#rather than... whatever the hell THAT was | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rafesapologist · 2 days ago

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wise man ─ jj maybank

summary: jj is suddenly spiraling.

warnings: unedited, angst, plot twist, violence, blood

author's note: this plot is also not the exact same as season 4, just inspired by it so some things have been changed

This was the worst you'd seen JJ spiral in the 12 years you'd known him.

After being gone all night, he finally returned to the chateau, nothing short of maniacal and fuming. He burst through the front door, ignoring the confused looks plastered on his friends' faces. Instead of sparking up his usual conversation about whatever unusual discoveries he'd made, he made a beeline straight to his room.

"Uh, what the hell was that?" John B asked, his voice tinged with perplexity. Everyone exchanged glances, their faces mirroring the same confusion.

"No idea," Pope replied, just as uncertain as the rest of them.

You sat there in silence, a fretful look etched across your face. JJ had left early that morning without saying where he was going or why. You figured it was better not to ask, given the frantic way he’d left. You thought maybe he’d gone off to blow off some steam or handle errands, but based on his state now, you knew something far graver was at play.

You fidgeted with your fingers in your lap while your friends continued tossing around theories about what was wrong with JJ. But you couldn’t focus on their words—your own mind was too busy, running through the worst possibilities. Their voices blended into a distant echo, drowned out by the rush of your thoughts. It wasn’t like JJ to return so heated, especially without acknowledging any of his friends. Especially not you.

"Y/n?" Sarah’s voice cut through the fog of your mind, soft but urgent.

"We thought maybe you should go check on him," she suggested plainly, her eyes fixed on you, the others waiting for your reaction.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. Your gaze flickered nervously across the room, desperately trying to read everyone's expressions, searching for some answer in their eyes.

"Why me?" you asked rather anxiously. Everyone exchanged glances, the answer written plainly on their faces: you know why. It was no secret that you and JJ had grown closer over the past two years, teetering on the edge of something more than just friendship. If anyone could get through to him and find out what was wrong, it was most likely going to be you.

You knew they weren't going to let you refuse—partly because they wanted answers, and partly because they were just plain nosy. They were all looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to be the one to break the ice. You sighed, feeling the weight of their pressure as you pushed yourself up off the couch.

"Alright, I'll go talk to him," you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else. You could feel their eyes on you as you made your way toward JJ's room, uncertainty following you with every step.

"Jayj?" You knocked softly, pressing your ear against the door. "It's just me."

The silence on the other side was deafening, so quiet you could practically hear the pounding of your own heartbeat. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours as you stood there, holding your breath, waiting for any sign of acknowledgment—a word, a movement, the creak of the door opening.

But there was nothing. Just that heavy, unbearable silence.

You knocked again, this time with a bit more urgency. The fear of what might be happening on the other side gnawed at you. "JJ, I just need to know that you're okay," you said softly, your voice tinged with a pleading desperation.

You held your breath, straining to listen for any hint of movement. The silence felt like it was swallowing you whole, the anxiety building with each passing second. Just as you were about to turn away, convinced he wasn't going to respond, you heard it—the faint creak of the door opening.

JJ stood in the doorway, his hair disheveled, his eyes clouded and unreadable. He looked like a shadow of himself, the usual spark in his gaze replaced by something darker and more distant. For a moment, neither of you said a word. The silence between you felt heavy, filled with all the things you wanted to ask but didn't know how to.

You shifted uncomfortably under his burning stare, your mind racing to find the right thing to say, but coming up empty. "Are you... okay?" you finally managed to cough out, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes flicked away from his, unable to hold his intense gaze for long. You found yourself staring at the floor instead, the tension between you nearly suffocating.

JJ let out a low, sinister chuckle, the kind that made your stomach twist. It was the kind of laugh that told you everything was anything but okay. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends as if trying to ground himself. The motion was tense, almost frantic.

You looked at him with furrowed brows, the unease settling deep in your chest. Without saying another word, you took a step forward and slipped inside his room, gently shutting the door behind you. The soft click of the latch seemed to echo in the tense silence.

Turning to face him, you found JJ still staring at you, his expression blank but his eyes filled with a storm of emotions he was barely holding back. You took a slow, steady breath, trying to keep your own voice calm despite the worry gnawing at you.

"Tell me what's going on, Jay," you said, your voice gentle but firm. You met his gaze, refusing to look away this time. Whatever it was that had him spiraling, you needed to know. And you weren’t going to leave until he let you in.

"This has to stay between us, Y/n," JJ said, his voice frantic, barely above a whisper. His eyes locked onto yours, the sincerity and desperation in his gaze making your chest tighten. "If I tell you, you can't tell anyone else. Please."

You nodded slowly, swallowing hard. "Okay, I won't," you responded flatly, keeping your tone steady. You didn’t want to push him any further, not when he was so close to the edge.

JJ’s hands trembled slightly as he ran them through his hair again, a shaky exhale escaping his lips. He looked at you like he was searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe the strength to say what he needed to say.

"Luke isn't my dad," he blurted out, his voice cracking on the last word.

The room fell into a heavy silence. For a moment, you weren't sure if you had heard him correctly. You half-expected him to take it back, to say he’d worded himself wrong. But he didn’t. He just stood there, his shoulders tense, waiting for your reaction.

Your eyes widened as you absorbed the weight of his confession, struggling to process it. "How do you know?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You forced yourself to stay calm, fighting to keep the shock from seeping into your tone. The last thing you wanted was to set him off even more.

JJ let out a shaky breath, his eyes darting away, unable to meet yours. It was as if the truth was too heavy to hold onto, slipping from his grasp now that it was out in the open.

"He told me," JJ muttered, his voice breaking. "He told me he wasn't my real dad."

The room felt like it was spinning around you. The shock of his words hit you like a wave, and you struggled to keep your expression neutral, not wanting to add to the storm already brewing inside him. "When did he tell you?" you asked gently, taking a cautious step closer.

"Last night," JJ admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to fight back the tears threatening to spill. "I pushed him. I kept asking why he was like this, why he treated me the way he did. And he just snapped. He said I wasn’t his problem—that I never was. That I wasn’t even his kid.”

You winced at his revelation, the pain of Luke's words hitting you as if they were directed at you. Hearing them through JJ's voice, raw and broken, made it feel like a knife twisting in your chest. Your expression softened, filled with a deep, aching pity. The urge to pull him into your arms, to somehow absorb his pain and take it away, surged inside you.

"Oh, Jay..." you muttered, almost to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper. You reached out a hand but hesitated, unsure if he’d let you touch him in the moment of vulnerability. "This isn’t your fault," you continued, your tone weary. "You were just a kid. None of this is on you."

JJ’s reddened blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, one almost slipping free before he hastily wiped it away, as if even a single tear would break the fragile control he clung to. He shook his head, almost violently, as though he could shake off the truth itself. His jaw clenched tight, the muscle in his cheek ticking with every beat of his fraying composure.

"It doesn’t matter now," he spat, his voice brittle and sharp, tinged with a bitterness that made your heart twist painfully in your chest. "My whole life has been a lie, Y/n. Everything I thought I knew—it’s all bullshit. The guy I thought was my dad? He’s nothing but an abusive piece of shit who took out his rage on me because he could. And now… I can’t help but wonder if things could’ve been different. If I’d known my real dad, maybe I wouldn’t have spent my whole life thinking I was the problem. That I was the reason I was never good enough."

His words cut through the silence like shattered glass, sharp and jagged. You could see the rage roiling in his eyes—the deep-seated hurt and betrayal, tangled with a rage so fierce it almost felt like it could set the room on fire. His lip quivered, and his hands curled into tight fists at his sides, as though he could crush the pain away with sheer force.

"I hate him," JJ muttered, his voice low, trembling with a fury that seemed to burn him from the inside out. "I hate that he lied to me. That he made me believe I was his son, only to turn around and make me feel like I was nothing. Like I didn’t matter. And now I’m stuck with this... this gaping hole in my chest. All I’ve got are these questions I can’t answer and a childhood I can’t get back. Nothing can change that. No words can erase what I’ve been through."

The anger in his eyes was raw, searing, but behind it, you could see the deep, aching hurt. He was trembling, his whole body taut like a bowstring about to snap. He looked like he was holding back a flood, desperately trying to keep himself from crumbling under the weight of it all.

Your heart ached at the sight of him standing there, so broken yet still holding onto the frayed edges of his pride. You took a step closer, moving slowly as if approaching a wounded animal, afraid that even the smallest movement might push him over the edge. Gently, you placed a hand on his arm, feeling the tremble of his muscles beneath your fingers.

"Jay," you whispered, your voice gentle but laced with a tinge of fear. You could feel the tension radiating off him, like he was barely holding himself together. "I know nothing can change what's been done," you continued softly, your words careful and deliberate. "And Luke... he was a horrible father. But what he did to you—that doesn’t define who you are. If anything, it only shows how fucked up he is, not you."

You watched JJ’s expression falter, the anger dissolving into something far more vulnerable—defeat. For a moment, you feared he might push you away, retreat behind that wall of bravado and anger he often used to protect himself. But instead, he looked at you, his eyes clouded with exhaustion, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his revelation was finally too much to bear.

“What’s worse,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, “is who my real dad is.”

Your breath hitched, a wave of unease creeping up your spine. You swallowed thickly, bracing yourself for whatever he was about to say, though you knew nothing could have prepared you for this moment. “Who?” you asked, the word slipping out almost involuntarily, like you had to hear it from him to believe it.

JJ’s gaze darted away, his eyes fixing on the floor as if he couldn’t bear to meet yours. He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Chandler Groff.”

The name struck you like a lightning bolt, leaving you stunned. Chandler Groff—the man who had been nothing but a shadowy figure in your and your friends' latest troubles. You had met him just once, in that cobweb-covered mansion, where his strange demeanor and intense fixation on the cursed amulet had left you all feeling uneasy. It was hard to believe that the same man pushing so relentlessly for your friends' to complete Wes' mission, the same man who insisted on the curse’s reality, was JJ’s biological father.

Your mouth went dry as you tried to process the new connection. “Chandler Groff?” you repeated, more to yourself than to JJ. The pieces began to click together—the urgency, the obsession with the amulet, his strange behavior after Wes’s sudden death. It was as if a curtain had been lifted, revealing a truth far more twisted than you could have imagined.

“Yeah,” JJ spat bitterly, his eyes filling with a mixture of pain and fury. “The guy who’s been trying to manipulate us into handing over that stupid amulet. The same guy who’s got the cops breathing down our necks over Wes’s death. That’s who my real dad is.”

You took a step closer, feeling the gravity of JJ’s emotions pull you in, the betrayal and anguish radiating off him like a palpable force. Your chest tightened at the sight of him, broken and raw in a way you had never seen before. “I can’t believe this,” you whispered, your voice thick with sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Jay.”

JJ’s face twisted in frustration, his jaw clenching as he shook his head vehemently. “No,” he snapped, his tone sharp but wavering. “No more sorries. I don’t want your pity or anyone else's. I’m done thinking about it, done feeling sorry for myself.” His voice cracked, revealing the thin line between his anger and despair. He took a deep breath, his fists curling at his sides as he forced himself to look at you.

“We’ll find that bastard,” he continued, his voice low but filled with a burning resolve. “Chandler’s up to something, and whatever it is, it can’t be good. He’s been playing us from the start. All that crap about Wes’s mission and the curse—it was all just a setup. We need to figure out what he really wants before he makes his next move.”

You nodded, a determined look crossing your face. “Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll get to the bottom of this together, Jay. Whatever Chandler’s planning, he’s not going to get away with it."

For a fragment of a moment, JJ's expression eased. He took in a deep sigh as though your words breathed life back into him, exemplified by the way his fists unclenched themselves and the veins in his neck disappeared.

"I'm sorry if I worried you earlier," he mumbled an apology, his voice full of regret, "I wasn't thinking. As soon as I heard the news I.. I just saw red." His confession was candid, as if he was slowly coming to terms with everything he had just learned in the past 24 hours.

You took a sigh of relief mentally, giving JJ a faint smile of approval. "It's okay, I don't blame you for it. I think I would've done the same," you reassured with buoyancy in your voice, "maybe worse."

JJ replied to your sentiment with a faint chuckle and a tenuous head shake, appreciating your wit in the wake of the chaos plaguing his life.

"Y/n?" JJ muttered, his voice nearly mute.

"Yeah?"

"I don't know what I'd do without you. I don't think I could handle this if you weren't here." He admitted with of tone of gravitas that you had never heard from him before. You knew that what he was saying was vulnerable for him to confess, which made your heart flutter in your chest.

"I don't think I deserve that much credit," you joked, trying to break up the tension that filled the room between the two of you. You wanted to be raw and honest with him, to tell him you look for him in every man you meet, but it didn't feel like the right time to do so. Not when he was still processing the news about his father.

"You don't even realize how much you do for all of us, for me." This was a side of JJ you hadn't seen much before, maybe in glimpses, but never fully. He was standing in front of you, his eyes still adorned with sorrow but masked by the veneration he had for you. You felt small under his burning gaze but he held his eye contact, although you swore he secretly knew how you were crumbling beneath his stare.

"Jay—"

"Will you just stay with me tonight?" JJ softly implored, his desperate eyes making it hard for you to say 'no'.

"But what if they ask why I was in here all night? You know they're nosy."

"Let them ask," he shrugged, lying down on the bed next to you, "c'mon. Just for tonight."

He was convincing, but it didn't help that you already had a burning penchant for him. You stood there for a moment as you took in his figure, tragically beautiful and maimed by malice in an unjustly harsh life. His eyes felt haunting to look at as they painted a picture of the grief he so desperately tried to run away from, but he couldn't hide it from you.

"Okay," you silently replied.

You slid off your shoes and delicately climbed your way next to the empty spot in the bed next to JJ. A pair of cerulean eyes stayed glued to you as you nuzzled carefully under the covers. You dare not look over as he watched you in fear that you would make things awkward if you acknowledged his glance.

Once you felt situated, you closed your eyes in hopes that you would quickly fall asleep and get through the night, but before you could drift off you felt an arm drape over your waist and pull you in. JJ gently placed your head into his chest, letting you feel the beating of his heart in the dead of silence. You didn't move. You wanted to take in the moment and capture it in your mind, knowing that one day you'd look back at where you were and admire whatever happened right then.

—

"Okay, this is a lot to take in," Pope interrupted, his voice breaking the heavy silence that had enveloped the room. "But we need to stay focused. Chandler’s part in all this—his connection to JJ—it complicates everything. We can't just let it slide."

You looked over at JJ, his frustration and sarcasm evident in his posture as he leaned back against the couch, arms crossed over his chest. "Tell me about it," he scoffed, his tone sharp, the sarcasm almost like a shield to deflect the rawness of what he had just shared.

Kiara leaned forward, her brow furrowed in thought as she looked between you and JJ. "So what do you suggest we do?" she asked, her voice steady, but the urgency was clear. "Because this... this whole thing is a mess."

JJ sat back against the couch, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he stared at the floor, his eyes distant. "I don't know," he muttered, frustration creeping into his tone. "I just... I need answers. We all do. Chandler Groff—he’s been playing us this whole time. And I don’t care what it takes, we’re going to find out what the hell he really wants from us."

Kiara exchanged a glance with Pope, then turned her gaze back to JJ, her expression serious. "We have to be careful. If we push too hard, we could end up walking right into his trap."

JJ nodded slowly, his jaw clenched, the tension radiating off him. "I know. But we need to find out what he's planning before he fucks us over." His voice was tight with anger and desperation, as if the weight of everything was finally hitting him.

Kiara gave a sharp nod, her expression resolute. "We can’t let him get away with whatever this is. But we need a plan. We can’t just go in blind."

Pope crossed his arms, clearly deep in thought. "Agreed. If we’re gonna do this, we need to stay one step ahead of him. Maybe we start by finding out more about Chandler’s connection to that amulet. The whole curse thing doesn't add up."

You looked between them, your mind racing. "And we need to figure out who else he’s been talking to, who’s been helping him. We might have enemies we don’t even know about yet."

JJ glanced at you, his eyes softer now, but still burning with that same fury. "Exactly. We need answers, and we need them fast." His tone dropped as he added, "I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending everything's normal."

"So we'll go find him," John B stated flatly, joining in on the commotion. His voice was steady, but there was an underlying edge to it that matched the intensity in the room.

JJ looked at him, eyes narrowing with determination. "Yeah. We find Chandler, get answers, and make him tell us exactly what the hell he’s after. No more games."

"Alright," Pope sighed, shaking his head but with a hint of resolve creeping in. "Then let’s do this."

He stood up, adjusting his shirt, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. Kiara let out a quiet breath, glancing at each of her friends as if to make sure they were all on the same page.

"Alright," she said, her voice firm despite the tension. "We stick to the plan—find Chandler, get answers, and stay smart about it."

JJ, now more determined than ever, stood up, the raw emotion in his eyes still burning, but his posture more focused than before. "We’ll go in, we’ll make him talk, and we’re walking out with answers. No one’s leaving empty-handed." His tone was cold, cutting through the room like a sharpened blade.

John B, always the one to lighten the mood, gave a half-grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Let’s just hope Chandler doesn’t decide to pull some crazy stunt. I’d prefer a calm confrontation over a full-out brawl."

You couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at John B’s attempt to inject some humor into the moment. But as you glanced at JJ, you saw the weight of everything he was carrying on his shoulders, and it was clear that this wasn’t just another adventure to him. This was personal.

"We’ve got your back, Jay," you said, your voice soft but steady. "We’re in this together."

JJ looked over at you, a quiet acknowledgment in his eyes. "I know. Thanks."

—

The old house loomed in front of you, its once grand façade now cloaked in shadows. The mansion, still as eerie as ever, seemed to exhale a quiet menace. You stood there on the porch, a knot of anticipation tightening in your chest. Beside you, JJ's presence felt like a comfort, but the tension radiating off him was evident.

He gave the door a pointed look before knocking again, this time louder, more forceful, as if demanding an answer rather than simply waiting for one. It felt like an eternity before you heard the shuffling of footsteps from inside.

The door remained firmly shut, and just when you thought Chandler might not answer, the heavy locks rattled. The door creaked open, revealing Chandler standing in the doorway, his face unreadable. His cold blue eyes scanned you both for a moment, then his gaze flickered to the group standing a few steps behind you.

"Why are you here?" His voice was low, measured, though there was an edge to it that made it clear he wasn’t exactly thrilled by the visit.

JJ didn’t waste any time. His voice came out flat but with an undercurrent of something darker, something more urgent. "We need to talk. There's things we need to ask you about."

Chandler's eyes flickered over you both, sizing you up, his lips curling into something like a half-smile. He didn’t speak right away, his gaze lingering just a little too long, as if trying to decide whether to let you in or slam the door shut. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, before he finally stepped back, motioning for you to enter.

“Alright,” Chandler said, his voice low and gravelly. “But we do this inside. The last thing I need is anyone overhearing this conversation.”

You exchanged a glance with JJ, his eyes full of fire and frustration. He wasn’t backing down, and neither were you. Together, you stepped past Chandler into the dimly lit interior of the mansion. The air inside was heavy with dust, and the smell of old wood and stale air lingered. The house was just as you remembered—huge, but strangely empty, like something had been hollowed out long ago.

“What do you two want?” Groff asked, his gaze shifting to the both of you.

JJ didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. He took a step forward, his jaw tight with suppressed fury. “Are you my real dad?” he asked, the words coming out sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Chandler’s expression flickered for a moment, a brief flash of something unreadable crossing his face. He didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he stood there, a wall of silence between them.

“Are you?” JJ repeated, his voice growing louder, insistent. “Are you my real dad?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. JJ stood frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief and anger, his fists clenching at his sides as if the truth were too much to process.

JJ shook his head, almost in disbelief, his voice tight with emotion. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, stepping closer, his chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth? Why all the games, all the lies?”

Chandler didn’t seem to flinch. He took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “It wasn’t the right time,” he said coldly, his tone flat. “And, quite frankly, you wouldn’t have been ready to hear it.”

JJ’s face twisted with anger, his eyes flashing with hurt. “You’re fucking unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, the weight of years of manipulation and deceit crashing down on him.

You stepped closer, watching the exchange unfold, feeling a mixture of sympathy and anger for both of them. “So this whole time, you’ve been using us?” you asked, your voice low and edged with disbelief. “This whole thing—Wes, the amulet—was all part of your plan?”

Chandler’s gaze sharpened, his expression unreadable. “Plans don’t happen overnight,” he said smoothly, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Everything has its purpose. And now you’re part of that purpose, whether you like it or not.”

JJ looked like he was about to explode, his body shaking with barely contained rage. But instead, he took a deep breath, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. “We’re done being your puppets. Whatever your plan is, we’re stopping it.”

Chandler’s smile widened, but it was thin, like a wolf’s grin. “You think you can stop it?” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You don’t even know what you’re up against.”

“We’ll find out,” JJ snapped. “And when we do, you’re going to wish you never dragged us into this.”

"Not so fast," Chandler warned, stepping forward, his eyes never leaving JJ’s. "You have something I want."

JJ didn’t flinch. His blue eyes were burning with defiance, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. “I’m not handing over shit, Groff,” he growled, voice low and filled with venom. “You want something, you’re gonna have to earn it.”

Chandler’s lips curled into a cold smile, his posture never wavering. He looked almost pleased with the reaction. “Oh, I don’t think you fully understand yet, JJ. I’m not asking for permission. I’m telling you—you will give it to me.”

There was a brief pause, the tension in the room so thick it could be cut with a knife. Chandler’s gaze flicked to you, then back to JJ, as if trying to gauge the next move.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with," Chandler continued, his tone dangerously calm. "That amulet you’re holding onto? It’s not just some trinket. It’s mine. And I’ll do whatever it takes to get it back."

Before you could even process what was happening, Chandler’s hand shot out like lightning, grabbing you by the wrist with an iron grip. The surprise hit you all at once as he yanked you forward, his movements swift and precise. Your breath caught in your throat, panic flooding your senses.

You struggled instinctively, but Chandler’s hold was unyielding, his fingers digging into your skin as he jerked you closer. “Stay where you are,” he ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

JJ took a step forward, eyes widening in shock as he lunged to get closer. “Let her go, Chandler!” His voice cracked with a mixture of rage and fear, but Chandler didn’t release his grip.

“You think I’m going to play fair?” Chandler sneered, his hand moving to his jacket pocket with casual menace. “No. You’re going to give me what I want, or she dies.”

You barely had time to process the words before Chandler’s knife was suddenly there, pressed against your throat. The cold metal against your skin made you freeze, heart hammering in your chest. You could feel the danger now, the raw, visceral threat. Chandler’s voice was a whisper in your ear, almost playful in its cruelty.

“Hand it over, or I’ll carve her up right here.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, and you could barely breathe. Everything around you seemed to slow down, the tension rising with every passing second. Chandler’s grip on you tightened, the knife at your throat a constant, terrifying reminder of how quickly everything had shifted from a confrontation to something far worse.

“JJ,” you gasped, your voice trembling despite yourself, “don’t... don’t do it. Just—”

JJ’s eyes flicked to yours, the pain and conflict written plainly across his face. He looked as if every muscle in his body was screaming at him to fight, to do anything but give in, but there was no room for error now, not with the knife pressed so dangerously close to your skin. He swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths.

“Okay, I’ll give it to you,” JJ finally agreed, his voice barely more than a whisper, each word sounding like it was being dragged from his throat. His hand reached into his pocket, pulling out the small, worn bag that held the amulet. He held it up, fingers trembling as he slowly raised it for Chandler to see.

“No, JJ!” you protested, your voice a strangled cry, tears welling in your eyes. The thought of him handing it over to Chandler, of giving in to the man who had already caused so much pain, twisted something deep inside of you. But the sharp edge of the blade pressed harder against your throat, silencing you, forcing you into a terrifying stillness.

Chandler’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk, his eyes gleaming with a sinister triumph. “Good choice,” he cooed mockingly, his grip on you tightening as he stretched his other hand out towards JJ. The sight of him, so confident, so sure he had won, made your blood boil despite the fear gripping your heart.

JJ's hand trembled as he extended the bag towards Chandler. His eyes stayed locked on yours, searching your face for any sign of fear or pain. Your breath hitched when Chandler’s cold fingers grazed the bag, snatching it away. He wasted no time, pushing you forward with a force that sent you stumbling straight into JJ’s arms.

You collided into his chest, his embrace closing around you in an instant. His body curled protectively over yours, shielding you from Chandler's reach as he held you close. “It’s okay,” JJ whispered into your ear, his voice ragged with relief. “I’ve got you.” He didn’t even look back at Groff, all his focus on you, as if the danger had passed the moment you were in his grasp.

But behind him, Chandler's expression shifted as he opened the bag and peered inside. The smirk on his face vanished, replaced by a scowl of rage. The amulet wasn’t there. It was nothing but a ruse. He’d been tricked, and it didn’t take him long to realize who had played him.

With a deadly calm, Chandler called out, “JJ.”

The sound of his name, dripping with cold malice, made JJ's spine straighten. He pulled back just enough to look at you, a fleeting moment of confusion in his eyes. Then, he turned around, his gaze narrowing as he faced Chandler.

But it was already too late. In one swift motion, Chandler lunged forward. The blade gleamed in the dim light for a split second before it drove into JJ’s stomach. The impact was sickening, a hollow thud as the knife sank deep.

Your scream tore through the air, raw and filled with terror. JJ’s eyes widened in shock, his breath hitching as the pain hit him like a wave. He staggered, his arms instinctively clutching his abdomen as blood started to stain his shirt, dark and spreading fast.

Chandler’s face was a mask of fury, his hand still gripping the hilt of the knife. He twisted it slightly, a cruel sneer curling his lips. “You thought you could fool me?” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

JJ’s knees buckled, his body sagging as the strength drained out of him. You lunged forward, catching him before he could collapse completely, your hands desperately pressing over his wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

“JJ, stay with me,” you begged, your voice breaking as you looked up at him, tears streaming down your face. His blue eyes were clouded with pain, but he managed to meet your gaze, a weak, rueful smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. “I thought... I thought I could protect you.”

You shook your head, your hands trembling as you held him. “No, no, JJ, don’t say that. You’re going to be okay. We’ll get you help. Just stay with me, please.”

Chandler ran off into the darkness, leaving you holding onto JJ as he slumped against you. Panic surged through your veins, and you looked down at his wound, your hands trembling as you pressed down in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. The warm, sticky blood coated your fingers, and you could feel his pulse weakening beneath your touch.

"This isn’t happening," you whispered frantically, shaking your head in denial. Your wide-open eyes darted around the room, searching for anything you could use to help. "No, no, no," you muttered under your breath, your voice thick with desperation.

You glanced up at JJ’s face, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, the pain written all over his features. “Stay with me, Jay,” you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks as you cradled his head in your hands.

"John B! Pope!" you screamed, your voice raw as it echoed through the old house. The sound reverberated off the walls, mixing with the eerie silence that followed Chandler’s exit. The urgency in your call felt like a knife in your chest, twisting deeper with each passing second.

JJ's voice was barely a whisper, strained and breathless as he looked up at you, his eyes half-lidded but still so intensely blue. “Y/N, I never got to tell you… but I love you.” His words came out fragile, like he was using his last bit of strength just to say them. The raw, unfiltered emotion behind them made your heart lurch in your chest.

Your breath hitched, the tears you’d been holding back finally breaking free, streaming down your cheeks in an unrelenting flow. You shook your head vehemently, the desperation clear in your voice as you clutched his face between your trembling hands. “No, JJ, no," you choked out, your voice thick with emotion. "This isn’t what’s happening. You’re not going to leave me. You can’t—” You could barely get the words out, your chest heaving with sobs.

His gaze softened as he looked at you, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles despite the pain. He reached up weakly, his hand brushing against your cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a hushed whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “I just needed you to know.”

You leaned into his touch, your tears wetting his hand as you pressed your forehead against his. “Don’t do this, Jay. Don’t say goodbye. We still have so much to do, so many plans. You promised me we'd get out of this together.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if soaking in your presence, before opening them again, his gaze full of a love and longing that broke your heart into a million pieces. “You’re my everything, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice cracking with the weight of his words. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“You’re going to tell me every day for the rest of our lives,” you insisted, your voice pleading as you squeezed his hand tightly, trying to ground him, to keep him here with you. “You hear me? You’re staying with me. I can’t do this without you, Jay. Please, don’t leave me.”

He gave a small, shaky nod, like he was trying to hold on, but you could see the light starting to fade from his eyes, the pain overtaking him. You felt his grip on your hand slacken slightly, and it sent a jolt of pure terror through you.

“No! No, stay with me, JJ. Please!” you begged, pressing your forehead against his, your sobs turning into broken, gasping cries. You could barely see through your tears, your entire world narrowing down to just the two of you, in this moment, as you clung to him with everything you had.

You shook him frantically, your hands pressing against his chest, trying to force his heart to beat beneath your trembling fingers. It felt like you were grasping at the wind, like the very essence of him was slipping through your hands. The sticky warmth of his blood covered your skin, a horrifyingly vivid reminder that time was running out, slipping away with every breathless second.

“JJ, wake up,” you begged, your voice raw and broken, cracking under the weight of your anguish. It felt like you were underwater, drowning in the reality of what was happening, each sob choked out like it was your last. His face, once so full of life, now looked pale and ghostly, his blue eyes shut as if he was already slipping away to someplace you couldn’t reach.

“You can’t die here. You can’t leave me!” The words tore from your throat in a strangled scream, filled with a desperation that felt like it could rip you apart from the inside. Your hands pumped his chest with a rhythm that faltered, each push driven by a frantic hope, a silent prayer, as if sheer willpower could bring him back. Tears blurred your vision, but you couldn’t stop, wouldn’t let yourself believe that this was the end.

You could feel the life draining out of him, like the color bleeding from a watercolor painting washed away by rain. His skin grew colder beneath your touch, and you leaned over him, pressing your forehead to his, your tears mingling with the blood staining his shirt.

“Please, JJ, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking into a thousand tiny shards, each one sharper than the last. It was a fragile, fractured sound, more a plea to the universe than a call to him. “I need you,” you breathed, pressing your trembling lips to his forehead, the coldness of his skin like ice against your warmth. “I need you to stay, for me.”

The room felt like it was caving in, the air heavy with an unbearable weight. Your hands pressed against his wound, blood seeping through your fingers, warm and sticky, like the life was slipping away from him and into the cracks between your knuckles. The world outside seemed distant, muted, as if it no longer mattered. It was just you and him, suspended in a moment that felt like it was slipping away, stolen by time’s unforgiving hands.

Tears blurred your vision, painting the scene in watercolors of red and black, smearing his face into something unrecognizable. You choked on a sob, the sound raw and ragged, your body trembling with the force of your desperation. “JJ, don’t do this,” you pleaded, your words spilling out in a rush, your voice laced with a pain so deep it felt like it might consume you. “You can’t leave me. Not now. Not like this.”

His chest barely moved, the rise and fall so faint it was almost imperceptible, like the flicker of a candle about to be snuffed out. His eyes fluttered, half-open, clouded with pain, but still searching for you, trying to hold on to whatever sliver of light he could find in your gaze. The silence between you was deafening, filled with everything you wished you had said, every moment you’d taken for granted.

“Please,” you sobbed, your voice cracking, raw and exposed. “I love you. I love you so much, JJ.” Your words were a desperate confession, one you wished you’d said a thousand times before but had only found the courage to say now, when it felt like it was already too late. Your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to this world.

You could feel him slipping away, the light in his eyes dimming like the last rays of a setting sun. His lips parted, a shallow breath escaping, but no words came out. Just a faint, ghostly smile, the kind you’d only ever seen when he was hiding something, some quiet secret he held close to his chest. It was haunting, the way he looked at you, like he was already seeing something beyond this world.

“No,” you whispered fiercely, shaking your head as if you could defy reality itself. “You’re not dying here. Not now. Not like this.” Your hands cupped his face, willing him to stay, to hold on just a little longer. But his eyes slipped shut, the last vestiges of life draining from his features, leaving behind a stillness that was more terrifying than anything you’d ever faced.

Before you could utter another word, the door burst open, and your friends rushed in, their faces twisted into expressions of pure horror. They stopped short, frozen by the scene before them—JJ’s lifeless body cradled in your arms, blood pooling beneath him, and your own face streaked with tears. The room fell into an eerie silence, filled only with the echo of your sobs, the kind that tore from deep within your chest like a howl into the void. It was a silence laced with a devastating realization, a shared understanding that this was Groff's doing—that he had orchestrated this final, cruel act.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look up, couldn’t face the shock and grief in their eyes. Instead, you pressed your forehead against JJ’s, as if in some desperate, final attempt to connect with whatever piece of him might still linger. Your body shook violently, your cries filling the space, haunting and raw. It was the sound of a heart breaking, of a love being ripped away far too soon.

"JJ," you whimpered, your voice barely a whisper, a prayer to whatever force could undo this nightmare. You ran your fingers through his hair, your touch gentle, like you were afraid to break whatever fragile illusion still held him close. His skin was already turning cold, the warmth you had known and loved fading away, replaced by a chilling emptiness.

You kissed his cheek, your lips trembling against his skin, tasting the salt of your own tears. The bitter taste of grief washed over you as you whispered, "I love you," words you had said so many times before but had never felt this heavy, this final. The love of your life lay still in your arms, his spirit gone, leaving behind only a hollow shell.

The others stood by helplessly, tears streaming down their own faces as they bore witness to your agony, each of them shattered in their own way. But none of them dared to interrupt. This moment, this unbearable pain, belonged to you. It was a sorrow too deep for words, a loss that hung heavy in the air, sinking into the very bones of the room.

You held onto him tighter, refusing to let go, as if by sheer will alone you could pull him back from the abyss. But deep down, you knew it was too late. JJ was gone, and you were left with the echoes of what could have been, the cruel, jagged edges of a future that would never come to pass.

#jj maybank x you #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj x y/n #jj maybank x reader #rudy pankow #obx #outer banks #obx 4 #jj obx #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x y/n

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marril96 · 15 hours ago

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Casually Cruel

Chapter 1: Cruel for the Sake of Cruelty

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: set in WandaVision 1.09. After Agatha's defeat, you beg Wanda not to brainwash her.

You'd told her that this was a horrible idea, but Agatha, ever stubborn, refused to listen, and now you were going to lose her, and you were too frightened to even cry about it.

"It'll be fine," she'd assured you, and, like a fool, you'd believed her.

Or rather indulged her for the bad feeling you'd had about this had never waned, no matter how hard you tried to suppress it, or pretended to do so.

The Avenger, Wanda Maximoff, had created a hex of some sort that was insanely powerful. More powerful than anything you'd ever witnessed, and you've been dating Agatha Harkness for two centuries. More powerful than her.

It had, of course, gotten Agatha's attention.

She wanted this power.

And what she wanted, she got. She took.

She was going to do this with or without you, so you decided to come along, just in case. The entire plan reeked of danger, of tragedy; you weren't going to leave her alone if something were to go wrong. You were nowhere near her power level — no one was, or so you'd thought until now — but two witches were better than one.

Taking over some poor guy's house and mind-controlling him wasn't your idea of fun, even if he did have a hilarious name, but what was even less fun was the role Agatha had chosen for you as the two of you had blended into Wanda's weird sitcom universe.

The bratty, mouthy daughter.

"Absolutely not," was the first thing that had come out of your mouth, but she was adamant that that was how things had to be. Since she was fulfilling the nosy neighbor archetype, there wasn't much else to work with. Your choices were to either be her fake daughter or to not leave the house until this whole charade was over.

So, fake daughter, you were.

It took some time for you to pick up on the era-appropriate slang (so many years had passed since; you barely even remembered what you ate for dinner last night, let alone terminology from decades ago), but Agatha was a good teacher. She made sure your act was almost as perfect as hers.

You hated every moment of it, but getting to insult her while you were in character made up for it. You'd found Agnes telling you, in retort to your rudeness, that you're not too old to bend across her knee particularly amusing. That was the highlight of every day here, actually.

Though, usually, it was Agatha bent across your knee instead of the other way around. A barking dog who liked to get bit.

She ended up getting bit for real.

You'd tried to change her mind, tried to convince her it wasn't worth it, hell, had even offered sex in exchange for getting the hell out of here, but she was dead set on getting whatever power it was that Wanda Maximoff had.

Chaos magic, it had turned out.

Wanda Maximoff was the Scarlet Witch.

Agatha was so fucked.

You'd stayed out of the fight. Agatha had assured you she could handle it. All you had ro do was watch and admire her handiwork.

Instead, you almost ended up weeping.

Almost for you didn't dare let any tears fall lest you crumble to pieces right then and there.

Agatha was close to victory, but Wanda had outsmarted her. She had gotten the upper hand and had turned the tables, sucking Agatha dry of all the power she'd amassed over the centuries.

"Good girl," Agatha said as Wanda lowered her to the ground, near where you were standing.

On her knees, she looked pitiful, like a wounded puppy. All you wanted to do was scoop her up and hold her and never let her go. Never let anyone lay a hand on her again.

Yes, she had started the fight, and yes, she hadn't listened to you, but you couldn't be mad at her. Not for long. Not when she was so vulnerable, barely a step above a normal human.

It wasn't right.

It wasn't fair.

You supposed something like this was bound to happen eventually. She was bound to come across one who would wipe the floor with her and make her their bitch. You just didn't think it would happen now.

"So, what now?" Agatha asked, feigning nonchalance. Trying — and failing, desperately so — to put on as brave a face as she could, when you knew for a fact she was a mess on the inside. A mess you'd already started making plans to take care of. "You just gonna lock me up somewhere?"

Over your dead body.

"No. Not somewhere," Wanda said, disgustingly pleased with herself. "Here."

Agatha was confused, as were you. "Here?"

"Mmhmm. I'll give you the role you chose. The nosy neighbor."

Blood ran cold in your veins. She couldn't possibly be saying what you thought she was saying. She wouldn't do that. She couldn't.

She was a hero.

Heroes didn't kick people while they were down.

Heroes weren't cruel.

Agatha was mortified. "No. Please."

Your heart broke at how small, how utterly helpless she was. The Agatha you knew didn't beg. She didn't plead. She wasn't terrified to the bone.

She wasn't powerless.

"I'm sorry," Wanda said, even though she was clearly not.

Agatha called her out on it. "No, you're not. You're cruel."

Wanda ignored her, smirk proudly plastered over her mouth.

And people thought Agatha was a monster.

Unable to watch any further, swallowing the fear, the utmost despair that coiled inside you, you stepped in front of Agatha before Wanda could reach her. Your arms spread wide, covering her. Shielding her. Protecting her, if only momentarily.

"Wanda, please," you said, voice cracking.

Wanda didn't care. "Get out of my way."

A brave tear escaped down your cheek. "Please, don't do this. She's all I have."

"She should have thought of that before she tried to kill me," Wanda said coldly.

"Yes, she should have. She shouldn't have attacked you." She should have fucking listened to you. "That doesn't make doing this to her right."

As an alleged hero, she should know that.

There was defeating an enemy, and then there was torture.

Heroes didn't do that.

Not even you and Agatha did that.

Wanda scowled. "Doesn't it?"

So much for the esteemed hero.

Your eyes pricked with newly blooming tears. Your heart quickened. "Please. I promise you, she won't bother you again. I'll make sure of it."

"What makes you think your promises mean anything to me?"

"They may mean nothing to you, but…" They meant everything to you. To Agatha. "I love her too much to lose her. She knows that. And she knows what's at stake now."

Wanda pondered on it for a moment. "Am I supposed to forget what she did to me?"

You did worse, you thought, but didn't dare say it out loud. She'd enslaved an entire town. Made them live through her nightmares. Stole their children away from them.

Nothing Agatha did to her could compare to the trauma she's inflicted on these people.

"No. You have every right to hate her," you said. "Please, just… don't take her from me. Please."

"You could keep her company here, if you want," Wanda said, threat clear in her voice.

She could brainwash you and Agatha together.

A chill shot through you, straight to the bone. "I've done nothing to you."

"You came here with her." Okay. Fair point. "If you want to stay with her," Wanda continued, "I can arrange that. It's your choice."

"Is that something you want your kids to see? Their mother torturing people?" you asked. Two could play this game.

"Leave my children out of this!" Wanda snapped.

You'd hit a nerve.

"You're involving them by doing this in front of them."

She looked back at her boys, huddled at their father's side.

"You tortured this entire town, and now you want to torture Agatha," you kept on, having gathered your last remnants of courage. Of hope that the woman you loved could still be saved. "With the town, at least it wasn't on purpose." Not from the beginning, anyway. "But doing it to her? That is on purpose."

Wanda turned back to you. Red rimmed her eyes, the same shade as her outfit. Tears threatening to break free.

"No child should see their mother do that," you told her.

Silence befell you as Wanda stared, first at you and then at the ground, lost in thought. Going through your words one by one. Trying to think back a suitable retort, but none were coming to mind.

She knew you were right.

God, you hoped she knew you were right.

You'd promised Agatha, a long time ago, that you would always have her back, and you intended to make good on it. You wouldn't let the Scarlet Witch lay another finger on her — not without a fight.

If she killed you, so be it.

At the very least, Agatha would know you were telling the truth. She would know that you weren't one of the people who would stab her in the back while promising her loyalty.

She would know that she was right to trust you.

Finally, without meeting your gaze, after what seemed like forever, Wanda said, "Get her out of my face."

You gasped. "You mean…?"

"Get her out of here." She looked at Agatha cowering behind you, face contorted with venom. "I better not see you again. You know what's coming if I do."

A relief like you'd never felt before lifted off your shoulders. You were weightless, lighter than a feather.

Wanda was letting Agatha go. The woman you loved was going to be okay.

You'd managed to keep your word.

You didn't let her down.

Not wanting to waste another second, worried that Wanda was going to change her mind, you reached out for Agatha's hand and pulled her to her feet. Your arms were around her before she managed to steady herself, your magic sparkling, blooming from your fingertips. With a swift thought of, Up, you leapt up into the air.

Agatha held on to you like she never had before. For safety. For dear life. Her heart running marathons against your chest.

"It's okay," you told her as you flew higher, higher, higher, as far away as you could from this awful place. From the woman who'd almost taken her from you. "I got you. You're safe."

A circle opened up in the hex, a farewell gift from Wanda for the two of you. The final get-the-fuck-out.

You happily obliged. No hesitation, no looking back.

You never wanted to see her or Westview again.

"Y/N…" Agatha said weakly. Meekly. So unlike her.

A wordless thank you.

It broke your heart.

"I love you. I hope you know that." You nuzzled the crook of her neck. Kissed her hair. "I'd do anything for you."

Even confront an unhinged witch with power alike that of a deity.

Agatha's grip on you tightened. I know, the gesture said. Me, too.

Though, going forwards, it was going to be up to you to make sure the two of you were safe. Until she got at least a tiny fraction of her power back.

You hoped you were up to the challenge.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #wandavision #marvel #mcu #fanfic fanfiction #my fics #edit

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dutiful-wildcraft · 1 day ago

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I re-emerge with a soft and vaguely angsty Nik/Price/F!Reader

Unedited, 1k, enjoy <3

It's not unusual for Nikolai to look after her while Price is away. As a matter of fact it grew common, the burly Russian staying with her more often than not, even when John was home.

And what had originally been a friendly extension of John, extra security at her call, had evolved into another soft body in their bed, both men's mingled cologne sinking into her sheets as she slept tucked between them.

However, these last few days had been devoid of soft embraces and stolen kisses, but rather wretched coughing and sniffly noses.

Nikolai, has been sick as shit for days.

Thankfully, he'd been minding her with only a small amount of caterwauling. Huffing and puffing about her not sleeping beside him, whining as sickly boys are want to do.

His raspy voice somehow stupidly effective in getting him his way.

Can I have more blankets lisichka? he rumbles pitifully.

What will we have for lunch? he asks with big brown eyes.

As if he could keep anything more than cheese and crackers down.

Unable to sleep due to Nikolai’s chainsaw level congestion snores, she slinks down stairs in the wee hours of the morning. Having already decided to make her favorite comfort food. Something simple, savory and carb heavy for the pair of them.

On a whim she gives John a video call, setting it up on the counter while it rings and rings.

She hardly expects him to answer, he rarely does. And considering he'd already been gone 4 out of his supposed 6 week stint, she was sure her man was still up to his chest in work.

She's got a maw full of shredded cheese when John's voice rings through the receiver.

“Hello darling”

She sputters, recovering quickly to flash him a big goofy smile.

“Hey love” she whispers back, heart fit to burst as she takes him. There isn't much to see, just the pale light of his phone illuminating his features in the darkness. His beard is scruffy, bags under his eyes far too heavy for her liking.

“Hello” he repeats again, an infinite fondness in his voice. His sweet cheeks pulled up into that little smile that still makes her blush. She sheepishly brushes the remnant shredded cheese off her tits, tries to quickly adjust her hair.

She can see her own image reflected in the top corner of her screen, she looks like hammered hell honestly. Hair a mess, dark circles under her eyes, clad in ratty stained oversized shirt. She almost feels a little guilty for not looking more presentable for him when he chimes in again.

“Missed that sweet face.” he murmurs, and all those nagging thoughts plop right from her noggin. The goofy man would think she'd look hot in a trash bag.

“Missed your face too baby, you okay?” She knows better than to ask about the op, instead lets him pick and choose what he likes to talk about.

“Much better now, might even be home sooner than we thought.”

Her ears perk at that, spiritual tail wagging hopefully. She missed him dearly, occasionally shed tears in the lonely showers away from Nikolai, when the weight became to much for her to bare. She does her best not to say anything, doesn't want him to feel bad for being so far away. Instead she sends him updates, pictures of the animals, of her meals, this weeks favorite song.

He doesn't reply, she knows he can't, but he does read them, follows up with each one in a big text or call when he can. Somehow holding the details despite whatever hell he sees.

“What you makin’ over there?” he cuts in, trying to eye the counter with a raised brow through the screen.

“I was hankerin’ for some potato soup, thought the patient would like it too.” she chuckles a bit.

“Mmm, sweet thing aren't you? How is he?”

“He's only a little whiny, spends his day trying to coax me close enough to cough on me, claims he just wants a cuddle” she laughs.

John chuckles too, shaking his head with a fond exasperation.“Well, you gonna show me how to do it?”

“Huh? Right now? I was just calling…you can get your rest babe, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I'm far from tired with a pretty thing cookin for me, now go on.”

She flashes him a knowing look. John Price was no chef, he did well enough, but she'd caught him on more than one occasion following along to the little cooking videos he'd dug up on the internet. Especially those made by other soft southern women.

With an expectant look she continues her work, cutting vegetables and getting the stock pot ready.

“Talk to me love, need to hear your voice.” he reminds her.

Not want. Need. And who was she to deny him? So with a little fumbling she starts narrating, mimicking the smooth diction she'd often heard in those same videos, biting back a smile as she watches John fight sleep. Tired baby blues drooping lower and lower, closing briefly before the sharp snick of cut carrots stirs him again. Eyes straining to keep watch.

Sweet man.

She knows he's exhausted, more so than she can probably imagine. What hell he's had to dodge up until this point, and possibly a few days more until he can see them again.

Something in her chest stirs at how he stills for her, easily drawn into the soft bubble of comfort she can provide at such a distance. Lulled easily by a silly soup recipe, simply because it's her voice. She wonders now if he uses her voice messages similarly. She wonders if he would let her read him to sleep.

She files it away. Along with the thought of sending him softer voice messages for when he's away.

She looks to him again, bristly face squished against his pillow. Eyes closed serenely.

“Wanna know my secret?” she asks, soft and playful, watching one of his pretty blue eyes creak open at her tone.

“W'sat luv?”

“I use instant mashed potatoes to thicken up my soup, makes it extra potatoe-y” she giggles.

“My clever girl” he mumbles dreamily, followed by a string of more barely intelligible praise. It rolls easy and proud from his chest, voice no more than a sleepy purr that makes a grin split her face.

By the time she's finished up John is fully asleep, his measured breaths pouring through the receiver just shy of a real snore.

Her heart aches deep in her chest, a chunk of it long gone and far far away in the form of one John Price, and while she can see him now, know he's alive and relatively well, she longs more than anything to crawl in next to him. Hold him close tucked beneath her chin, where she can keep him warm and safe herself.

As if on cue, a pair of strong arms wrap around her middle, Nikolai’s hot cheek pressed to her temple where he briefly lays a kiss. This time she doesn't fight him.

Getting sick be damned.

“Pretty thing isn't he?” Nikolai rumbles quietly, eyeing the phone screen with those fond brown eyes.

She simply hums an affirmative in his arms, words caught in her throat by the emotion that's threatening to escape her.

Nik seems to catch on, giving her a soft squeeze. “How is he?” he whispers instead, voice low to not wake the man on the other side of the world.

The question is able to at least shake a little out of her. “He seems okay, worn out, fell asleep watching me cook.” She watches John for another moment before sucking in a deep sigh, squirming around in Niks arms to face him, tuck herself into his arms.

“I'm just ready for him to be home” she mumbles into the soft plush of his chest.

Nik pulls her in closer, warm hands petting along her back, squeezing the back of her neck soothingly. “Me too, malyshka” he returns, the weight of John's absence equally heavy in his own voice.

The pair stay there for some time, swaying gently in each other's embrace, listening to John's soft snores until the sun paints their meager kitchen gold.

#abrupt ending bc I cant end things for shit #nik is some kind of baby #price is too #price x reader #john price #nikolai cod #nikprice #nikolai x reader #call of duty #cod #captain john price #wildcraft writing

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xarology · 23 hours ago

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Megatron x Reader 18+ MDNI

is there a fic somewhere where reader is a writer and makes megatron poems… maybe they show it to him sometimes and he’s an avid fan of their work? don’t even get me started on erotic poems!!

Megatron sitting at his throne doing whatever the hell he does on there and then suddenly a message on his datapad! from you! It’s not often you send him messages so this change pulls him out of his boredom real quick

Curiosity peaked, he opens up the large file sent to him. The message contains a variety of poems you wrote throughout the last couple months, dated from the oldest to newest.

He has time to read so why not indulge! The poems are varied in subject and length. Some are often short and sweet, usually inspired by your life on the ship and the cultural differences that come with it.

Some are more lengthier. Your thoughts, ideas, and feelings explored, pieced together more eloquently than you’re able to speak them in person. He cherishes these the most, your feelings reserved for only him to see and that idea makes his spark swell

A subject popping up more frequently in dates, he notices. furious poems about certain bots (starscream) that seem to have it out for you! (he’s storing this information in his processor to bring up the next time he sees starscream)

The last and most recent poem almost makes him slam down his datapad as he begins reading. The first couple words consisting of the filthiest thing he’s ever read—directed at him. Entirely for him.

It’s a lengthy poem too, but never does it have a word without a meaning. It’s an artistic masterpiece and if he wasn’t so inclined to keep you all for himself he would’ve posted of it for all to see (no matter how debaucherous).

The area for his interface paneling hurts, his spike pressurized and pressed against the heating metal. His cooling fans working overtime as he ignores the pop up to open his panel. He wants so badly to pump into his servo and relieve the ache now, but he’d much rather rut you instead.

#megatron x reader #transformers x reader #human reader #writing shenanigans #mentions of starscream #can we blue ball this guy chat #it’s so late i just wanted to get this idea out there sorry if it’s not cohesive

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ceilidhtransing · 2 days ago

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I'm extremely done with electionposting but I feel like there's one huge elephant in the room that's barely being talked about vis-à-vis the whole issue of non-voters. I see so many posts to the effect of “does the result really indicate that the people who didn't vote are bad, or that the Democrats simply failed to convince them to vote for Harris?” and I have to talk about that.

Obligatory clarifications because people are understandably very heated at the moment and I know people will jump to take this entire post the wrong way:

I know that the tens of millions of people who did actually vote for Trump are much, much more of a glaring active problem than the people who didn't vote at all.

I know that it is, overall, in most circumstances, bad to assert that a candidate is just “owed” your vote, rather than having to win your vote.

I know that Trump's base is unpersuadable and will vote for him whatever happens. I'm not talking about them; I'm talking about non-voters, particularly anyone who voted Democrat in the past but didn't show up this time.

I know that it's shitty that people should have to settle for a candidate they don't like very much because that's the only way to avoid a much greater evil. It's a rubbish situation to be in, but Harris and Trump were the only viable options presented at this election, and nothing changes that.

I know that some people abstained as a (extremely misguided and counterproductive) “protest” against the situation in Gaza. But if the numbers we're seeing are accurate, Harris lost 15 million voters compared to Biden, and I really can't see all of those being “protest-abstainers”. Some of them will be, but clearly a lot of people simply didn't show up, and if you reply with something like “well not doing a genocide would have helped them!” I will just assume you haven't read this. I'm not actually talking about the “protest-abstainers”, I'm talking about the passive non-voters.

I know that the Democrats are hardly, hardly perfect and that a lot of people do not trust them to deliver the kind of meaningful change that they need. Trust me, whatever criticisms of the Democrats you have, I know. They are tangential to the actual point of this post.

But it is properly mind-boggling to me that we have got to a point where we genuinely talk about people needing to be “convinced” to vote against a candidate so thoroughly, off-the-charts terrible as Trump, and as far as I'm concerned it speaks to the incredible job much of the media has done for the last I don't know how many years at continually normalising and sane-washing him, his ideas, his actions, and his speech.

If we were to teleport back to some time significantly before the Trump Era - before US politics got quite so wild, before it became in any way “normal” for a president to rack up an uncountable number of the kind of scandals that individually would have sunk any previous president but which are apparently just the way things are now - and comprehensively describe Trump to the average voter, and then say that he's in an election against a very standard middle-of-the-road don't-rock-the-boat Democrat, and ask “one of these is going to be the president; how are you voting?” the response is very likely to be “fuck me, the Democrat obviously! jesus christ just don't put that guy back in charge!”

Trump is such an appallingly bad candidate on literally every front that I can hardly believe the conversation focuses on whether Harris did enough to convince people to vote for her rather than the fact that Trump himself has spent most of the last decade doing what should be an incredible job at convincing people to vote for her.

And I know the general adage about “people need to be convinced to vote for a candidate, not just against another candidate!” but fucking hell, when one of the candidates is THAT GUY, it really should not take much at all to convince you to vote for whoever isn't him. Where's that meme about Any Statewide Election in North Carolina that has “Adolf Fucking Hitler” winning against “Bland Normiedem” 49% to 48%? Because that's what it feels like when people talk about voters just not being hyped enough by the Harris campaign to vote for her. “Yeah, I know Adolf Fucking Hitler is pretty terrible, but Bland Normiedem just hasn't done a good enough job at winning my vote, and really both sides are bad, you know?”

The thing is that all of the things people say about “you need to run a positive campaign, not just a negative one” and “you need to earn people's vote, not just take them for granted” and “you need to have a good reason to vote for you, not just that you're not the other guy” etc I totally, absolutely agree with - in a normal election with normal politics and normal candidates! None of what we're seeing with Trump is, or should be, normal! “You won't need to vote again” isn't normal, “dictator on day one” isn't normal, running with the intimate support of a bunch of christofascists who are open about their desire to turn America into an authoritarian hellscape isn't normal, and it has been utterly maddening to see people treat this as just another standard uninspiring election and not a code red “for the love of god stop this guy” situation! To use that reference again, it is an absurdity to frame things in terms of Bland Normiedem needing to run a great campaign to convince people to vote for him when his opponent is Adolf Fucking Hitler!

There are many questions to be asked about this election, but re: people not showing up to vote for Harris, a major one that needs to be asked far more often is “how the fuck did Trump and his whole campaign become so normalised to voters that “whether you're persuaded enough by Harris's campaign” is even a serious question? how is Trump Being Trump not persuasive enough for most people?” And this post is long already, but the media has a lot to answer for regarding how they have consistently sane-washed what he's said, normalised his positions, hell, normalised the fact that he's even running in the first place given his many crimes and the way he responded to losing the last election. Trump's enormous base is absolutely the most pressing problem, but this time around that base has been directly enabled to trample everyone else by millions and millions of people apparently just not being “motivated enough” to stop him. That is also a problem.

In no sane circumstances should Trump be a candidate that you have to be extensively, enthusiastically persuaded to keep out of office, and yet here we are, talking about how well or badly Harris convinced people to vote for her when literally everything about Trump ought to have been doing a good enough job of that anyway. How the fuck did any of this become normal? How the fuck did we reach a point where anyone - especially previous Democrat voters - is looking at these two candidates and going “eh, I'll just sit this one out, Harris hasn't done enough to earn my vote”?

(And in case I haven't been sufficiently clear, please don't reply to this with any variation of “she should have done xyz!” or “maybe if she hadn't done xyz!” This is not about debating her strategies or the merits of her campaign. A different discussion is the place for that. My point is that Trump is so out-of-this-galaxy leagues worse than her in every conceivable way that she shouldn't have had to “run a brilliant campaign” in order to sweep votes from the tens of millions of Americans who aren't Trump's base. Anyone like her running against Trump should have won in a fucking landslide and the fact that she didn't is not just an indictment of “a campaign that didn't do enough to persuade people” but also an indictment of the electorate and of the media's continual normalisation of Trump. To place blame entirely on “well she didn't run a good enough campaign” - as if in a race between Bland Normiedem and Adolf Fucking Hitler the whole focus should be on the merits or demerits of Bland Normiedem's campaign rather than the fact that Adolf Fucking Hitler is Adolf Fucking Hitler - is to miss an enormous part of the picture and also to reinforce the normalisation of Trump as just any other standard reasonable candidate. It's to buy into the whole deeply false “both sides” thing that the media loves to do, where we go “well Candidate A here is a near-octogenarian quasi-fascist wannabe dictator and convicted felon running on a platform infused with Christian nationalism and hardcore authoritarianism, who refuses to accept he lost the last election and essentially tried to hold onto power by force, and who has spent the last four years in countless trials regarding all the insane crimes he got up to both during and outwith his presidency, but on the other side, how watertight really are Candidate B's policies?” and pretend the two candidates are even remotely equivalent or comparable, and this very approach is a huge part of the problem.)

#us politics #us election 2024 #us elections 2024 #us presidential election #2024 presidential election #american politics #2024 election #us elections #election 2024 #american elections #kamala harris #kamala #harris #donald trump #politics #my posts

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crowhoonter · 3 days ago

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The Moon Presence holds a special place in my heart in terms of souls games final bosses because of the sheer what the fuckness of it all. All of the other final bosses have some kind of build up; Dark Souls can't go one minute without mentioning Gwyn, Nashandra and Aldia are major figures in Ds2's lore, the Soul of Cinder, while never directly alluded to is another example of the converging of time and space in 3, Isshin plays a large part in Sekiro's story, and Radagon is a major lore character with Elden Beast being pretty easy to clock as a manifestation of the Greater Will.

Flora, the Moon Presence, though? She comes out of nowhere. There are maybe two lines alluding to her existence at all, those being the workshop umbilical cord and the lecture hall note. The closest you otherwise get is the references to the terrible hunter's dream, which doesn't immediately conjure the idea of her to mind.

Even better we don't even know what she really wants. Oh sure, there are plenty of theories and inferences we can make. Maybe she uses Hunters like hitmen to prevent infant great ones from threatening her, maybe she's keeping a natural order running, maybe she wants to spread the beast plague, maybe she wants to prevent mankind's evolution, maybe she just plain loves violence. In the end though, its all still maybes. Girly walks on in and her mere existence changes so much about the story, yet she refuses to elaborate on anything.

Another very interesting aspect is, and this is probably a somewhat baseless observation, we don't really know what she is. Everywhere else in the game, Great Ones have some line of text associating them with that status. Oedon, Baby Mergo, Kos, Amygdala, The Brain of Mensis, Ebrietas. All of them have text somewhere that directly refers to them with that moniker, but Flora? Nowhere will you find something calling her a great one. Hell, in the Japanese translation, she is called "Moon Demon." It is probably safe and the intended inference that she is a great one, but the thought she might not be does tickle me nonetheless.

Then there is her role in the story. The Great Ones are said to be sympathetic in spirit, and there definitely is a part of her that echoes that sentiment. The way she cradles the hunter is like that of a mother holding a child, yet she seems to be a lot more manipulative than the Great Ones we see in game. They typically cause suffering not by tricking or making deals, but by being unaware of how they affect the world with their actions. Getting picked up by Amygdalae seems like a curious child picking up a lizard, unaware that they are hurting it. Flora though, there does seem to be a certain level of maliciousness beyond accidental. Gehrman's pain and suffering is clear to see, yet she keeps him chained to the dream because of whatever bargain he made (presumably animating the Doll). She does the same to the hunter should you forgo the umbilical cords. She also doesn't seem to want a surrogate like other Great Ones, maybe settling for keeping humans as pets rather than having an actual child.

She really is one of the best Fromsoft final bosses because of the sheer strangeness and the wrench her presence throws into the game's story. We can get a concept of most of Bloodborne's story with a bit of interpretation and reading between the lines, but she will forever be an enigma. For what purpose did Laurence and Gehrman summon her? Why is she seemingly not worshiped unlike other Great Ones? Does she desire a surrogate or are humans pets good enough? We may never know, and that is wonderful.

Stay enigmatic queen, live your freak life

#I may have missed something regarding her which if so please tell me #the lore is vague enough to make it incredibly easy to gloss over pertinent info #Even if given the chance to know more about her I don't think I would take it though #She is a perfect cosmic mystery #I do enjoy the almost devil kind of role she plays with Gehrman #a dealmaker that let's you create your own hell #He may have summoned her out of grief for Maria #but now he can never escape her visage #bloodborne #soulsborne #dark souls #elden ring #the moon presence #flora bloodborne

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ohlookapan · 2 days ago

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Heisenberg comfort HCs, anyone?

I've been feeling really down and out these last few days so I've been thinking about this silly steel man to make myself feel better.

Heisenberg is VERY observant–I’d go so far as to say he’s hyper observant. He’ll know something isn’t right likely before you do. He may not say anything right away, but he’s going to keep an eye on you.

Karl is someone who knows what it’s like to be stuck in your own head, and how shitty it is. He also knows how awful it feels (though he’d never admit it) to feel like that and feel like that alone. He never wants you to feel that way, alone.

He also knows that thinking about it makes it worse, but he will try and see if he can figure out what’s wrong. It’ll be something casual. “Talk to me, kid. What’s goin’ through that head of yours? Can’t be anything good if you’re all down like this.” The only exception to this is if you’re in a REALLY bad place, then he’s going to be much more urgent. If he can’t get it out, he’ll grab a pen and paper and have you write what you can.

If he can’t get the issue out of you (which he will not push you about it), he’s kinda stuck. He doesn’t totally know what to do, since he doesn’t really do anything to help himself. He just pushes it away and focuses on something else, letting his mind get buried in whatever he’s doing until he forgets about the issue. That being said, he NEVER wants you to do that. He may do it, but you sure as hell won’t.

Heisenberg will not change anything about how he acts around you when you feel that way. It isn’t because he doesn’t care, but rather that he doesn’t want to make you feel babied or less than because of how you’re feeling. You’re a tough cookie, he’s going to make sure you feel like one, even if you’re crumbled from time to time.

Being as observant as he is, he knows what makes you happy and makes you feel better (even a little), even if he fucking HATES it. If it helps, you’re getting it. Even if it’s wine, he’ll trudge to Castle Dimitrescu himself and get it. He’ll definitely bitch about it, but it’ll never be around you. He’ll bitch on the way there or take it out on Alcina.

If you’re shaking a lot, or you’re moving a bunch, he’ll give you something to tinker with, even if it’s broken or defunct. If you’re angry and need to break things, he’s already made you a version of his hammer that you can lift and just tells you “You know where to go.” Hell, he’ll probably go with you and do it too (but also to make sure you don’t hurt yourself).

He’ll definitely try and give you some words of encouragement in his own way. It may be something simple like, “Don’t let this destroy you, kiddo.” to something a bit deeper (depending on how you feel), like “You’ll get through this, buttercup. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’re going to outlive that bitch Miranda, and you’re going to be just fine. Got it? Good.”

Once you feel better, he’s not going to bring that incident up again, unless it’s something ongoing or something really serious, but he will check in with you to see how you’re feeling after that. “You ready to get back in the game, kid? Good to hear. Wasted a lot of precious time picking your ass up out of the dirt."

#karl heisenberg #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #re8 #re8 village #character headcanons #comfort headcanons

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hiddenlongingsfanfic · 2 days ago

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Fresh Out of Luck (Lucky Boys 2)

“So…uh Hood? Are you okay?”

Danny could feel the flood of fond exasperation that swept through the man across from him and he finally let his muscles loosen.

The man may have been stand-up enough to pull him from electrified waters but that didn’t always mean much. The fact that he seemed closer to laughter than anger after a pretty intense, if short-lived, fight was definitely a point in his favor.

Maybe now that they’d sized each other up Danny could just slink out of this guys haunt without any further problems.

I mean, he had a lot of problems actually, but this could be one less.

Maybe?

Possibly?

As he struggled to regain his footing Danny felt the other man's full attention settle back on him.

Absolutely everything throbbed on his body as he got back up.

The fall and the electric shock would have been enough for him to retreat to his core even a year ago. He was tougher now, more used to pain. So he was up and on his feet even though it was nearly the last thing he wanted to do. If the ground had been just a little softer or the man across from him had been just a little less scary Danny would have stayed face-planted right where he was. As it was, one of his feet dragged behind him a little as he started to stumble away.

Ow.

Ow!

Behind him the man cleared his throat pointedly and Danny turned his head just enough to see him out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m fine O; but we’ll need some sort of medical assistance for our…visitor.”

Danny didn’t even try to hold back the rumbling bass of the growl that erupted from his chest.

Like hell.

The other man.

Hood?

Raised an eyebrow at him and after a breath of thought seemed to purposefully push a little hesitant reassurance towards him.

Danny’s nostrils flared wide and on the exhale he pushed out a wisp of frosty air.

Which hadn’t happened before when Hood had sent emotions his way.

This was the first time it seemed intentional though.

As though he’d put some effort into it rather than an instinctual response.

Which, if this was the man’s first time meeting another ghost-adjacent person, was pretty impressive.

More than just a very, pretty face whatever he was.

But Danny had learned his lesson about being led around by pretty people who were able to beat the shit out of him without breaking a sweat.

Danny relaxed his grip on his solid form and felt the dim shadows of the sewers recede just a little bit more as his skin started to glow. His legs merged together into his tail and he let himself start to float into the air with, if not ease, at least long practice.

Hood’s eyes widened a little at the transformation but didn’t budge an inch. Instead, he let his head fall back a little against the wall deliberately making himself look more relaxed and less threatening. Danny may not be able to speak because of the muzzle but his derisive snort spoke volumes. Hood held his hands up in silent surrender.

“Okay. Fine. No hospital or anything. But we can help you with the muzzle at least. See about getting that off your face.”

Danny snorted again and this time he let himself float back up towards a thin sliver of night sky that he could see. It wouldn’t be wide enough for his shoulders but the plastic would fit through easily enough through the small gap.

The man’s voice was fading but he could still feel the surge of worried aggravation when he said.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

Whoever O was hadn’t had any sort of audible reaction to what Hood had said so they probably had cameras along with the other equipment that the man was packing. So at least two people in this strange new world had already seen his face and what the GIW had done to him.

It took a little bit of wriggling, and the painful stretch of the plastic muzzle compressing on his face but Danny managed to slide back onto the streets.

Camera’s didn’t tend to work too well around him but the tech from this world might be different.

So with another shuddering effort Danny managed to make himself go invisible and intangible.

From what he had seen while he was falling from the crumbling portal he had landed in a sizable city.

The stars were all wrong and he couldn’t quite grasp where he was in relation to where he had been.

Did this Earth even have the same number of continents?

Countries?

Not that it really mattered.

There was no going back to the life (HA!) that he had had before.

Wherever he had landed, it looked rough.

A lot of the streetlights had been smashed, leaving deep pools of darkness that Danny purposefully skirted around.

Even if the only thing that was still visible was the muzzle he didn’t need anybody trying to grab onto his face.

He flitted through the back alleys ignoring the deals for both drugs and bodies that were going on around him.

Everything looked as consensual as it could be and he didn’t see any kids involved.

Frankly, at that point he considered it none of his business.

He was also just tired.

Most of the buildings looked like they were occupied; with the occasional spot of warm flickering light from a television. But any city of even moderate size was going to have abandoned buildings. It took him a little while but Danny finally found what looked like an abandoned apartment building. Most of the windows had been smashed and the front door was hanging off of a single hinge at an angle that suggested it had been pushed inwards forcefully.

Danny cautiously floated up a couple of stories and peered in through a few windows. He could see the occasional sleeping bag and the small stashes of supplies that some of the city's homeless had left there but between the police tape and the blood stains Danny figured something violent had happened here.

Violent enough to keep all but the most desperate of people out of the building.

Perfect.

The building was steeped in death and when Danny put a cautious hand on the bricks he could feel the treacle creep of the ectoplasm that inundated the porous surfaces.

He carefully maneuvered the muzzle through the shattered remnants of wood from a boarded off window.

The rest of his body slipped through the boards with no issue.

The apartment had never been anything glamorous.

Wall to wall carpeting in a shade that may have been beige but now had a noxious undertone of green from the mold and the water damage. The wallpaper had once had fat yellow roses peppering the wall in inconsistent rows, mismatched now where the sun had faded the once bright colors.

Danny took in a deep breath of decay, it felt just like home.

Danny let himself relax back into visibility as he scanned the room in front of him.

There were water stains creeping up the drywall, heaviest around the window and in the corners leaving the once cheerful wallpaper peeling up and bubbling.

He let himself spin around for a moment taking it all in.

Not a single piece of rubble was anything even close to white in color.

No medical equipment.

No weapons, ecto or otherwise.

Danny let out a low rumble of pleasure.

Perfection.

He’d go out and scavenge some blankets.

See if he couldn’t cobble together some sort of generator.

He had never been the brains of the family, but he was no lightweight when it came to cannibalizing what someone else had already built.

Danny dragged the remains of a moth-eaten comforter into the darkest corner of the living room and let himself fully curl up onto it with a heavy sigh. Thin lines of ectoplasm started slowly leaking up out of the floor and made a beeline for his chest. When he finally dropped off to sleep Danny felt better than he had in years.

When Red Hood slipped onto a rooftop across the road the stranger didn’t even twitch.

Pulling a small pair of binoculars out of one pouch, he also pocketed a small handheld device that was connected to the tracking device he had managed to slip into the folds of the black rubber hazmat suit the other man was wearing.

Whatever he was, and however he turned invisible the tracker had worked fine.

Wherever Jason might have been expecting this strange visitor of Gotham to go it certainly wasn’t here.

Crime Alley was one thing.

This building though was even more decrepit than the usual.

There’d been a mass murder at some point in the early aughts.

Nothing too noteworthy.

For Gotham anyways.

A drug deal gone wrong, amped up with some of the fear toxin that the Scarecrow specialized in.

Red Hood had managed to keep most of the homeless clear of the old apartment building just in case.

He’d funded several halfway houses in the Narrows and tried to keep everyone at least marginally housed and fed.

One thing about his little empire, Jason had no end of odd jobs that he was able to offer to anyone that needed some help to get back on their feet. He’d been deep in the weeds of getting a rehab facility set up for the last several months. Getting funding hadn’t been the biggest problem; if Bruce was good for nothing else he was at least usually willing to throw money at a problem.

He had also given all of his children a thorough education in business and whatever else they were interested in.

Finding good, i.e. non-villainous, counselors was proving to be tough though.

Nearly everyone with a higher education in Gotham seemed to be on a watchlist of some sort.

Anyone with common sense and a Masters degree tended to abandon the smog-filled skies as soon as they were able to graduate.

Hood didn’t feel like he was being particularly picky either.

He sincerely didn’t care about any sort of non-violent criminal history and even then it definitely depended on the circumstances.

A spouse beater wasn’t going to get into the Narrows to profit off of his little growing empire.

A girl that had killed her rapist on the other hand.

Well.

Some people got exactly what they deserved in death.

No matter what Batman thought.

Tossing his hair out of his face Jason finally knelt down to take in what he was seeing.

Oracle was quiet too.

He’d turned on the recording when he’d slipped into the sewers and hadn’t felt the need to turn it off since.

He had heard the gasp of outrage that had slipped out when she had seen the other man’s face.

Whoever had done that to him; it was malicious.

Torture on a human rights level, even if he wasn’t technically human, wasn’t going to be tolerated by any Bat or Bird.

“We’re going to need to figure out who did that to him.”

O’s voice was grim and Jason gave a grunt of agreement.

Tilting his head, Jason watched the throbbing glow of the Lazarus water as it seeped into the man’s chest.

He wasn’t going to lie, at least not to himself, that was spooky as shit.

“I’m not familiar with whatever tech or magic this guy’s got going on but I’d say he’s probably ingesting the Lazarus water to help with his injuries.”

Jason kept quiet.

Oracle was only marginally talking to him.

She was typing quickly; looking for commonalities.

Clues as to what the hell was going on with their newest visitor.

Jason’s voice was the barest whisper but he knew that the microphone would pick it up.

“How is he even collecting it? I’ve never seen the waters in this quantity in Gotham and he seems to be pulling it out of thin air.”

“I’m not picking up any sort of machinery or tech. The only metal I’m picking up is localized around his face. You tussled with him. Notice anything noteworthy?”

Jason bit his lip to hold back a bark of laughter.

Tussled.

Like they were kids on a playground.

Like the guy in front of him hadn’t managed to literally rip his helmet off of him in pieces.

At least Dick had finally managed to convince him to remove the bomb that he had stored in it for a while.

That would have been an interesting way to go out.

“You’ve been unusually quiet even for you. What are you thinking?”

“That he sets off the Pit.”

Oracle’s gasp was bitten off but Jason still heard it.

He ignored it though and plowed on.

“Not. Not in the same way that I’m used to.”

Less blinding rage and more. Jason wasn’t sure if he could explain it to anyone.

They knew about the rage that seemed to envelope him.

It didn’t always have a trigger; just came out of fucking nowhere to ruin his goddamn day.

Sometimes though.

Sometimes it was worse.

The scrape of metal on concrete seemed to be a pretty consistent one.

Green flooded his vision and he could feel that seemingly endless well of rage start to rise in his chest.

If he was in the manor or the cave he always tried to keep well away from everyone.

Jason didn’t know what he would do to himself if he somehow managed to hurt Alfie.

That strange feeling of fear mixed with curiosity had seeped through him like a warm mist.

A hiss from a frightened animal not a roar of intimidation.

Not a hint of malicious intent; even after that frankly epic blow to his mask.

The Pit had risen to meet it, enraged and tinted with his own fear, and then had paused.

Writhing in his chest like a physical being.

Like a heart attack made of magic.

And then.

A feeling he had never felt before.

A deep rumbling purr of recognition.

All of this in the span of moments while he had watched the other man try to catch his breath.

All of it a silent undertone that felt like an alien language that he had never heard before but that made perfect sense.

“I can’t explain it. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”

“Can you make a comparison? It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just, I’m trying to understand what you’re saying.”

Jason went silent for another long moment.

His eyes were still fixed intently on the other man.

Who definitely wasn’t breathing.

That fact didn’t seem to bother the stranger at all as he twisted into a deeper curl.

His entire body was molding to the shape of the used to be 90° walls and the man was about 70% cube.

Jason bit his lip hard enough that he could taste the faint tang of imminent blood.

What could he compare this feeling to?

He stumbled over his words for a moment, wetting his lips.

“It’s not…not quite the same. You remember the first time Martian Manhunter telepathically communicated with you?”

“Yes?”

“How it wasn’t just words.”

“Yes. There were undertones of his emotions too.”

“Right. That’s kind of what this was like. No words. Just emotions. Communicative emotions. He knew what he was doing and had some control over it.” “

So you felt his emotions but they weren’t just pressing into you the way the Martian’s sometimes do. He was using it as a form of communication that he had control over.”

“Yes, exactly.”

Jason nodded, even though he wasn’t sure if Oracle could actually see him through her cameras.

“I think he could understand what I was saying.”

The man’s sarcastically cocked eyebrows had also heavily implied that he understood what Jason was saying perfectly.

And that he was unimpressed.

“He just couldn’t verbally respond to you because of that horrible muzzle.”

“Well that and I think I really pissed him off when I grabbed him.”

“No.”

Oracle’s voice is only a little dry.

“A person who doesn’t enjoy being snuck up on and grabbed from behind by a total stranger. Call Ripley. I can’t believe it.”

This time Jason snorted softly. He had always loved those Ripley’s Believe it or Not books.

It wasn’t Shakespeare by any means but he had always laughed a little bit at the sight of the monkey and fish body’s that had been put together to make a ‘real mermaid’.

The tv show was fun too.

In the right light the tv host, (Dean something?) had even looked a little bit like Superman.

Nowhere near enough jawline, but the resemblance was there.

Jason huffed the white patch of hair that hung over his forehead out of his eyes as he came to a decision.

“Listen. The tracker obviously worked. I’m just going to leave our guest a little present and then leave him alone. He hasn’t hurt anybody and he definitely could have knocked my whole block off if he had wanted to.”

“Okay, Hood. I’ll pass this along to everyone.”

As though B hadn’t probably been metaphorically champing at the bit and listening to the entire conversation.

The man was busy; but meta’s put his back up for some reason and he had been a little (psychopathically over-protective) of Jason ever since his miraculous return.

The man had also been trying.

Trying so hard to make up for his past mistakes with Jason and his other children.

A part of that was that he had basically ceded control of the Narrows to Red Hood.

Gotham at large may have been the Bat’s territory but all of his children had started to break it into pieces for themselves.

Nightwing was in Bludhaven, but Bruce’s adoption ‘problem’ was rampant enough that the others had managed to create their own sectors within Gotham.

Batman’s grip on the city hadn’t loosened as he aged but he had started to place his trust in his proteges.

That trust did not extend to keeping his nose out of everybody’s business but at least he had learned to occasionally keep his mouth shut.

Danny’s eyes were a little bleary when he opened them up as the sun slowly crept towards his dark little corner.

It took him a second to focus on the object that someone had placed in front of him.

He could feel the muted presence of the other ghost at the edge of his senses.

Long gone; but apparently fully capable of sneaking up on a (more dead than usual) Halfa in his sleep.

The bolt cutters looked to have been coated in rubber and were a matte black that looked expensive. There was a little note placed jauntily on top of the tool; the paper folded in half so it would stand upright.

THIS IS GOING TO HURT LIKE A BITCH. HOPE IT HELPS. RH

The handwriting was blocky but dark with good quality ink that hadn’t smeared or blotched even with the obvious haste that the note had been written.

Danny let his tail flick out and gently tip the note over so that he could look the tool over with more care.

Even with the rubber it was definitely going to set off that satanic little metal plate that was on his tongue.

The man was right. It was going to hurt like a bitch.

He blamed his exhaustion for why he hadn’t gone out and stolen something like this for himself though.

His brain had been too foggy and his body too damaged to try and figure out how to do anything except find somewhere to go to ground that he would be able to pull the plasma out of.

He felt healthier than he had in a long time after his impromptu nap/meal.

It was still going to be dangerous to do this.

If he hadn’t been able to feel the flood of emotions from the other man Danny might have hesitated.

Humans lied.

They lied all of the time.

The man could have coated the cutters with something nasty.

But it didn’t feel like something the man would do, somehow.

Danny reached a trembling hand out to the cutters and reluctantly pulled them closer. They were sturdy. Heavy-duty and hopefully capable of cutting the sutures and metal bars that wound through his face.

He took several deep breaths as he thought about how he was going to manage this.

The bars that went through his lips were close enough to each other that Danny was able to get two of them at a time between the blades of the clipper and he pushed down hard.

There was a moment of triumph when he felt the click of metal separating before his face lit up again with electricity and he writhed on the filthy carpet for several long moments waiting for the metal plate to stop shocking him.

It was lasting a lot longer than he was used to though.

It was hard to think through the pain and it took Danny several long seconds to realize that there was probably some sort of a failsafe on the tech that meant that if he managed to break any of the connections it wasn’t going to stop shocking him.

His whimpers were muffled as the remaining bars still kept his lips fused together and his hands clenched hard into the carpet and missed the handles of the clippers a couple of times before he was able to bring it up in fits and starts to clip the next two bars.

Thankfully they split as easily as the first two but Danny was starting to smell burning flesh and acrid smoke tickled his nose as the tech fought against his attempt at freedom.

Two more to go.

Then he could hopefully pull the metal plate out of his mouth and the staples would be cake after all of this.

Horrible.

Bitter.

Poisonous cake.

The last two gave way at the same time as Danny lost consciousness. The plate sputtered out with a sullen click and Danny let himself slump down onto the floor and let the darkness take him.

At least there was enough ectoplasm to keep him going in this city even if he wasn’t conscious enough to reach for it.

Batman let his muscles slowly unclench as he watched the boy through his binoculars.

He hadn’t known if he was going to be able to stand by and just watch for much longer.

The glowing Lazarus water had started to slip back out of the carpet as soon as the meta had collapsed back into it.

The Narrows and Crime Alley were Red Hoods; but Batman was never going to leave his boy behind again and if this new boy, young man perhaps, was going to be a denizen of Gotham he deserved every bit as much of his protection as the rest of the population.

More than that, he needed to contact the League.

Whatever sort of monsters, human or otherwise, had done this were going to pay for this if he had any say in the matter.

Batman’s lips tightened a little bit before he swung away on a grapple gun’s wire.

He was the goddamn Batman.

He had quite a bit of a say.

#archive of our own #fanfic #fandom #danny phantom #danny fenton #jason todd #batman #past torture #body horror tw

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