk about a lot of things, Lya.— You tighten your grip, and she gives you a sheepish smile.

—I know.— She whispers.

🩷🩷🩷

Tag list!!

@anamiranda7383 @crystal-freak24 @serlazvi @regloml @jscrawls @cxcilla @heartjwonie @pix-stuff @hjgdhghoe @ritzes28 @zlovesreading @astrelz @omnivirgo @onlybe-satanonce

[slut4megantheestallion]

Arcane women x reader who is part of the du Couteau family? Please! I really need it.

Arcane Women x Du Conteau reader Headcannons

Warnings ⚠️: Mentions of violence, family expectations, mentions of alcohol , mentions of combat, angst.

Characters: Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn,Sevika, Mel.

-Vi

●"Damn, sweetheart, didn't take you for the highborn type. Thought you'd be too busy drinking wine with stuck-uo nobles to get your hands dirty."

●Vi doesn't trust you at first. A du Conteau in Zaun? Sounds like trouble. Your family name alone sets off alarms in her head, and she expects you to be just another power-hungry Noxian. But once she sees you in action - fighting with precision, unshaken by the chaos of the Undercity- she starts to respect you.

●She loves sparring with you. Your technique is polished, refined, and deadly, whereas she fights with brute strength and street-learned aggression. You get under her skin when you dodge her punches with ease, smirking as she grits her teeth. "You gonna hit me, or are you just dancing around?" You taunted.

●Vi might not fully understand Noxian politics, but she knows what it's like to have a name that carries weight. If your family disapproves of her, she won't lose sleep over it. "They can come over after me if they want. Won't change a damn thing."

●She calls you "princess" as a joke, especially when you get a little too proper about something. But she loves seeing the ruthless side of you - it reminds her that you're not just some delicate noble.

-Caitlyn

●"The Du Conteau family... I assume you're well-versed in both politics and combat?"

●Caitlyn is intrigued by you. She knows about Noxian nobility and the weight your last name carries, and she's immediately assessing whether you're a threat or an ally.

●She admires your tactical mind. Whether it's tracking criminals or navigating the web of Piltover High Society, you're a strategist at heart. The way you analyze a room, assess power dynamics, and remain composed in tense situations reminds her of herself.

●Your combat skills fascinate her. You move like a ghost, striking with precision and efficiency. If she ever watches you fight, she studies your every movement, fascinating by how different yet efficient your technique is.

●The two of you have intense discussions about justice, power, and the differences between Piltover and Noxus. You challenge her ideals, forcing her to think beyond Piltover's black-and-white morality.

●She's protective of you, even though she knows you can handle yourself. If someone insults you for your Noxian background, she'll shut them down instantly. "Judge them by their actions, not their name."

-Jinx

●"Wait, wait, wait - you're telling me you're some kinda fancy- pants assassin noble? Pfft, that's hilarious!"

●Jinx finds the idea of a Du Conteau hanging out in Zaun ridiculous - and endlessly entertaining. She mocks you at first, calling you "Lady Stabby Stab" or "Dagger Duchess," but once she sees what you can do, her interest skyrockets.

●She loves pushing your buttons. If you're the serious type, she's constantly messing with you, testing your patience. "What happened if I steal one of your fancy little daggers? Ooo, are you gonna assassinate me? Spooky!"

●But deep down, she respects you. You're dangerous, calculated, and not easily rattled. Even when she's at her most chaotic, you don't flinch. That both excites and unnerves her.

●If you ever show a wilder side - reckless, ruthless, or unpredictable - Jinx is hooked. She thrives on chaos, and if you embrace some of that, she'll see you as a kindred spirit.

●She adores the contrast between you and her. A trained, disciplined noble choosing to spend time with a manic, volatile criminal? Now that's a story.

-Sevika

●"Hmph. A noble walking around Zaun? Either you're lost, or you're looking for a fight?"

●Sevika isn't impressed by your name or your staus- Zaun doesn't care about Noxian nobility. What does impress her is strength, amd you? You have that in spades.

●She doesn't waste time with pleasantries. If you want her respect, you have to earn it. A fight is usually the fastest way. If you hold your own, she'll smirk and say, "Maybe you're not just some spoiled brat after all."

●She likes drinking with you. If you can handle strong Zaunite liquor without flinching, she'll give you a nod of approval. If you do flinch, expect some teasing.

●If she sees that you're tired of noble politics and the weight your name, she'll simply say, "Then stop pretending. You don't owe them a damn thing." Sevika doesn't care about legacy - only survival.

●She's fiercely protective once she sees you as her own. If anyone dares to threaten you in Zaun, she'll handle it- violently.

-Mel

●"A Du Conteau? How... fascinating."

●Mel recognizes your name immediately. The Du Conteau are known in Noxian circles, and she loved the intrigue of it all.

●The two of you engage in sharp conversations. Every word is deliberate. Every glance calculated. It's like a game of chess where both of you are five moves ahead.

●She admires your strategic mind. If you play the political game well, she'll be even more drawn to you. Power is attractive, and you know how to wield it.

●She appreciates beauty, and if you carry yourself with grace and confidence, she'll take notice. Expect lingering touches, soft compliments, and knowing smirks.

●"You're family values strength above all else. Tell me, my dear - where do you find your strength?" Mel doest just want you to know your skills; she wants to understand you

●If your family disapproves of your association with her, she's utterly unbothered.

●"Let them watch, I enjoy an audience."

[theblackfemininesociety]

Hello ladies & future ladies of BFS 💋

We’ve been hearing all this talk about “Pretty Privilege” and although it is very REAL no one is really talking about how to maximize your beauty to benefit from it. It’s not about “if you have it or you don’t” we believe here at The Black Feminine Society is all about unlocking and reaching your full feminine potential! It’s about self love and adornment! The answer comes down to one question: Do you value your beauty?

Are you nurturing those beautiful brown eyes and curls or those beautiful cheek bones and curves ? Or are you just waking up and barely washing your face, not putting any effort into your outfit, barely touching your hair or covering it and rushing to get where you need to go? Here’s the real ☕️ : You’re sleeping on yourself babe, it’s time to wake up.

What is Pretty Privilege?

Pretty privilege refers to the advantages and benefits that people who are considered conventionally attractive or good-looking often receive in society. This can include things like receiving more attention, better job opportunities, or being treated more favorably in social situations simply because of their appearance. Essentially, it highlights how physical attractiveness can influence people's experiences and interactions in everyday life.

THE TRUTH: Black women are the most beautiful people on this planet! We are the original blueprint 🧬 when we exist in our femininity we are a force to be reckoned with!

Step 1️⃣ : Lean into your unique beauty black girl ! Embrace it. Insinuate it! Learn how to use skin care and makeup to highlight what’s already there! A good skincare routine on top of little mascara, blush and lipgloss that compliments your melanin can go a long way. Give yourself the love you deserve and take a little time to enjoy and pour into your beauty.

Step 2️⃣ : Wear clothing that works well with your body type! Pick out flattering pieces that compliments your shape not hide it! It’s okay to wear things that comfortable to you but make sure you’re elevating your lounge wear and always accessorize!

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Step 5️⃣ : When you look better you feel better 💐 once you master the last four steps your confidence will go up and so will your aura! Smile and be kind, your aura and beauty will introduce you but your energy is what leaves a lasting impression. Pretty privilege isn’t just about physical appearances, it’s an energy! Beautiful woman with nasty attitude aren’t maximizing their pretty privilege they are hindering it.

Join our sisterhood!

✨ Follow us on Instagram 📸

💬 Join our ‘Ladies Room’ Group Chat : HERE 💋

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

i think two things can be true at once

mapi intended to tap daniela’s leg and does not and daniela feels violated by an action that from her pov is intentional

daniela is still the victim regardless of anything else that happens

but mapi genuinely believes she’s done nothing wrong hence the nature of that statement (i take great issue with the ‘alleged’ wording surrounding the online abuse because that is in no way ambiguous

mapi obviously at the very least still needs to apologise to daniela, even if she doesn’t believe she touched her or intended to touch her where she did. daniela still felt violated and deserves an apology

i don’t think mapi is this big bad predator that everyone has made her out to be, i honestly believe it was unintentional from her viewpoint but it’s caused real harm to daniela that needs to be addressed and in which the statement was lacking

thanks everyone for sending me your thoughts. i'm making a master post with different perspectives under the cut, but at the end of the day, i think we can all agree that this situation calls for a lot more empathy than what we have seen so far...

this doesn't need to be a situation where you are defending mapi. bottom line is that touching occurred. we can argue whether she touched her leg or private areas, but it doesn't change the fact that there was no need for mapi to touch daniela at all. and second, it negates daniela's own lived experience too.

either way it's intentional and not needed. mapi should not have done it, and 100% agreed that a little empathy goes a long way.

yes, like i've said before, there is a way to defend yourself without losing all empathy.

we don't know these players. and even if we do, that doesn't mean that people we know cannot act in a bad manner. rivalry or not, you cannot stoop so low as to retaliate in such a manner. this is a serious matter and cannot be reduced to a derby. we sure need to take this seriously!

the truth is rarely black and white, but what is more black and white is that there is no need to engage in any type of touching that has nothing to do with the play itself.

i hope it doesn't affect it at all. it shouldn't but people have their agendas...

it wasn't the right tactic. i would have handled things very differently and think the club has a lot to answer for as well.

i'm going to have to disagree with you in the "expected" part of contact. sorry but we need to change the attitude that being grabbed and groped should not be expected. that's not a part of football and we should not accept that it is.

there's a lot to unpack in your response, anon. but i think i've addressed a lot of it in my previous responses. bottom line, multiple things can be true at once, but the touching shouldn't have occurred at all.

[metalheadsforblacklivesmatter]

DEI seems to be redhats new code for "black" (are they still using "woke" as code for "black" or...? Whatever.

Let me explain what a DEI program REALLY IS. If a disabled veteran is applying for a cashier job, the job description may have basic requirements like good with customers, able to stand for long periods of time, familiarity with point of sale systems, etc.

But let's say he's missing one of his legs due to his time in the military. That's his disability. It doesn't effect his ability to do any of the tasks.

Even though the dude is perfectly capable of completing all of the listed tasks, he goes in for an interview, and the hiring manager sees his disability and decides not to hire him. In the hiring manager's mind, he feels just. "What if it's holiday season and I need him to lift 50 lbs up the stairs to help the stock workers?"

Now nowhere in the job description does it say that this person may need to lift 50 lbs up a flight of stairs. In fact, they're not even asking the other people that they're hiring for this role if they're capable of that. They're just assuming that this disabled man can't do it as a reason to not hire him. Even though he's not a stock worker and 99.99% chance the situation will NEVER come up that they need this cashier specifically to lift 50 lbs ever. (Also they never asked if he could lift 50 lbs, they're first assuming he can't.)

"BUT THAT'S ILLEGAL! SUE FOR DISCRIMINATION!" Yeah... I mean if you get a denial email saying "Yeah we don't want to hire you because you're disabled." Then I guess. But people are lucky if they don't just get ghosted by potential employers, and if they receive a reply it's a canned "We move forward with other applicants" from an email address that doesn't accept emails.

"BUT THEN IF NO ONE IS SAYING THAT THEY DON'T HIRE HIM BECAUSE HE'S DISABLED THEN HOW DOES HE KNOW?"

Because we KNOW ("we" being anyone that's experienced discriminating not just disabled people). Because we're told be people in the industry (that we're not applying for) "Oh, I'd never hire someone like you because..." and they list something that's not even in the job description. Because we spend a lot longer unemployed than others. Because we apply for jobs where we'd be a perfect fit and we're passed up for less qualified applicants. Because people that don't understand that discrimination is real are just BAFFLED that you, this perfect applicant have just a hard time finding a job. Because even when we do find a job we're treated differently. We're infantilized, treated as less capable, and don't always experience the same perks as the able-bodied cishet Christian white man. Because when we apply for jobs but cover our "DEI" characteristics (change our name to be more masculine or white, don't check that we're disabled in application forms, etc) all the sudden getting interviews becomes a lot easier for us.

Because just because you think we're stupid because of our race, disability, gender, sexuality, etc doesn't mean we are.

DEI simply means "Yo... maybe stop applying that random 50lb box requirement only to disabled people as an excuse to deny them..." (metaphorically speaking).

And yes. I have literally heard people say, "I would never hire a woman in tech because I've had to lift a 50lb server up 5 flights if stairs and what if we needed her to do that? I don't think a woman could do that." I've been told that MULTIPLE TIMES. Never have I been asked about my ability to lift 50lbs up a flight of stairs (spoiler alert, I can do it). And never have I been told this as a reason for my denial because no one says they're turning you down, you just get ghosted. But I have noted that the women I graduated with (especially the women of color) had a lot harder time finding jobs than the men did (and the women of color had harder times finding jobs than me even though they were a lot smarter than me).

-fae

[apolloendymion]

for the record btw, the answer is no, there is no such thing as an "addictive personality."

some key highlights from the article (emphasis mine):

During the 1990s, the term "addictive personality" was used by some pharmaceutical companies – and, perhaps ironically, to promote addictive painkiller drugs.

While marketing the opioid prescription drug OxyContin, for example, US pharmaceutical company Purdue Pharma instructed their representatives to tell doctors that only people with an "addictive personality" were at risk of becoming addicted, despite knowing that it was highly addictive and widely abused.

[...]

The idea that your personality determines whether or not you become addicted to a substance would have "suited the pharmaceutical industry very well", says Ian Hamilton, associate professor in addiction at the University of York in the UK. "It kind of lets them off the hook. The message is: 'if you're weak enough to develop a problem with our product, it's due to your personality, it's nothing to do with us'."

[...]

The addictive personality "is a black-and-white way of thinking about something that's highly complex", says Anshul Swami, a psychiatrist in adult mental health and addictions at Nightingale Hospital in London. "There is no one personality type [predictive of addiction] and there is no one person who is the same as another addict."

The article goes on to discuss various risk factors for addiction, which include high neuroticism, depression, childhood trauma, genetics, and even sex and gender.

The experts they interviewed also go to great lengths to point out that some of these traits are a "chicken and egg" situation. A study may find that addicts are more likely to be depressed, but is that what made them an addict, or is the addiction causing their depression?

They mention that establishing causility for genetics, sex, and gender is especially tricky.

But Hamilton warns that there may be significant data gaps as women are less likely to seek treatment due to childcare issues and stigma.

[...]

"Psychosocial factors like violence, sexual abuse and emotional neglect are strongly associated with addiction," says Swami. "Many people will say 'I've got a history of addiction, it's because of my genetics'. But when you drill down in their clinical history, you find that there was a lot of drinking, neglect, abuse, trauma and deprivation. That has been passed down from generation to generation and has surfaced as an addiction."

I'm reminded of my own family. My sister worked like hell to avoid losing custody of my niece due to her heroin addiction. I'm grateful that she could keep her daughter and receive treatment, but not everyone is so lucky. I can certainly understand women who are too afraid of losing their kids to seek help.

My father has been sober around 40 years, and he used to tell me allllll the time that we both had genetically addictive personalities, as did his father. This gave me a complex, to be honest! When I consume alcohol, cannabis, my own prescriptions, even TV, video games, and sex, his voice rings in the back of my mind. It's hard to have a healthy relationship with these things when you feel like you're constantly teetering over a precipice.

Nevermind the fact that my late grandfather's abuse and neglect, plus the family's abject poverty, created ripple effects throughout his descendants. Nevermind that my father abused and neglected me. Nevermind that I had undiagnosed ADHD, and I suspect he does, too!

The problem must be that I have some kind of inherent evil within me. I must avoid anything that makes me feel good, lest I fall into sin. (sarcasm)

From my own experience, and from watching my friends and loved ones go through it, addiction is a combination of self-medication and built-up chemical dependence. There's no inherent "weakness" in a person that makes them a potential addict.

People will fill their needs with whatever they have access to. Sometimes this negatively impacts their quality of life and they want to get off of it, in which case we must help them find another way to meet their needs. Sometimes they're chemically dependent as well, and we must provide education and treatment to prevent serious harm (do NOT quit addictive substances cold turkey, I don't care what your AA sponsor said, that can Kill You!! yes, that very much includes alcohol!!) Sometimes they aren't even addicted! Sometimes they just successfully medicate with a stigmatized substance like cannabis or opioids. Maybe this creates a chemical dependence (as many medications do, addictive or not), maybe it doesn't. Maybe it has negative side effects, but the benefits outweigh them. Maybe it only works temporarily, but it gives them the support they need to build long-term solutions -- like a cast on a broken bone. Or maybe they'll be on it for the rest of their lives! Ultimately, they know the pros and cons, and they've decided it's the best way to manage their health. It's up to us to believe them, and to give them the tools to reduce potential harm.

One final quote from the article:

"Addictions are highly complex biological, psychological, social illnesses, just like every other illness on the planet," says Swami. "Everyone is looking for a simple answer, but there isn't one."

Okay I do not give a shit about this article at all but where did they get this picture of the skeleton wearing prescription pill armor

Like this is the coolest fucking thing I have seen in a while who made this

[miraculous-floconfettis]

Something i've been wondering about Emilie for a while

I have often wondered if Adrien suddenly wanting to go to school and sneaking out right after his mother disappeared had something to do with the fact that one of the two people who wore his amok wasn't there to control him anymore (especially since Emilie was the one who used the peacock Miraculous and thus, "created" Adrien).

Don't get me wrong, Emilie seemed to be a very kind and lively person. She definitely was a lot nicer to Adrien than Gabriel ever was, and Adrien always speaks very highly of her.

The Werepapas episode showed us a glimpse of what his life was before his mother disappeared and they definitely had a strong and sweet bond. They must have shared a lot of amazing and loving moments that will be forever engraved in Adrien's heart.

But nothing is ever black and white, especially in the show.

We've often assumed at the beginning of the show that Adrien growing up isolated from the world was Gabriel's doing, but we tended to forget that his mother was here when he was younger and he still wasn't allowed to go to school or have friends (let alone a birthday party). Emilie must have had a say in the way they raised Adrien and maybe she might have been against sheltering him, but she did nothing in the end, and Adrien was raised in a gilded cage till she disappeared.

We've only been shown crumbs of the person Emilie was when she was still alive and even though her light seemed dimmed in the videos Nathalie watched or in the Werepapas episode (because she was obviously sick), Emilie seemed to have a strong personality: Gabriel described Adrien as "emotional" and and also said things like "I have to apologize for my son, he’s like his mom, he’s way too overly dramatic" and "Quite a temper, you remind me of someone" before turning to his wife's painting in Simon Says.

What i'm reading between those lines is that Emilie wasn't an "overly dramatic" person, but seemed to be someone who stood her ground and didn't back off in front of her husband or anyone else, and wanted her opinions and wishes to be heard and fulfilled.

And even though i don't like the idea of her using Adrien's amok against him, it still was in the wedding ring she was wearing all the time.

Another thing is that Adrien is really fond of his mother so she definitely must not have been evil and she loved her son a lot and took good care of him. But as he lost her quite young, he also must have an idolized image of her.

The best example i can compare that situation with is Harry Potter: he grew up without parents so he created this perfect image of them in his head to compensate for his loss. Harry even defended his dad against Severus Snape when he accused James Potter of being "exceedingly arrogant". But in the later books, Harry came to face the hard truth that his father wasn't exactly the perfect person he thought he was (I'm not saying that Severus Snape was an angel, but he was actively bullied by James Potter and his gang so he has every right to loathe him). The only thing that differs in Harry's situation is that he was a lot younger than Adrien when he lost his parents. Harry never knew them, unlike Adrien who spent at least 13 years with his mom.

This is why i think that, even though Emilie was kind and loved her son more than anything, the only thing that Adrien remembers of his mom are the good times. The human mind often tends to choose to forget the bad times to compensate for the loss, and Adrien must have forgotten the bad memories like any person who lost a parent they loved would do (because there must have been bad times, any family as perfect as they want to be cannot be perfect all the time). 

[doodler16]

Trying to word this well but

Do you think either show would be better if it embraced the problematic elements? I don't mean like Angel and Val or misusing voodoo i mean like acknowledging Stolitz as toxic but the characters still persue each other or playing Blitz harrassing M and M more serious or not? Acknowledging like other characters being horrified/concerned and voicing that.

The shows play a lot of things for laughs and at the same time I'm like I def don't think Viv could pull off the needed nuance or proper weight to the drama but its like. I've seen several shows where the world sucks (like Hell) and the characters all suck and sometimes have consequences but it doesn't ruin the whole show or the comedy.

I would love if the show actually acknowledged and embraced its problematic elements. But at the end of the day it’s about the execution and Vivziepop picks and chooses when it’s convenient for her.

Sometimes, the topics in Helluva Boss can be nuanced and complex but we won’t get that because it’s Vivziepop. She has such a black and white view, can just straight up dumbs down a situation, etc.

Long story short: No, I don’t trust Vivziepop even if she embraced the problematic elements, she would backtrack somehow, Anon.

[ponyosfrogg]

IN-BETWEEN (PT 4)

Summary: Going back into the comics world knowing that they're just characters that you read hits different.

Pairing: Tim Drake x Female Wayne! reader.

Authors note: Gosh it's been such a long time. sorry abt it. 🥹💗 I hope this is worth the wait my little munchkins.

Warning: Some of the themes and contents written in this fic might be upsetting for some of the readers, read at your own risk. Some parts have strong language.

When your hand gripped your mug more, you gave a hitched breath. You had an uneasy feeling inside of you, your mind was all over the place, you've never felt more anxious before.

"You want to talk about it little bird?"

You raise your head, still in a little bit of disbelief, to look at Jason.

"Not really."

Your mind was wondering around your thoughts, you were sure this was not a dream. It wasn't hazy, in fact nothing ever felt more realistic than this moment.

Jason was on the other side of the couch, silently reading his book, you were just sitting and staring at the empty wall. after your smile he nodded understandingly and got back to his book that was occupying him for the whole morning.

It's been an hour or so since you wake up, in the fucking comic universe again apparently. You thought it was a dream and tried to pinch yourself multiple times, it did nothing but just make Damian glaring at you weirdly. Then somehow you convinced him to rain check on his plan saying some stupid shit like you weren't feeling like yourself and decided to trust something you can trust in both universes. A cup of coffee.

You looked at Jason again. His old scar on his cheek, green sweatshirt and black pants he's wearing, ruffled hair with a white streak, muscular body. He looked exactly the same on the panels but this time he was sitting right beside you, reading his book peacefully. You feel your anxiety rushing your mind and making you breathe faster. How could you possibly understand what was going around you. Everything seemed so unrealistic yet so real at the same time. They still think that you lost your memory probably but you were very aware of everything and maybe more since you grew up reading about their stories. You knew them more than themselves because you were also, once, on their mind reading their thoughts on the colorful panels.

Okay, one thing at a time. Dream or not, you need to find your way out of it or at least solve the connection between two worlds. You thought about writing everything you know on a piece of paper but what would happen if some of them accidentally find that paper, written everything in detail since they also think you lost your memory. That was very risky but again also, keeping everything in your mind was very hard too considering you had a mind of a fish literally.

Okay, what about telling them you got your memory back? Not a very clever move considering they are vigilantes who fight for the city and so called Viperia is one of them. They might take you on a fucking patrol and considering you have ZERO experience in martial arts and using a katana which is almost the same height as you, not a good option.

But how can you keep denying everything. You are in a manor full of detectives and at some point there's a high chance that one of you might figure out that you're not their actual sister but an imposter and beat you to death.

Yeah, maybe not to your death but you got the point.

And asking one of them for their help? No. That could fuck up the whole situation. They see Viperia as their sister and you being an imposter takes you back to the other option where you'd get beaten up.

It was a dead end but your mind was working as fast as it could, trying to come up with new solutions, just, none of them were useful enough. Maybe you needed some air or something.

"Jason? You wanna go for a walk?"

He put his book beside and looked at you. He had one of these glares which would make a lot of people fall in love with him as soon as they see him. The one that seemed like could read your whole soul like an open book without even flinching but also always giving the feeling of trust. It was literally impossible to achieve yet he was standing right in front of you with all of his glory. Definitely the creator of him was playing favorites and Jason was one of them.

"Yes, around the manor?"

He was still thinking that you lost your memory and didn't want to overwhelm you with all the city noise and danger. He remembered when he came back from the death coming out of his grave wasn't the hardest part, it was all the loud voices he had to deal with. Lights, muggers, rushing people and the ugly rainy weather which was the signature thread of Gotham now. But you didn't even want to go to Gotham anyway. Yes it was all fun and games to read that everything that was happening in this gloomy dark city but being in it? It wasn't so fun. What would happen if you came across some thief, or worse Joker's himself. You didn't want to walk around in Gotham as the daughter of fucking Bruce Wayne even though you trusted (?) Jason Todd.

"Sounds great. Let me grab my shoes from my room"

You got up and quickly ran towards the stairs. This manor somehow managed to smell so good. Maybe it was because of the expensive perfumes or maybe it was Alfred's amazing cooking. Yes, comics weren't giving him the appreciation he deserves, he was some sort of food god and you were sure of it.

When you entered your room, you closed the door behind you and turned around, just to find a woman in front of your wardrobe, checking the pictures you looked at last night.

"May I help you?" you spoke with uncertainty in your voice.

"You shouldn't be here."

You could only see her back since she didn't even turn to look at you. She had black wavy hair almost as long as to come around her hips and a long black coat. Who would even wear a coat in the middle of the summer. Oh, right. It was Gotham.

You didn't know why but you didn't feel any kind of fear. It almost felt like home. Was she Talia? No. She wouldn't wear something like this but again, what do you even know.

"You shouldn't be here either i guess, since you sneaked into my room." Trying to scare some kind of lunatic by being bold? That's how things go in this universe you suppose.

"I sensed some abnormalities in the Multi-verse and magic realm. It started two nights ago and i just followed them. Who knew our one and only Batman had a daughter right?"

She turned around and you saw her face.

Oh fuck,

She was fucking Zatanna.

With all of her beauty, she was standing right in front of you, her blue eyes as clear as the sky, she had this kind of face that you only saw her doing to bad guys, well read at least. Annoying and slightly scary face. And she also knew that you didn't belong here?

Well i guess so much for making a low profile.

You fear growed inside of you, you knew yelling for help wasn't an option since she could easily turn into you a rabbit or I don't know, kill you? It was mostly up to her imagination and you knew she had a big one.

"Well, personally I didn't."

You just realized she had something on her hand and after finishing her sentence she showed it to you. It was a picture, the ones that you looked through last night. In that picture you were looking at Bruce who was busy with something on his computer. He was a little further from your camera so his face was kind of blurry.

"I'll be honest with you, i don't like intruders. Especially the ones from another universe we already have enough on our plate.

Okay, for starters you never actually imagined Zatanna being so intimidating in your imagination. Because when you were reading the comic she was only mean when she needed to. You just never thought you would be one of them but for defense, who would've thought.

"So I advise you to go back to your universe trespasser because next time I'm not going to be this nice, this is a warning.

Geez, was this her 'nice' personality. She looked like she could eat you alive without even hesitating to do so. You realized you didn't even move since she started talking but you felt like you lost your voice somewhere inside of you.

"Oh, you can move now." she said smiling, with her voice you left a deep breath you didn't even know you were holding. Why were you even holding it? Oh. Oh... She already made a spell. You bend over a little bit and put your hands on your knees to cough. Your lungs were burning with the oxygen again. You missed when your problem was just deciding what to eat at dinner.

When you feel slightly better you put your hand on your heart to feel your heartbeat. It seemed normal, well as normal as it can be since you almost died. But in this universe it appears that you weren't dealing with heart issues because normally you would die because of the rhythm.

You stood straight again, confidence leaving your body completely with her stone cold gaze.

"I didn't mean to intrude," you finally manage to say, your voice still shaky from the encounter with Zatanna's magic. "I don't even know how I ended up here."

Zatanna raises an eyebrow, her gaze softening slightly. "Well, you better start explaining yourself quickly, then."

You told your story to Zatanna, recounting the unbelievable chain of events. How you woke up here, believed you had lost your memory, and then woke up in your original universe, discovered the existence of a new character in the DCU who was essentially you. Every little detail. It felt like a surreal dream, but you soon realized it wasn't. Zatanna listens intently, her expression unreadable, as she processes the information. With each word, you notice her eyes flickering with interest, as if she's piecing together some puzzle in her mind. She doesn't interrupt, instead making silent calculations as you divulge the details of your journey. You can't help but wonder what she's thinking, and whether she believes you or not because you know that if she doesn't, there's a high chance that you'll continue your life as an animal. Well at least, Damian treats his animals quite nice.

But nonetheless, you were feeling some kind of relief because as you were telling your story, you realized how much you felt like you needed to share this with someone and knowing that she's one of the few characters in this universe who might comprehend the complexities of the multiverse due to her experiences. Also Zatanna's reputation as a skilled sorceress precedes her in the comic universe, and you can't help but feel a spark of hope that she might hold the key to solve this thing.

"So you only change universes when you're asleep in one?"

"Seems like it." You could sense that she believed your story. Well, she probably feels when someone is lying to her so that shouldn't be a coincidence.

"You must have known a lot about this universe then since it was some sort of book in your hands, Am I correct?" you could sense some kind of testing in her voice. As if you shouldn't have said that. You just nod as an answer.

Zatanna fixed a stern gaze on you, her blue eyes piercing through the air. "Listen to me carefully, the future isn't set in stone, and every action has consequences. Interfering with events could lead to unforeseen outcomes, and you might end up taking someone's attention that you wouldn't want to take." Her serious voice made you even more scared than you already were. you knew you were in some kind of messed up situation but you always thought the main thing to worry about was to be able to stay in one universe, not someone tracking you like an animal to hunt you down.

"No meddling or helping, be cautious about sharing too much. Revealing future events or secrets can disrupt the delicate balance of this universe. Even if you know what is going to happen, let it be. This is not your universe to save, do not ever interfere did you hear me?"

She said the last four words were sharper than the others with a little breath between them. You nod again, and wasn't able to find the voice to talk.

"This universe might not be real for you but it is real for those who live in it, until i solve your problem and figure out why you are here, you stay low. I'll cast a spell so no one can track you down like I did. As soon as I find a solution, you are going back to your universe."

She opened her palm just to create some kind of necklace with purple stone that looked like amethyst.

"Don't take this off. Ever."

When she closed her hands again, you felt a little more weight on your neck, just to find the necklace on your neck. your fingertips touched the cold stone. you could feel the energy coming out of it.

Just as you prepared yourself to ask your question, your room's door opened like someone was trying to get in. Without any knock.

You saw Jason's worried face looking at you and suddenly you panicked that he might see Zatanna and ask some questions about it. but when you looked behind, there was no one. You touched your neck just to make sure of her existence.

Your necklace was hanging around your neck.

"Are you okay little bird? it's been some time."

He said as he closed the door after him. He was suspecting something. Your window was completely open and you were still standing right next to the door. You looked paler than you were before like you saw some sort of ghost. He was genuinely worried about you considering you were dealing with a lot of situations right now. he could understand how painful it must be for you to get through all of these things.

"Yes, I'm okay. I just thought I saw someone and got scared."

He moved closer to the window to check if someone tried to get inside. It would be the last experience of their life considering everyone in this house was well-trained vigilantes. He didn't see anything and almost convinced it was because of the losing memory thing but then he realized the necklace around your neck. It had a distinct design that Jason has never seen.

"Hey, what's that?" He pointed to the necklace, curiosity piqued.

You instinctively covered the pendant with your hand, feeling a bit protective of it. "Oh, um, it's just a necklace I found. I thought it looked nice, so I put it on."

Jason raised an eyebrow but didn't press the matter further. "Alright, as long as you're okay. You ready for that walk?"

You nodded, eager to get some fresh air and clear your head after the encounter with Zatanna. You followed Jason out of the room, trying to act as normal as possible despite the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions inside you that crashes you.

You decide to take a deep breath and leave this matter in your room, just to enjoy some good moments with one of your favorite characters of all time. Well, you really should stop referring to him as a character too though, since you were in this universe now and he was a real person. Even though it was kind of weird.

When you guys were going down the stairs Jason's phone rang. he was in front of you so when he stopped you couldn't help but bump him with a sudden reflex your hand grabbed his shoulder to stop yourself from falling.

Your movements surprised you as if you were as slow as a sloth in your universe. It was not because you were lazy no, it was because your poor heart wasn't able to deal with too much movement that's why you were never into any kinds of sports. You couldn't even catch a ball if they threw it right onto your face.

He looked at you to see if you were okay before opening his phone and started to move again.

You were eager to know who was on the other end, you couldn't help but listen in, despite knowing it was wrong. You slowed your steps, tried to breathe much more quieter, tuning in to the conversation.

The voice on the other end sounded quite soft and young, he was most likely Jason's best friend Roy. You were familiar with his character when their own separate comic journey came out some years ago. and also considering Jason only has like three friends there weren't any other options. 'The outlaws' Although you didn't enjoy how the comic was going, you kept reading for their developing friendship and of course for Kori. That woman was the embodiment of power.

"Yeah, I was planning to join you last night, but family matters came up." Your thoughts stopped wondering when you heard him talk again. You couldn't quite understand what Roy was saying because Jason was walking fast but from the talk of the Jason, you kind of assumed they were expecting him to come yesterday and probably you were to so called up family matters.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to make it tonight either. The harbor, you say?" There was a brief pause. "Alright, send me the location. I'll be there in an hour." Something about the Harbor though, made you feel uneasy. but again you couldn't overthink it when Jason hung up the phone and turned around to face you.

You tried to act like you didn't overhead the entire conversation and just stared at your feet.

"Something came up little bird I'm sorry but we have to reschedule our walk and I have to go to my friends."

"Is everything alright Jason?"

He paused again probably thinking himself if everything was alright but quickly started to smile. "Yes, don't even think about it. I just need to run some errands. I promise to make it up though, I hope it is okay for me to leave you."

A gentleman like always.

you smiled reassuringly and nod your head. "Yeah, sure. I will see you around." He hugged you before he grabbed his jacket nearby the door and rushed towards the outside.

Harbor. It seemed too familiar to not to think about it. There was a harbor in Gotham but it was probably far considering they were always going by their cars or motorcycles. At least that what was written in the comics.

You turned around too and started to climb stairs while you were thinking. It wasn't even afternoon and you already had enough encounters for the day. It was much more easier before you realized you were just travelling between worlds you thought. now you were stuck in your favorite comic series in the body of their assassin sister with the mind of your own. which was a curse in your opinion. you felt alone and you were actually all alone. 

when you reached your room you were glad there wasn't anyone lurking around the house today. Damian was out, Jason was out, Tim was probably reading or something god knows what and for Dick, you were sure he wasn't going to visit you anytime soon considering he was not in Gotham that often now so when he was here he was usually meeting with friends. at least in comics it was what he was doing. or maybe he was outside making phone calls to everyone he knows to find a solution for your so called memory loss.

Tim on the other hand had a calm morning. After Damian took you out of his room this morning, he stayed awake a little bit more to go over some of the details on his recent case since all he had to do was researching about your memory loss that night or thinking about you constantly. After he realized he wasn't productive at all he decided to sleep a little bit. Its been hours since he slept, hell, maybe days. he wasn't even counting at that point. Alfred was out, doing groceries that's why he didn't bother himself to prepare something to eat. He just got into his bed and slept.

After some time his body awake him. He wasn't used to sleeping much that's why he was always struggling with insomnia. The most he could sleep was maybe four hours in a good day but most of the time it wasn't even the case, the constant nightmares wasn't leaving him alone. He wasn't even remembering them after waking up but most of the nights when he fell asleep he was waking with a lot of sweat, out of breath, crying like a ten year old kid who's afraid of darkness. that's why he stopped patrolling for some time now. he was helping his family behind computers and he also didn't trust himself around you.

He drank a glass of water and checked the time. It was almost six, he slept for four hours which was very good. although he woke up multiple times. When he reached for his phone he saw a text from five hours ago. it was from Jason, saying that he went to the harbor for a deal and left you alone in the mansion. Tim sighed loudly, he hated when he was getting treated like a fucking babysitter over you or Damian. he quickly texted some swear words to Jason and get out of the bed.

Your rooms were close considering Dicks and Jason's rooms were on the other side of the mansion. It was only going to take like, i don't know, ten seconds to reach your room but he was already feeling too lazy to do so.

The weather was rainy, again. and it was already dark. Considering it's summer Tim just guessed that a storm was approaching.

When he was in front of your room he heard a little scream inside of the room so without knocking he barged in.

There you were, standing on Damian's bed with a katana on your hand. your hand was bleeding and your other hand was holding the katana like your life depending on it.

"What are you doing?"

He rushed towards you and grabbed the tall sword out of your hand and put it on the wall again. you gave a big sigh and you jumped out of the bed.

"I just wanted to see if they were real."

You said calmly. Tim got off the bed and turned around to face you. You were wearing black jeans with a big hoodie thats covering your face almost completly. the blood from the cut was dripping on the carpet slowly as you seemed like completely unbothered. He didn't say anything and went over the wardrobe to find a first aid kit. you fuys were getting injured more often than you would like to admit so there were first aid kits almost everywhere now.

"I guess you found out whether they were real or not princess."

He spoke teasingly while you rolled your eyes thanking every god or whatever you should be praying since you don't know who they are praying to in this world for not realizing you were lying.

You had an idea after long hours of thinking, you were going to follow Jason to be able to understand what all these Harbor things were. It was driving you crazy to not be able to remember anything because clearly it was important. That's why grabbing the katana seemed like a good idea until it wasn't.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the city skyline outside the window since you didn't bother yourself to open the lights. you were going to leave anyway.

He seemed like he just woke up. His hair was messy but in a pretty way, his eyes were a little puffy probably from sleeping so little and drinking all that coffee. his sweatpants were low on his waist. when he was doing stuff around the room you could see how his muscles were moving. he was the definition of handsome and charming.

Yes you loved every batfamily members, they were all good looking and such a husband material, at least you were thinking this when you were reading. sometimes when your feelings were overwhelming you, you were reading fan-fictions about them to ease your mind but it was not a lie that even though you forced yourself to read about others, it was always Tim that you found yourself reading. It was safe to say that he was your comic-crush if it was a real term. He was clever, quick, witty, charming and of course handsome. He was the nicest yet the baddiest character you've ever read. there was something about him that makes you want to jump all over him now that you realize it is Tim fucking Drake you're standing right in front of. You coughed to gather your thoughts and he came towards you with a bag in his hand.

Your heart was pounding being this close to him. You were getting angry at yourself for being this kind of a fangirl. He grabbed your hand and slowly he touched with a cotton that he put some alcohol early.

"Shit." you sweared under your breath. It was just a little cut and it wasn't even hurting that much beforehand but now it was burning like somebody put the hellfires  right on to your palm. After a little bit more alcohol he bandaged your hand.

He looked like he was doing some kind of operation. His eyebrows were frowned with concentration, you couldn't help but smile because of his nice touches.

"Enjoying yourself I assume."

He smirked while his eyes met with yours in seconds. You tried to look away but it was like the spell Zatanna cast over you this morning. you couldn't move.

Maybe the theories about him and the Viperia were true, they were secretly dating because he clearly had something for you, to be more exact Viperia.

"Don't get cocky Drake I can stare at whoever I want, wherever I want and whenever I want. It's my eyes after all."

He laughed with your answer.

"You still have your sharp tongue I presume."

His laugh sent a shiver down your spine, not from the cold but from something deeper, something dangerous. It had been so long since you'd heard that voice like this—lighthearted, teasing. For a moment, you wanted to let yourself get lost in it, but you couldn’t afford that luxury. You had bigger problems. Like what was about to happen at the harbor.

That's why you thought the sword was a good option to go with. since you were going to this mission in secret you needed a weapon just in case someone tried to attack you. Even though you had your hesitations you were sure that katana's itself is scary enough to drive people away.  but it was a horrible fail, who would've thought that thing would be heavy as hell.

"Why are you dressed like that anyway?"

He asked suspiciously while he looked at you with a great attention again. It was like he was trying to see through your lies and you were that if he stared at you more he actually might that's why you came up with a quick lie.

"Oh, I just needed some fresh air so I decided to go to the garden by myself..

He squinted his eyes like he was searching through your face. he wasn't convinced enough.

"Do you always get some fresh air while you dress like that?"

You sighed as you got annoyed.

"I didn't know Gotham had a dress code, Timbo."

You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes before brushing past him. If this conversation went on any longer, he’d put the pieces together, and you couldn't afford that. He was one of the best detectives in the world. He’d figure you out.

You were almost at the door when you felt the warmth of his breath against your neck. You froze.

"Careful, princess," he murmured, voice lower, softer—dangerous. "You almost have me believing that you got your memory back and you're hiding it from me."

Without another word, you pushed forward, quickening your pace as you  ran out of the room.

Damn it. He was too good at this. Too perceptive. Too much.

And you had to move fast before he caught up.

The wind was unforgiving, biting through your clothes as you shivered behind a stack of woods. The air was thick with salt and rusted metal. You could barely feel your fingers from the cold.

It had taken you almost an hour to find this Harbor. The walk was miserable, but you finally managed to track down the warehouse. Jason was inside, standing across from a group of masked men, Roy at his side, arms crossed. Both of them were suited up, Red Hood and Arsenal.

The wind once again blew your hoodie out of your head and you decided to give up from the secrecy. You have found the warehouse that the meeting was happening thank god. Through the broken window of this old warehouse. It seemed like it was an exchange: information for supplies. Standard business in Gotham.

But something about this moment—this exact moment—felt wrong again. Familiar, maybe even too familiar. As if you had seen it before.

Then, footsteps were heard. Soft but not quite. Like that someone wanted you to realize they were right behind you. You were fucked if this was one of the men from inside but you weren't going to give up without fighting. You turned sharply, already reaching for the knife that you put around your body—only to find Tim stepping out of the shadows, hands in his pockets, looking entirely unimpressed.

He was wearing a long black coat almost covering his entire body yet wearing nothing around his face. He was much more handsome under the moonlight and you realized how much his eyes resembled the sea.

"You really thought you could shake me that easily?"

You cursed under your breath, quickly grabbing his arm and pulling him down beside yourself to make sure nobody's seeing you.

"Are you insane? You can’t just walk up like that to me!"

"Right, because you're sneaking off in the middle of the night to spy on..."

He looked through the broken window with a deadpan look on his face.

"the red hood makes perfect sense, right?"

You were going to die that was for sure. You got caught and how could someone explain this situation.

"Why are you here?" He seemed more serious now. Your mind was racing, tracing back and forth to find a reasonable answer to explain all of these but the words weren't coming out of your mouth at all.

"I was… just curious."

Tim raised an eyebrow, didn't believe anything that was coming out of my mouth.

"Curious. About a bunch of vigilantes. During a weapons exchange. In the middle of the empty harbor. Alone."

He was scary when he was angry that's why you couldn't meet or refused to meet his gaze but his long fingers wrapped around your chin to make sure you were looking right into his eyes.

"Does this mean your memory’s back?"

That hit harder than expected. Your chest tightened and your breath hitched. There was no escape now.

"I—No. It’s not like that."

Tim leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower like almost a whisper. only inches away from your lips yet not stopping the eye-contact.

"Then what is it like? Because you're acting weird. for someone who just lost their memory you are quite active, persistent and curious. help me understand."

Before you could answer, movement inside the warehouse caught your eye. The sound of a gun being cocked. And suddenly, the scene hit you like a fast train.

The docks. The deal. The ambush. The gunfire. Blood. So much blood.

You have read about it, about this exact scene. It was when Roy Harper almost got killed and stayed in coma for months which pushed Jason over the edge of madness and made him a complete mess with a brutal side that kills everyone and everything that gets into his way.

It was one of the harshest things that you've read. It was a complete disaster.

You sucked in a sharp breath, eyes completely wide

"No. No, no, no—"

Tim frowned with worry.

"What? What is it?"

You spoke with a whisper like tone almost murmuring to yourself.

"This—this is wrong. If we don't help them it's gonna be worse than dying for Roy and Jason."

It was Tim's turn to be shocked.

"What are you talking ab—How do you even kno—You got your memory back right?"

You didn’t answer.

Because there was no time.

You pulled free, grabbing the knives strapped to your waist, and moved.

The window was big enough. You slipped through without hesitation, your body moving on autopilot. Everything was happening so fast Tim wasn't able to find an opportunity to react. There was a shooter hiding behind the barrels—you knew that. You knew because he was the one who shot Roy, the one no one saw coming.

You wouldn’t let it happen.

The knife left your hand before you could think. It struck metal, clattering against the barrel—enough to send the shooter scrambling out of his hiding place.

Chaos erupted.

Jason and Roy reacted instantly. Guns fired. Fists flew. The ambush was now an open fight, and they had a chance.

A chance they didn’t have before.

And then—arms wrapped around you.

Before you could struggle, you were yanked back through the window, landing outside the warehouse, pressed against something firm and solid.

Tim.

His scent filled your senses—coffee, rain and sandalwood, something distinctly him.

You gripped his shoulders to steady yourself, breathing hard. Adrenaline was leaving every part of your body as you tried to take deep breaths.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed, his tone sharp but quiet enough to keep from drawing attention to both of you.

His gaze flickered down, and suddenly, his expression changed. His eyes widened.

Your necklace was glowing.

His grip on you is tightened you could feel his fingertips piercing through your skin even though with your clothes on.

"Why is your necklace glowing?" he demanded.

He locked eyes with you, and this time, there was something ele

Suspicion.

Fear.

His voice was barely a whisper.

"Who are you?"

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Reaction fic idea!

Team 1 and Kim Rok Soo are placed in a theater, set up in the audience's seats. The chairs are modern, covered in soft, plush cushions. The edges of the arm rests glow an eery dark red, and seem to pulse at the regular rhythm of a human heart.

Kim Rok Soo wakes up. The air in his lungs is cold and his surroundings are foreign.

He recalls the night before, drinking with the company after they received some aged wine for another job well done- requested by yours truly. Despite drinking, he has no traces of a hangover. His clothes are the same as last night, but his new white button up is missing the dark purple stain that a drunk, deeply apologetic Jang Sejong was responsible for.

He rubs the back of his neck, frowning. He doesn't know what's happening, but it smells of a God. Something that shouldn't be messing around in their world like this.

Across the seats is a stage, covered by thick and heavy red curtains, except for a small opening in the middle. Behind the curtain, from what he can see, is an impenetrable darkness. It isn't moving but it strangely feels as if that the darkness is breathing. Looking around, Kim Rok Soo realizes that the black walls of the theater give a similar impression.

Standing from his seat, he finds that there aren't any physical restrictions, tangible or otherwise, besides a strange weakness in his muscles. It makes him want to sit back down. His team is scattered in the audience, some farther behind and some closer to the front. Out of all of them, Kim Rok Soo is situated on the chair closest to the front, right in the center. It feels purposeful.

There's many reasons for why he may be positioned in the front, but he has a feeling that it has to do with the previous owner of this body, the man now named Cale Henituse. The issue is that he doesn't know what that means for him, who is now inextricably linked to this situation.

As his team behind him begin to show signs of waking up, he smiles, eyes cold yet elegant. Time to do the thing he's best at:

Feign ignorance.

There is really nothing to gain here by revealing his secrets, his identity, or the potential cause behind their being here. It would cause confusion, twist minds, and sew distrust. He doesn't mind if his team finds out that he isn't their original leader- he can manage that just fine. It's just that...

It's too much work. Why would he do something so complicated right now?

The team member closest to him, Kim Min Ah, opens her eyes and he greets her with a casual wave.

"Good morning, did you sleep well?"

[newcaptainofsquad9]

Was This Vacation a Mistake? ~Crazy Rich Asians( Astrid x black! fem! reader)~Part 4

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5

Summary: Finally back home, you resume your life as a professor but find yourself still thinking about Astrid and the events of the vacation. Lucky for you, someone comes to spare you of any grief you still had.

Word Count: 2.4k

Tag List(I added folks were commented and enjoyed) : @madeleinecamilanightwood16, @ladydragonpurplefire,

Author's Note: Here's part 4 guys. Sorry this has taken so long. I'm going to try and end this fic this year within the next three chapters. Thank you for reading as always. And if you wanna be added or removed from tag List, let me know.

Classes finally started back, normalcy followed and that was all I could hope for. Everything that happened in Singapore is still there, how can I even try to forget it that fast? Rachel promised to speak about it whenever yet she had her own issues to deal with.

Apparently, she called it off with Nick after the debacle in his homeland; the entire situation has had me torn. I'm sure they'll talk it out, or take a long enough break to figure something out. Or maybe it was my fault, I shouldn't have even gone on the trip in the first place and Rachel would have been engaged right now. Nick's family would love her and not turning up their nose at me, her random Black friend.

I know, I shouldn't think like that. Rachel will nag me about it if she saw me here in my office frowning down at a student's paper. My red pink has marked it enough, perhaps a break is in order.

A soft knock rapped at my door. A student perhaps, Rachel would have texted or called if she needed something.

"Come in," I said, eyes still steady on the page.

A clack of heels and the clack of the door shut follows.

"What can I help you with?"

My pulse quickened at who's in my office now. From the heels I suspected an international student and their fancy abundance but here Astrid was dressed in a low cut white top, black blazer and high rise jeans. Her hair was pulled up and her shades sat on her head.

"I had to see you," she said, smiling softly. "How have you been, darling?"

I stood up, put away the paper I was grading and rushed toward her.

Astrid met me halfway, embracing me gently like I was made of glass, like she did when she first hugged me at her house a few weeks prior. It got firmer once she caressed my back, resting her chin down on my shoulder.

"Everything OK?" she whispered. "Nick's been worried."

"No, he shouldn't be," you groaned. "He should focus on himself, did he send you all the way here? W-What about Cassian?"

Astrid frowned. "Did I come at the wrong time? Cassian has the best nannies looking after him, and I wasn't going to be here long. Was my coming here not what you expected, wanted even?"

I caught the twinge of sadden edging in her voice.

"Y-Yeah, it's unexpected but it's not that I wouldn't want it," I tried explaining through burning cheeks. "You being here is great. I think it'll help."

Astrid stepped back, studying me and my office around us. Everywhere her eyes swept caught me with enough self consciousness to scold myself to clean a bit more around here, take some books back to my apartment sometime during another holiday.

"Your office is quaint, reminds me of you," Astrid said, stepping over to a stack of books I had on the cover of my desk that's stuffed with loose papers. "I bet you've read these dozens of times over, dissected them to bits for classes, yeah?"

I just nodded as our eyes met again.

"Yeah, mostly during undergrad and downtime between semesters now," I said. "I usually just read what the board signs off for my classes and short stories for my kids to tear into during discussions. Rachel and I had a little book club during our mfa time here ages ago."

Astrid chuckled. "Ages?"

"Seven years, give or take, ages to me considering where we are now."

"And where are you both right now, y/n?" Astrid said, crossing her arms.

"We're fine," I said a little too quickly. "Rachel just needs her time, and I-I don't want to mess up things more."

"She'd like to know how you're doing."

"Why? Did she beg you to come here?"

"Of course not. Y/N, are you truly all right?"

I bit my lip; that's a simple but loaded question. Astrid's concentration on me wasn't helping with me being entirely truthful either.

"Not really, no," I admitted.

"I'm so sorry, darling," Astrid said. "Do you have plans or classes for the rest of the day?"

"Well, I have another half hour of office hours."

"Have they really be in and out of here as of late, dear?"

Astrid stepped back over to the door, peeking from under my blinds for some sort of added measure.

"Ok, I guess my office hours are over today," I said, returning to my desk to push the paper I was grading back into my folder. "The rest of my schedule is clear. Did you have something in mind, Astrid?"

"Let me get your mind off of things, let me take you out?"

My face flushed at her words; she doesn't mean what I think she means, right?

"A-Are you asking me out, Astrid?"

"I don't know, if I say yes will that convince you?"

....

Is this a date or not? I didn't ask, yet the feelings were still there--deep in my stomach, my hands barely worked once we got to the restaurant--a chain not too far from campus.

Astrid even pulled the chair out for me, an act of common courtesy right? Rachel's not here and I can still detect her incredulous stare, hopelessly shaking her head--she'd believe it to be more. Should I text her? No, she needs space, I need to focus on this myself.

"Have you decided?" Astrid said, peeking over her menu. "Or do you need more time?"

"No, I'll have the grilled chicken club sandwich with a side of Mac and cheese."

Astrid nodded. "Great, I'll have the salmon and potatoes."

The waitress returned, took our menus and orders, and deposited our drinks at our sides.

Alone now, our eyes keep meeting and I need to try and not make it as awkward as it already is.

"So, do you usually do chain restaurants when you visit the states? Do you visit the states often?"

"Sometimes I visit when Nick is here and he's with Rachel," Astrid explained. "Not often but they have character to them. Not a lot of them have good options but their fries are a guilty pleasure of mine."

I giggled. "Really? Why didn't you order any?"

Astrid shrugged. "I wanted to try something different. Do you prefer chain restaurants? Or do you like something more lower scale? Higher scale, maybe?"

Her eyes swept to me once she said higher scale, smiling to spread the beauty mark on her face magnificently.

"Oh, I'm much more lower scale," I chuckled. "Still a struggling college student at heart but I'm not cheap as I used to be--I'm not cheap at all but--"

"Darling, I get it," Astrid said, laying a hand over my own. "Although, I hope I can give you a taste of that higher scale."

I wanted to draw back, not voluntarily but a knee jerk reaction; she's saying those things again and it's making me feel amazing. I know she means them but I'm not sure why I feel like she doesn't. Astrid's not like those ignorant people back in Singapore, not like the family who ridiculed you and Rachel. I don't even know if she likes women in that way, perhaps she is and I'm overthinking all of it. Maybe I should have contacted Rachel.

"Y/N? Are you all right?"

I decided to be honest and said, "No, not really. But I don't want it to ruin the night, or our time. We don't have to discuss it anymore, at least not right now."

Astrid started for a moment, thinking before nodding. "Of course, darling."

The waitress soon returned with our food, placing it in front of us before retreating to another table swiftly. My sandwich looked fine, Mac and cheese too but the taste wasn't terrible--not good, mediocre, nothing on Kraft or even what they fed us during grade school.

Astrid must have noticed my displeasure, frowning behind her bite of salmon. "Do you not like it?"

"It's not that good, but I'll manage."

"Do you want to replace it? I can tell the waitress."

I flushed, inching into my seat subconsciously, holding my fork tight. "Astrid, it's all right. I can just eat it."

"Why? I want this to be a great experience with amazing food," Astrid explained. "You deserve it, so why can't you let me do this for you?"

Do I really deserve it? I have been feeling shitty since the vacation in Singapore, since Rachel and Nick's supposed split and since--since I couldn't get over being singled out for something I can't control and shouldn't feel ashamed of being: Black. Black American for that matter.

And here Astrid is being so caring and genuine, willing to spend time and money on me; she does feel more for me more than Rachel or Nick's friend--I'm not entirely sure if it's romantic but there's something more here. I hope I'm not reading this wrong.

"Y/N? Whatever you decide, I'll do it for you," Astrid declared.

"Sure, you can order us some fries. Is it all right if we share?"

Astrid smiled; I could have sworn I saw a hint of red peak through her face.

. . .

After some amazing fries and some superb ice cream (thanks to some convincing from Astrid, flashing another smile and heavy eye contact).

She's even more convincing when we're sharing an Uber, laughing lowly at a joke I told. It wasn't that funny, well at least when Rachel's heard it but she's heard it a thousand times; something minuscule about an old job I had, something dry, something existential. Astrid's laugh though, how close she is and the contact--arms brushing mine due to how smaller the car is or for the fact that she's nudging me--or how she pays attention. I can't look at her without smiling which leads to more of the attention.

"You have a wonderful smile, has anyone ever told you that?" Astrid admitted. We finally got back to my apartment, still talking.

I invited her in without thinking, holding her hand so she doesn't trip over the hitch in the last step going up my floor.

"I think my mom told me before? Lots of times, maybe an ex boyfriend, maybe?"

Astrid scoffed, nudging me gently with her elbow. "I'm serious. Every time I see you, there's something new. Something that amazes me."

I pushed the door open, locking it fast as we both rush inside.

"Are you sure you're serious," I said, leaning against the door. My heart is pumping fast, hyper-like all in my ears. "What's with these things you've been saying?"

Astrid tilted her head. "Y/N."

"You have a child! You divorced someone--you're loaded and gorgeous, and I-I'm--"

"You're a beautiful woman I'm having a great time with," Astrid said, finishing my sentence before the words could come out. "Is my being a divorcee an issue?"

She asked the question with an air of humor and walked away from me, finally giving me a chance to breathe from her intoxication. At my bookcase by the wall that sat ways from the threshold to the kitchen, Astrid's attention swept over it, placing a finger up to the spines of the concealed books.

"No, of course not. I-I that's not an issue. Astrid, I-I-"

Everything's hot, burning, my face especially and I can't speak anymore.

"Darling," Astrid's in my presence again, worried.

"Is it OK if we talk more? If I can ask you more things?"

She nodded and I led her to my tiny sofa across from the bookcase, plopping down on it together; our eyes met yet again.

"Ask me anything, darling," she said. "Anything."

"Well, being divorced doesn't matter," I explained. "I just wanted to ask if you, um."

Sexuality is her business, anyone's personal business that they can choose to tell or keep to themselves. Yet she's here asking me and granting me the chance to get to know her better; I can show her a piece of me that I've only shown to the people closest to me.

"Tonight you were very touchy, encouraging and just overall flirty tonight and I--"

Astrid took my hand, slid so close that our thighs now touched. "And?"

It's obvious. So obvious or I'm just idiotic; Rachel would slap me over the head if she could.

"I-I'm bisexual, my liking includes guys, women, gender nonconforming people and everyone in between and around that umbrella," I explained. My hands couldn't stay still, Astrid saw, tightening her grip and rubbing her thumb over my knuckles. "And I-I'm into you Astrid--it seems like you're into me so, do you like women too or not?"

Astrid giggled. "Darling, I've been flirting with you since Nick and Rachel brought you home. I can tell this is a deep issue to you, so yes. I've married a man before, had boyfriends but I fancy women too. Dated a few in university but--that's not important right now. Y/N I'm mad about you too."

I'm giggling now too. It's an organic head-high, almost doubled over with stomach cramping and mouth hurting. Astrid followed in, hands high now: at my arms then shoulders and to my face; I wonder if she can feel the heat radiating from it and noticed how my laughter stopped.

It just happened. I didn't speak, neither did Astrid. Our lips met.

[codenamesazanka]

More Post-Canon Spinaraki!Kid Masanori.

＊

Late one afternoon, Deku arrives back at UA and is told by coworkers that there's a kid waiting for him in front of the school gates. A middle schooler, who refuses to say what he's here for, refuses to talk to anyone except Deku. Not an emergency, he just wants to talk to Deku. Kid gave his name as Shirakata Masanori; doesn't seem dangerous, just strange. Deku's call on whether he wants to meet the kid or send him home.

So of course Deku goes to meet the kid.

Shirakata Masanori is a boy with a quirk that gives him lizard features, it seems - he's short and slender, with white scales, shaggy black hair, pink eyes; in a middle school uniform, holding a file in his hands. Quiet and a bit stiff. Deku feels a weird sense of familiarity, and wonders if he's encountered the kid on a previous case before.

Shirakata-kun…is it? You wanted to talk to me? Do you need help?

In a way.

Kid says it's personal, but nothing more than that. Deku, starting to get a bit concerned, secures a private room for them to talk. He wonders a variety of situations: kid has a secret only a Hero can help with, kid did something wrong, kid is in some kind of danger…

After they sit down, Masanori breathes in, looks Deku in the eye, and says: You killed my father, so I'm here because I want you to make up for that.

It's not super unusual for people to ask compensation from Heroes - usually from family members of people that Heroes were too late to save in an accident or were collateral damage in villain attacks. Insurance often takes care of it, and HPSC has a division dedicated to dealing with such accusations, but of course Heroes work their hardest to make sure they save everyone so it's not a thing in the first place.

In the six years since Deku became a Hero again, he hasn't had any serious accusations - minor injuries that insurance took care of, and the rare nutcase claims - so this is a huge shock. Immediately sends Deku into a panic where he stammers out apologies and condolences as he mentally tries to think of every incident he's been in and what he's done wrong. He's been super careful because his Hero suit is after all just a suit, and he always tries to team up with other Heroes so they can cover for him in case that ever happens, and in every case he's saved everyone who was directly in danger, so what can this be...

The kid's unmoved - just watching Deku panic and ramble on, almost like he's a curiosity. And strangely, he seems very calm. No anger, no sadness, no yearning for meaning - none of the emotions a grieving son might have, especially if he's blaming Deku for killing his dad. There's an aloof, gloomy demeanor to him that's also really familiar and then the realization hits Deku like a smash.

Are you... talking about Shigaraki Tomura?

There's that familiar pang of guilt and pain that always occurs when Shigaraki Tomura is brought up. But all that is overshadowed by pure shock and disbelief.

Because it's ridiculous. Shigaraki was 21 when he died - not married (…which means the kid is illegitimate?); not impossible to have a kid at that age, but improbable (and yet the kid looks about age 15, and it has been 15 years since the war…). There were no accounts of Shigaraki ever being close to a woman. Investigation never revealed anything that might have ever pointed to him having a kid. Moreover, Deku, having been in Shigaraki's heart, never felt an inkling that Shigaraki ever knew he had a kid.

The closest people Shigaraki ever had were the League and among them, there was only... Spinner... who was also a lizard heteromorph...

But Spinner was a guy. And Spinner was never—pregnant? Or capable of having a kid, as far as Deku knew, and he's been in prison ever since the end of the war, til the end of his life a few years ago, and he never said anything either.

(Or maybe there was someone else… maybe Shigaraki just… got along with people with lizard heteromorphic quirks? A woman in the Meta Liberation Army that could produce such a child... but.)

This has all the making of a very, very outlandish and distasteful hoax, and yet, looking at the kid in front of him, Deku somehow knows that it's the truth.

Maybe it's that on closer look, kid looks exactly like the crying child Deku once saw in Shigaraki's heart - shaggy black hair, reddish eyes. Maybe it's just that his demeanor reminds Deku of Shigaraki. Maybe it's that Masanori looks 100% serious, looks like he's being totally honest, telling the truth.

Or what he thinks is the truth.

You're... You're saying Shigaraki is your father?

One of them.

…One of them?

Spinner’s the other one.

Deku has no reply to that. His thought was actually right, but he has no reply to that.

Masanori says that last year, he received a letter from Spinner, the League Villain, delivered by a lawyer. It said that Spinner and Shigaraki were his parents. That Spinner had produced an egg; then lost the egg during the Gunga raid, 15 years ago. He asked his lawyer to find what happened to the egg, if possible, and if a kid ever hatched from it...

That kid was Masanori. He hatched from an egg three months after the war. The egg was captured during the raid on the PLF Villa. No one ever claimed him, they never found his parents, and he grew up in an orphanage.

Masanori says maybe Spinner was insane, but the letter is real. Came from a lawyer, who also gave Masanori manuscripts of the League memoir Spinner wrote. But otherwise, Masanori has no proof other than the letter, which he hands over to Deku.

If what Spinner said was the truth, though. Then what's also the truth is that Deku killed Masanori's father.

Masanori hands over the photo of Deku smashing Shigaraki, which Deku flinches at. And so, yeah, Masanori wants him to make up for that. Compensation.

Deku skims the letter, but is not reading any of it. Can't. This is a lot to take in. Don't even know where to start.

This is… I can't just… What do you even mean… I don't…

Masanori breathes out slowly. I'm Shigaraki Tomura's son. Probably. If that 'probably' is 'definitely', then you, Midoriya Izuku, killed my father. So I want you to pay for that. I'm allowed to want that.

Those last parts shake Deku out of his daze.

…Pay?

It feels bad, but Deku has to be on guard. Though Masanori doesn't seem hostile or out for blood - it doesn't seem like this is a blood revenge scheme, which would be more likely if the kid is delusional.

Then, is this an extortion attempt? A scam extortion attempt? Pay, as in money? Compensation is given after a death. If Deku really is responsible for a death. If the death really is Shigaraki's death. If the kid is truly Shigaraki's kid.

Three things, Masanori says. I want three things:

1. Guaranteed admission to UA's General Studies class

2. A stipend for three years of high school, and

3. An all-purpose recommendation letter from Deku when Masanori graduates.

That throws Deku off again. It sounds… so reasonable. Sort of. It's, of course, also ridiculous. It doesn't sound like compensation at all. Reasonable as in kid's not asking for millions; but ridiculous in that kid's asking for things that's for Midoriya-sensei the UA teacher to do.

You want to go here? To UA?

I want you to get me into UA.

Deku shakes his head. I can't just... Did you take the entrance exam? That was last week.

Think like a teacher. That's still not addressing the massive bombshell of Shigaraki having a kid (with Spinner???), but as a teacher, Deku can get a grip on this conversation thread. As a teacher, he knows how to proceed.

You should've gotten the results by now. Did you not get in? Are you—you want to be a Hero? You want to go to UA to be a Hero?

No. I told you, General Studies. Masanori pauses. I never took the entrance exam. I missed it.

Then…

But you're a teacher here. And you're Deku. You can get me in.

No, I can't do that. Deku straightens up, becoming the teacher he is, one that has to deal with teenagers and their bizarre logic sometimes. That would be cheating. You have to earn your place here. Why didn't you take the exam?

I wasn't planning on going to high school. And then it was too late. I missed registration. I also had no time to study at all.

You weren't planning to go to high school?

Masanori shrugs slightly. I'm 15. The orphanage asked me to leave once I graduate middle school this spring. I was going to work.

And… Deku shouldn't say this, but he does. He has to ask. …you don't want to?

...Not if I could go to school.

By doing this. Deku gestures wildly the room, at whatever this is.

By doing this, Masanori agrees.

Deku can't understand the logic at all. He tries a different track. Nothing else to do but move on at the moment. Why UA? I mean, there's other schools, surely, if you just want a general program.

It's a good school, Masanori says. Basically everyone famous went here. You've got dorms.

So do other places.

Recapping. Masanori wasn't planning on going to high school. He didn't study, didn't take any exams. Then for whatever reason, he decided he did want to go to high school. It was too late to study or take exams, so now he's here, asking to be let into UA of all schools, by—trying to use Shigaraki's death as a ticket. Because Shigaraki is his father. Probably. Because of a letter Masanori received from Spinner.

Deku rubs at his face. Continue ignoring that last part. Deal with that later. Deal with Masanori as a student, for now.

Shirakata-kun. This is not the way to do any of this. You can't just come and demand I get you into UA. It's a school that you have to test into. You have to work for it. You needed to take the entrance exam and pass, fair and square.

Fair and square, Masanori echoes. Yes, fairness and square...ness. You killed my father. I never got to know him. I grew up an orphan. I don't know, I think something in return is deserved. That would be fair, right? And then we'll be squared.

What does Deku even do with this logic?

Your parents have nothing to do with going to UA. Plenty of Heroes' children have to test into this school too.

Well. I'm not a Hero's kid. I'm a Villain's kid.

…What I mean is, Deku says. Then pauses. Then forces himself to continue. Who your parents are don't matter here, in this case. It's not about them. You are responsible for yourself, your studying, taking your exams. I'm... it must have been hard, growing up in an orphanage. But it doesn't mean you get special treatment. You have to earn your spot, like every other student.

Masanori watches Deku, face betraying no emotion.

Deku continues, carefully. If what you're saying is true... I did kill Shigaraki. I won't deny that. If it's compensation you want… there's official ways to go about that.

Masanori's gaze continues to be steady. They'll compensate for a Villain's death? For Shigaraki Tomura's death?

Deku has no answer to that.

In the silence, the two of them stare at each other. Masanori has Tenko's wavy black hair and Spinner's pink eyes. He has Spinner's scales and Shigaraki's slim frame. If he smiles… Deku wonders whose smile Masanori would inherit, if that's something that can be inherited at all.

Masanori's hands have no claws - rather, his fingers sharpen to a point, it looks like. They clench at his knees, stiff and rigid.

He's just a child.

Deku says, I can't get you into UA. But I can help you... I will help you. I can give you some of that stipend, so you can focus on school. There's probably schools that don't require entrance exams, or are still giving exams... You should try taking them, see if you can get in. Maybe you can take a gap year, and try to apply for UA next year, under special circumstances...

No.

No?

I want all three of my demands, Masanori says. If you say no, then I don't want anything.

Not even the stipend? Don't you want to go to school? You'll work instead?

Looks like it.

Deku is a little stunned. He can't understand this kid at all.

You wanted a free ride. You didn't want to work for it.

Masanori says nothing. Maybe Deku shouldn't say that to a kid who's going to be getting a job and working—(Or maybe... what if he gets illegal work? What if he's going to turn to crime?) No, he's just a child, needing guidance. As an adult and teacher and Hero, Deku has to—

This is the wrong way to approach your problems, Shirakata-kun. You can't try to take advantage of people, of situations like this.

Masanori twitches, before leaning forward, one hand reaching out to Deku. Deku recoils, suddenly seeing a different, more familiar hand, five fingers spread out to touch—

…I just want my letter back, Masanori says.

Deku blinks, looking down at his own hands, which apparently has been clutching Spinner's letter this whole time. He still hasn't read it.

O-Oh. Deku hesitates - he really actually did want to read the letter, because what how Spinner Shigaraki w h a t ? - but gives it back to Masanori. I—

This is all I have, Masanori says, sitting back and folding the letter. Two dead people and this one situation. Why shouldn't I take advantage of what's mine?

Deku grimaces. Things like extortion and blackmail are—

It wasn't. Masanori stands up. I know it wasn't. I'm not extorting anything. You said no, so now I'm leaving. There's nothing to blackmail, either. You killed a Villain and everyone saw it. They loved you for it. So all I did was come here to ask you for some help.

Calling what you were asking for help is—

You call it cheating, but I didn't do anything. I asked, you said no. Masanori heads for the door. So I'm going. There's nothing else I'm going to do. Nothing I can do.

Wait, Shirakata-kun. What you wanted—even if it was just about UA admission, you tried to use the fact that, that I killed Shigaraki—

Cuz you did.

You were expecting me to fold to that.

Yeah. The kid stands in the doorway, looking back at Deku. You're a Hero, aren't you?

And then he was gone.

[marshemillow]

It is literally just like the "All Lives Matter" crowd. If you keep pushing all lives matter, you're either just racist, or too ignorant of the situation to be commenting on it. Fitting actually, considering black people in fandom are like 10x more likely to get harassed than white fans, even over the same grievance, along with queer and jewish people.

Please just shut up about issues you know nothing about? Please? The middle ground fallacy!!! Look it up!!!

Still really hating those posts that are like "not anti or proship but a secret third thing; an adult with a job" Like??? I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you this, but most adults with jobs still care about people getting harassed until they kill themselves. 😭😭

[blanceyblance]

Do I believe Dev deserves redemption and get Peri back? Yes

Is he a neglected 10 year old who deserves better and is able to grow? Yes

But the fans can get quite Dev centric to the point of just, throw under the bus characters that he did hurt with his actions.

As much as I'm not a fan of Hazel's free rule wish I really don't see why some fans call her selfish for not using that wish for Dev. He did some nasty things just to spite her, gave her bad luck, took over Fairy World and took her fairies.

Peri's whole deal is that he is a young adult on his first job dealing with a difficult kid and being underprepared for it, I do wish we had seen more scenes of them bonding but Dev did actively try to erase his parents, was fine with keeping him in a cell and even while actively agonizing still told Dev he cared for him.

He is not a horrible monster, he is just a kid and there are no perfect victims, but he does deserve some callout for hurting others.