#roughed up and captured like thugs

[natjennie]

thinking about the foot touch......................

[waywardxrhea]

Better Late Than Never - Matt Murdock

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Detective!reader

Your teamwork with Daredevil to take down a dangerous gun trafficking gang leads to your life being on the line more than once.

word count: 6,280

content: hurt/comfort, two idiots in love, canon typical violence, guns, blood, car violence, forced sedative use, binds and gags (not the fun kind lol), beating as an interrogation tactic, knife use

a/n: this was done for an anon request! i was given lots of free reign with this one so this is what i came up with for the request of Reader getting captured and Matt/Daredevil has to attempt to rescue!

ps idk why, but i pictured Tom Ellis as the face and voice claim of the gang leader? not the intention, but it just kinda happened lol picture whoever you would like!

“Thank you for your time, and again, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” you said to the young woman you had arrested the week prior as she walked out of the precinct, shooting you a dirty look on her way through the door. 

You had found her in possession of a weapon that was unregistered and untraceable, so you took her in and had the gun run against the database to confirm your suspicions about the weapon. Captain Mahoney had recently assigned you to work on a case of an organized crime gang who were trafficking guns, so you were on high alert for any weapons that matched their MO. Turned out your hunch was right and the gun matched up with the weapon used in a murder a few weeks prior to her arrest. The detectives on the case were having trouble tracking down who the killer was, so when the gun’s tool marks matched up exactly, everyone was happy to have someone in custody for the crime. 

The woman never once swayed from her story of innocence though, so naturally, she lawyered up. Her innocence was proven just hours before by a pair of talented attorneys from the law offices of Nelson, Murdock, and Page. You looked up to see one of her lawyers coming toward you with a smug look on his face as he approached, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his cane not unfamiliar to you at this point. “I guess you can’t be right all the time, Detective,” Matt Murdock said to you as he came to a halt mere feet from you. 

You looked out at the bustling New York sidewalk where the woman had been moments before, and told him, “I’m just glad she didn’t go away for something she didn’t do. She ended up having a solid alibi and we found grainy footage of some thug slipping the gun into her purse the night I arrested her. I don’t think we would have known to look if it wasn’t for you and Foggy.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” he said, a small smile teasing the corners of his lips. There was a moment of silence before Matt spoke again, telling you, “Nice job, by the way, taking down that serial mugger last week. The streets already feel safer because of you.”

“Oh, you heard about that?” you asked curiously. Truthfully, it had been such a cut and dry case, you never followed up on what happened after the arrest.

“Yeah, when he hired us as his lawyers. Obviously, he was guilty, so we got him to take a deal,” Matt replied with a quiet chuckle. You watched as an almost cocky smirk curled up one side of his lips before he added quietly, “He said you were a little rough with the handcuffs?”

You leaned casually onto the wall beside you, crossing your arms loosely with a cheeky smile plastering your lips as you asked, “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you, Murdock?”

Before he could respond, an older officer who was wandering past barked out your last name and said, “Hey! What are you doing fraternizing with the enemy? He’s the reason so many of my arrests walk, you know!”

“Are you encouraging her not to listen to serious concerns from a constituent in her jurisdiction? I was just telling her how safe I feel now that she's on the case and taking serial criminals off our streets,” Matt said to him, his quick defense of you and the lawyer-speak making your heart flutter in your chest. He straightened his tie with his free hand not holding his cane and added, “Maybe if your arrests would actually hold up in court, they wouldn’t walk.”

The other officer stalked off, mumbling something you couldn’t quite make out, but you guessed that Matt could judging by the way his jaw was working in frustration. Wanting to take his attention away from the stressor, you quietly cleared your throat and told him, “You look really nice today, by the way. The tie really flatters you.”

His gaze finally tore away from the man when you said this and the muscles in his jaw relaxed, a smile returning to his features as he said, “Well, I’m glad it isn’t horribly obscene.”

“You could wear the gaudiest of hats and a neon orange tie and you’d still look amazing, Counselor,” you told him, a playfulness in your tone as a smile teased your lips. 

Matt leaned in toward you slightly, his voice lowered and almost with a sultry quality to it as he asked, “Are you flirting with me, Detective?” 

The gesture and his proximity made your heart start pounding in your chest, the sound reverberating loudly in your ears as your eyes quickly darted down to his lips before focusing back on his eyes behind his red lenses. Your voice sounded foreign in your own ears as you breathlessly said, “And if I-”

“Okay you two! No more puppy eyes at each other! You’re cut off for the day!” came Foggy Nelson’s voice as he approached with Captain Mahoney beside him. Both you and Matt straightened up in response to his interruption, the space between you growing once more to one of more professional standards as the two men approached. 

Captain Mahoney playfully tsked at the pair of you before telling Matt, “Come on, Murdock! I need her sharp for the case we’re working on! I can’t have her daydreaming about you the whole time!”

“I don’t daydream…” you mumbled, averting your gaze to the ground in the hopes that the furious blush now taking over your cheeks would be less obvious that way. 

“And I don’t need you to start now,” Captain Mahoney said, a quiet chuckle leaving his chest. You glanced up to see him giving Foggy a pointed look before telling him and Matt, “Now, you two get out of my precinct! And don’t come back unless you have to!” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll be back with cigars for your mom soon!” Foggy said as he and Matt turned to leave the building. 

“Oh, no you won’t!” Captain Mahoney shouted back. 

“They totally will,” you said with a quiet laugh as you watched them disappear into the bustling crowd on the sidewalk. 

Before you could return to your desk, the Captain’s voice caught your attention as he asked, “When are the two of you gonna finally go on a date?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you told him, shocked that he was discussing this with you. 

“Uh-huh, sure,” he said, not even trying to hide his smirk. 

Wanting the conversation to be off of your painfully obvious crush on Matt, you cleared your throat and asked, “Did you get a team together to head to the potential drop site with me tonight?”

“Yeah. It’ll be you, Stewart, Greene, and Campos,” he replied, relenting on his teasing, at least for now. “I had to make it a small team so you won’t be so obvious. You’ll go in plain clothes with bulletproof vests underneath. The four of you will have body cameras on at all times and I’ll be nearby in a van watching the feed with backup in case you need it.” 

“Sounds good, do the others know yet?”

“No, I was just about to find you all,” he said. “Meet me in my office in ten and we’ll discuss the full plan.”

That night once the sun had set and things were settling down as much as they could in New York City, you and your team of officers were making your way to the site where you were told the latest shipment of illegal guns was coming in. Dressed in plainclothes, the four of you ambled toward the site, Greene’s arm slung around your shoulders as she pretended to drunkenly stumble down the sidewalk while you brought a water bottle in a brown paper sack to your lips and took a long drink before pulling a face as if the contents tasted like cheap liquor on your tongue. Campos and Stewart flanked the two of you on either side, both of them also pretending to be unsteady on their feet as the four of you made your way toward the docks. 

Once the four of you got to a mostly hidden spot near where the shipment was supposed to be delivered, the act was dropped and you all crouched silently as you stared at the dock. The boat was scheduled to arrive in the next thirty minutes. As the time got closer, Campos leaned over and whispered, “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“This is where my source told me they would be,” you told him. 

Stewart, a slightly older officer, scoffed quietly and said sarcastically, “Yeah, Daredevil? Look, I know that after what happened with Fisk, Mahoney trusts him, but me personally? I think-”

“You should really listen to the detective in charge,” came the gravelly voice of the man in question as he perched on the structure across from the four of you. “Ghallagar got spooked since you’ve been onto his trail, so he moved the shipment a few docks down. If you hurry, you’ll be able to make it before the sale’s done.”

“And what’re you gonna do, huh?” Steward sneered. 

“Let New York’s Finest do their work,” Daredevil replied. “All I came here to do is make sure you can do your job.”

“Thank you, Daredevil,” you told the man in red graciously. He simply nodded before silently turning and making his way in the opposite direction. “Well, you heard the man, let’s go!” you told the others before gesturing for them to start getting up and heading in the direction of the new stakeout location. Before you could head off though, you spoke aloud so Captain Mahoney could hear, telling him, “The shipment’s being dropped off a few docks down. We’re heading there now. Control van can stay in place, it shouldn’t be too far from the original location.”

“Control van staying put, copy,” came the captain’s voice. “If you need backup just call.” 

“Will do,” you said before creeping your way to the front of the small pack. You had your service weapon drawn and pointed to the ground, but it was ready to be used at a moment’s notice. 

When the four of you arrived, the van for transport had just pulled up and you saw three men get out, heading over to meet with three more emerging from a small boat anchored at the dock. They were all armed to the teeth. It was clear that Ghallagar was not messing around. Before the guns could exchange hands, you motioned your crew forward. Staying slightly ahead of them, but fanned out, you raised your weapon and shouted firmly, “NYPD! Put the weapons down! Now!”

“Shit, we gotta go!” you heard one of the men from the boat crew shout before turning tail and running back to get the boat started. 

“Stop running! Put your hands where I can see them!” you shouted, firmer yet, as the four of you slowly creeped toward the men. 

“Get the guns! Now! We’ll hold ‘em off!” one of the gang men roared while gesturing for the shippers to grab their boxes. 

“Weapons down!” you warned. 

“I don’t think so!” the man in charge of the street crew snarled before opening fire. 

“Get to safety! I’ll provide cover!” you shouted at the other officers who quickly obeyed your command and hid behind shipping containers. In case Captain Mahoney hadn’t heard the gunfire, you shouted, ”Shots fired! I repeat, shots fired!” You heard more gunshots firing off from your side and watched as one man from the boat who was still on the dock got shot, a crimson spray of blood misting the air as the bullet made contact. 

Before you could make a move to back up and into an area of cover of your own, a rapid spray of bullets came flying toward you! You barely registered it as a second man from the street crew who had taken the heavy artillery weapon out of the van before the wind was knocked out of you completely and you were knocked onto your back. As you lay on the ground struggling to breathe due to the impact of so many bullets on your kevlar vest, you saw a blur of red dash past you and toward the dock. 

You barely registered the shouts of, “Officer down! Officer down!” from Greene as your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins, but rather than pushing you up like it normally would, it froze you to the ground. 

When you were finally able to turn your head to see what was going on because you could no longer rely on your hearing, you saw the red-clad figure of Daredevil standing over a bloodied man who had crumpled to the ground. You saw his shoulders moving up and down as his chest heaved with the effort of the fight, his fists clenched at his sides as he stood menacingly over the body. His head jerked up as the van peeled away from the dock without their fallen man and the boat zoomed away into the water. 

Closing your eyes, you breathed a sigh of relief to know the fire fight was over. “Take care of him,” you heard Daredevil’s voice bark to the other officers. It sounded like he was getting closer to you. You attempted to take a deep breath, but groaned in pain as you did, earning a concerned, “What hurts?” from Daredevil as he came to crouch beside you on the cold ground. 

“Ribs. Stomach. Bullets to kevlar,” you managed to get out between shallow breaths, squeezing your eyes shut as more pain burst forward with every word. 

“I’ve got-” Daredevil started to say, but stopped abruptly. When he did, your tightly closed eyes were suddenly engulfed by light before more excruciating pain radiated throughout your body as you were lifted up and into Daredevil’s arms. As you moved through the air with your eyes snapped shut, you felt Daredevil nearly lose his balance as a blast of air jostled him. Opening your eyes for a brief moment, you saw the gang’s van flying past you, missing the pair of you by mere inches!

You came to a crashing halt right into his armored chest with a cry of pain a few moments later, your knees buckling under the weight of your body and the pain. “I’m right here, you’re okay. You’re safe,” he whispered, pulling you gently back up into his chest, his gloved hand supporting the back of your neck as he did. 

Through the ringing in your ears, you barely heard your name being called out as officer Greene and Captain Mahoney made their way over to you and the masked man. “Are you okay?!” Greene asked exasperatedly. “Those guys are maniacs! Santos barely got out of the way before he got hit!”

“I’ll-” you tried before groaning in pain once again. 

“Greene, make sure that bus is on the way and get an ETA, I can handle this,” Mahoney told her before you felt another set of hands on you to give support as you were peeled away from Daredevil’s chest. “I can’t believe they tried to hit you!” he grumbled. When you were able to open your eyes for a few moments you saw the deep scowl on his face as he shook his head, mumbling something you couldn’t quite make out through the cotton in your ears as your heart continued to pound relentlessly. 

It felt like mere moments before you were being put onto the gurney and being stabilized by the EMTs as you guarded your midsection while they worked. Glancing over, you noticed that since you were out of his arms, Daredevil was about to leave. Not wanting him to go without an acknowledgement of being the reason you were still alive, you managed to get out a weak, “Thank you. For saving me.” In response, he offered you a nod before sprinting off, leaving you to be taken to Metro General to be checked over. 

A few hours and exams later, you were released by the doctors at the hospital, being cleared of any breaks or concussion. You were simply sent home with massive bruising and told to take it easy the next few days with some pain killers. And although you protested, Captain Mahoney benched you for the next few days, telling you to stay home and heal up before returning for desk duty at the end of the week. 

It was understandable, being told that you would come back for desk duty after what happened, though. You were shot at by a heavy weapon and almost mowed down by a van, for Pete’s sake! You cheated death. Twice! But it still felt like a punishment. Riding the desk hadn’t ever been your style, and you hated to start now…

Reaching over to the nightstand near your bed in your apartment, you felt around for the bottle of Advil that had become your best friend the past couple of days. When you finally made contact with it, you opened the lid and turned the bottle in order to drop a couple pills into your hand, but nothing came out. Groaning in pain and frustration, you realized that you were out and hadn’t bought any before coming home after the hospital visit… Shit. You would have to go to the bodega down the street and get a new bottle.

Getting dressed was a task, and it took you a long time to get your sweats and t-shirt on in order to go to the shop. You didn’t even bother with sneakers, slipping into a pair of slides sitting by the door as you grabbed your purse off the hook and began making your way out of your apartment building. The walk was slow going and painful, the constant bustle of people around you on the sidewalk not helping as they shoved past you, your tender ribs and bruised abdomen taking hits that had you wanting to scream. 

The bodega thankfully had the medicine you were seeking. After paying for it and a bottle of water, you were taking the pills as you left the store, not wanting to wait a second longer for the pain relief you desperately sought. Before you could close up the pill bottle though, from the alleyway beside you, a pair of arms reached out and grabbed you! The pills scattered all around as you struggled to go into a defensive move you knew by heart in order to get out of the attacker’s grasp. But almost as if they knew you had bruised ribs, they squeezed your midsection, igniting your whole body in a searing pain that had you seeing stars. Taking a deep breath to scream turned out to be fruitless as only a weak cry tumbled out when your expanding ribcage violently protested the intake of air. 

“Gotcha,” said a gruff voice, their breath hot beside your ear as they spoke. After he did, you felt a needle enter your arm as he muttered, “Night, night. The boss can’t wait to see ya, Detective.”

When you came to, you blinked hard a few times, thinking that maybe it was all just a pain-induced nightmare. Reality hit you though when you tried to move your arms but couldn’t because they were tied behind you as you slumped over in an uncomfortable chair. Trying to remain as still as possible so as to not notify your captors of your conscious state, you took in your surroundings. 

You were shoved into a corner of the room, so you had a pretty good view of the space around you. Lining two of the four walls were crates upon crates, each marked with the symbol of the gun runners you had been tracking. So, that confirmed your suspicions about who had snatched you… On top of each box was a display of what gun was inside, small spotlights illuminating the weapon as if it was an art piece in a museum. Two men stood guard near the boxes with guns of their own holstered to keep the product safe. Another man sat in a chair nearby on his cell phone. Because of his proximity, you assumed he was supposed to be keeping an eye out for you to wake up.

There was a musty smell that permeated the air and the occasional drip of water echoing in the distance. It was a narrow room with a slightly rounded off ceiling, which you thought was odd. There was graffiti on the wall that seemed vaguely familiar to you, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on where you had seen the tag before… The far wall looked like it had collapsed long ago, and it held the only entrance to the area that you could see. It didn’t even have a door, it was just an opening in the collapse. Something more promising though that clued you into where you may be located was the unfinished rail tracks peeking out from under the collapsed rubble and the unused tracks that had been used as makeshift barriers to protect the guns. 

You must be in the tunnel where the city had tried building an additional subway line a few years before, but it collapsed before they could get too far. Neither you nor Daredevil had been able to figure out where the gang’s base of operations was located, and now it made total sense. The area the city had accessed to get into the underground area was sealed and forgotten about by the population at large. You didn’t even know where the entrance was, although you had your guesses. Any time you would chase a group of troubled teens you caught harassing a street vendor or tagging the window of a business, they would just disappear into thin air near 45th and 9th. That was where you knew the graffiti tag from! There must be an entrance into this place somewhere near there! Not that knowing where you were particularly helped you at the moment, but… If you made it out of here somehow, at least you knew the best way to get to safety. 

“Hey, look who finally decided to wake up,” said the man near you. A shiver zipped down your spine as you realized that it was the same voice that spoke in your ear when you were taken. “Thought we overdosed you there for a little while. Guess I’m not as good at calculating drug doses as I thought. Oh, well.”

“What do you want with me?” you tried to ask firmly, but your voice came out broken and scratchy from lack of use over however long you had been out. 

“You’re asking the wrong guy questions,” the man said in a bored sort of tone. “Hey, Reg! Call the boss-man and tell him she’s awake. He’ll want to talk to her.”

“That he will,” came a new voice. Your head turned toward the opening in the collapse and saw a man in a white button up and pressed slacks walking in, flanked on either side by burly looking men who you assumed were his guard. 

“Ghallagar…” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes at the man you had only ever seen in pictures from the original brief you were given on the case. The whole time he had been in the Kitchen, the man was practically a ghost, so this was your first time getting a good look at him. 

“Detective,” he said with a certain smugness in his voice as he approached you. He held your gaze for a few moments before asking his men, “May we have the room? I need some time alone with the detective. There are buyers coming in an hour. Make sure we have materials to hide this section of the space. We don’t need them to see what I’m about to do. Bad for business.”

“Yes sir,” one of the burly men replied before turning away and gesturing for all of the men in the room to follow. 

When it was just the two of you again, Ghallagar rolled up his sleeves as he said, “I bet you’re wondering why I had you taken.”

“The thought may have crossed my mind,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. What did he plan on doing to you? What did he-

A sharp slap across the face pulled you out of your thoughts. “You seem to have something I want.” Another slap in the other direction nearly toppled you out of the chair before he snarled, “And I intend on getting the information out of you.”

“What do you want?” you asked through gritted teeth, trying not to show any weakness to the man standing tall over you. You may be in the compromised position, but there was no way you were going to let this man break you. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. 

“Tell me Daredevil’s identity,” Ghallagar said as if it was the most simple question in the world. As if he was asking the name of the cashier at your favorite bodega. 

“I don’t-” you tried, but stopped to let out a cry of pain when he sent a kick into your bruised midsection. 

“You’ve worked with him for months! Trying to find me, finding the gang whose place I took, taking down that mugger together. I could go on with all of the cases you’ve figured out with his help, Detective.” Before you could contain your emotions, your eyes widened momentarily, and that reaction caused a smirk to twist Ghallagar’s lips. “Yeah, that’s right. I know your case files. I have a folder with the names of every criminal you’ve taken down since you got out of the Academy.” He circled around to stand behind you and dug his thumbs into painful pressure points in your shoulders as he said, “You got to do your homework on me, I got to do my homework on you. It’s only fair, isn’t it? And it’s also fair for you to tell me who you’ve been working with since you’ve been such a thorn in my side!”

When he said that last part, a white-hot pain seared over your shoulder as he ran a knife over the skin there. You tried to bite your cheek to muffle your scream of pain, but only drew more blood than was already trickling out of the wound on your shoulder. Taking a deep breath to control yourself only made things worse and you let out another groan of pain as he circled back to stand in front of you. “I don’t know-” you tried again, but were cut off when he shoved the whole chair over with you in it. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he shouted as he sent another kick into your ribs, causing more pain to rock your already battered body. “The way he saved you that night on the docks! He made sure to go to you! The way he held you when he saved you from my men’s van! You know who he is, and it’s just a matter of time until I get it out of you!” 

“She was supposed to get back to work today, I haven’t seen her though. Not like her to be late…” was Brett’s response to Matt’s question about where you were. It was the morning you were supposed to be back after the incident at the docks, and Karen had suggested bringing you flowers. He didn’t hear you inside the building on his way there, though, so he hadn’t grabbed any before heading in to speak with a new client. 

“Have you tried calling her?” Matt asked. 

“Straight to voicemail. I was thinking of doing a welfare check myself here in a little bit if she doesn’t show up by noon,” Brett said with a sigh. A quiet chuckle left his chest before he added, “Don’t worry, I’ll get a hold of her, Lover Boy.”

Matt shook his head and laughed light-heartedly at the joke, telling Brett, “I appreciate it,” before he and Foggy left the precinct and headed to their office for the afternoon of case file sifting. 

Running his fingers over the braille case file in front of him, Matt had been fully engrossed in the complexities of this case for hours. Foggy had already called it quits for the night and went home, but he and Karen were still there, working to find an angle they could win this case at. “What if we played up the jury’s-” came Karen’s voice, but Matt tuned her out when he heard your name mentioned in the police chatter from a nearby cop cruiser. 

Officer missing after welfare check. Cameras show the officer’s last known location outside of a bodega before disappearing into an alleyway. Three days ago. 

Matt was out of his office chair and hurtling toward the door before Karen could even ask where he was going, calling over his shoulder that there was an emergency that he needed to deal with. He didn’t even bother with the cane as he ran, he and Karen were the only ones in the building anyway at this hour. He needed to get to his suit and he needed to get to it now. Your life may well depend on it. 

You weren’t sure how long the beatings went on for. There was no light that got into the collapsed tunnel so you couldn’t tell day from night. There didn’t seem to be any patterns on when guards entered or exited the room. There was no specific time when Ghallagar came in or out to beat answers you didn’t have out of you. And there was no use shouting. You felt doomed.

The only reprieve from the onslaught of pain was when buyers came in. When they were there, you were gagged and concealed from sight by a room divider, left to bleed and suffer in pain before more was inflicted when they were gone. Besides the pain, the only thing you knew for sure was that you didn’t have the information he wanted. You didn’t know who Daredevil was. No one did. You just worked with him on the recommendation from Captain Mahoney. That’s all. The way the masked vigilante saved you that night and held you to his chest made you feel safe, yes, but why that made Ghallagar think you knew his identity was beyond you. You wished there was some way for you to prove that you were telling the truth. Some way for him to know- 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the loud sound of gunfire in the front of the room. The enclosed space made everything louder and you squeezed your eyes closed in a feeble attempt to shut everything out. You were afraid of the ricocheting bullets making their way over here. Although, if one hit you, this could all be over… You wouldn’t have to endure anymore pain. There would be no more pain. And boy, did that sound great right now. 

The sound of fighting got closer and closer, Ghallagar’s voice barking orders before suddenly going silent along with the rest of the room. The only thing you heard was the sound of fists hitting flesh and groans of pain from the victims of whoever was dealing the blows. Already conditioned to fear the punches of your captors, you cowered inward as much as you could, a weak and unintentional whimper leaving your throat as you did. 

Within seconds of making the noise, the pounding of fists stopped and you heard a thud as a body landed on the floor, their skull hitting the pavement hard. Your heart pounded in your throat as you heard heavy footfalls approaching you and you wished the person away with all your might. Your wish didn’t come true though as the room barrier was shoved aside, causing you to tuck your head down to be as small as possible in the eyes of the unknown person in front of you. 

Your name was whispered in a gravelly voice, and you shook your head in some sort of attempt to deter the person from you. Instead of another beating that you were accustomed to though, suddenly your hands were free of their confines and you were being hauled up and into the embrace of the person now standing in front of you. You were too weak to fight, but when you felt the texture of the armor adorning the person holding you, you let out a sob and tightened your arms around the man. Around Daredevil. He came to rescue you. He saved your life again. 

“I’m here. I’m right here. You’re safe now,” he mumbled as he held you as gently as he could. With one arm still wrapped around you, you felt one pull away before he spoke again a few moments later, saying, “Tell Mahoney I found her. Collapsed subway tunnel near 45th and 9th. Ghallagar and his men are incapacitated. Get an ambulance here, now. She’s in bad shape.”

It was as if your body instantly switched out of survival mode when he ended the call. The moment you knew that an ambulance was on the way and you were safe in Daredevil’s arms, you collapsed. Every muscle fiber in your body gave out and your joints folded under all the weight and suddenly everything went black once more. 

When you began to regain consciousness, you instantly knew you were in a different environment. Rather than the sound of dripping water and gruff men speaking, there was the occasional beeping sound and soft spoken voices. You were in a somewhat comfortable bed with pillows surrounding you in an effort to soften the mattress and your hands weren’t bound behind you. There was no steady trickle of blood leaking from your body. You were in the hospital. You were safe. 

Your eyelids fluttered open when you heard movement from beside you, and you realized that one of the soft spoken voices was coming from right beside you in the form of Matt Murdock praying. Looking down, you realized that one of your hands was grasped in his as he prayed, and a deep blush creeped onto your cheeks - the moment was far more intimate than any you had shared before. “Hey,” you whispered once he said amen. 

“You’re awake. Thank God,” he said, the emotion obvious in his voice and smile. “You had me scared there for a few days.”

“A-a few days?” you asked, eyes widening. 

“Yeah. It’s been three days since they brought you in,” Matt replied, squeezing your hand gently. “Brett and Daredevil took care of Ghallagar. He and his men are going away for a long time.”

“Good,” you said, your voice breaking with emotion as you remembered what you endured at his hand. Wanting to change the subject off of the man in question, you looked at the gorgeous bouquet of flowers on your bedside table and asked, “Did you bring those flowers?” 

A bashful smile made its way onto Matt’s lips as he nodded, telling you, “I was hoping you’d wake up before they wilted. Was I right?” 

“Yeah. They’re gorgeous. Thank you, Matt,” you said, voice wobbly as you spoke. “And thank you for coming to see me. I- You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I wanted to,” Matt replied softly. 

“Oh hey! You’re awake!” came the voice of Foggy as he peeked into the room. “I hate to break up this happy little reunion, but we gotta go, buddy. Client needs us, like, yesterday.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Matt told him. 

During the whole exchange you were left staring at yours and Matt’s intertwined hands and got to thinking. Why hadn’t you ever just made a move with him? Before, you were convinced that he was just playing along with your flirting. That he didn’t have feelings for you like you did for him and that he just didn’t want to be rude. But now, frankly, you didn’t care about your overthought reasoning. After the last week, you realized how fleeting life was and just how lucky you were that you were still alive. So, before Matt could stand up and say his goodbyes as Foggy stepped out of the room, you leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. 

The gesture ignited pain in your battered body and a furious blush on your cheeks as you relaxed back into the mattress. The boyish grin that lit up Matt’s face made your heart flutter, and you swore it almost stopped when he asked, “Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes,” was your instant response in a breathy tone with a wide smile on your lips as well. 

The kiss was brief and gentle with both you and Matt unable to hold back your smiles as it happened. You felt rays of happiness flowing out of you and couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips when he pulled away mere moments later. He squeezed your hand once again as he said, “I’ve wanted to do that for a while. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize…” 

“Better late than never,” you replied, a content smile on your lips as you remembered his soft ones on yours, already craving the next. You hoped that this would be the start of something magical with Matt.

big shoutout to my beta readers in the tuna tank for helping me out with this, especially @sunflowersandsapphires for some of the dialogue pieces as well as @justvalkyrie and @thornbushrose for help with plot points and clarity!

ps: the flirty comment with the handcuffs made me giggle so much! it happened very organically too (even though i am a terrible flirt and needed to ask for help in the server for inspo) also the bit at the end with Matt holding Reader's hand and praying?? i teared up, whoops!

as usual, likes and comments are appreciated! xo, brooke <3

taglist: @reidmarieprentiss

dividers by @firefly-graphics as always!

[betmagic]

Random Headcanons

This time about Ace and his narcolepsy.

I’m no expert and while there’s probably a proper name for his sleep attacks , I’ve always called them drops in my head .

I’ve noticed that his narcolepsy never acts up during fights or dangerous/ serious situations.

In albasta he drops before smoker shows up. As for buggy … well comparative wise buggy isn’t much of threat to ace power wise.

So My headcanon is that Ace’s narcolepsy only acts up when he’s safe and is a very accurate indicator for when things are safe.

Why? Ace grew up exploring what’s probably one the most dangerous Forrest’s in the east blue( like the gaint animals are what you normally see in the grandline) and fighting adults in place like grey terminal. So maybe his bodies survival instincts developed as an unconscious self-defense mechanism that wards off his narcolepsy until it’s deemed safe. Even when he’s eating he stays awake and alert.—- because eating can induces a narcoleptic attack/ drop ,( yes I did do some research and it’s when he’s eating that we see Ace actually drops in the anime)

As to How the body knows when it’s safe or not , probably an unconscious use of observation haki. Again ace is basically a feral jungle child I wouldn’t be surprised if he unlocked a little bit of haki while in survival mode. If unlocked conquers haki at ten it might not be far of stretch he unconsciously unlocked and used observation haki.

It doesn’t take long for he’s brothers , specifically Sabo, to notice. He starts using it to gauge situations or whether they’re in the clear or not. Like after hunting a tiger or stealing from a bunch of thugs.

Sabo calls it the drop gauge.

The drop gauge is effective enough that his brothers (and later his crew) trust it implicitly.

Seriously they could be captured or and held at gun point by someone like a yanko ,warlord, or admiral but if Ace drops they instantly relax.

because if it’s safe enough that Ace dropped it probably means that whatever the situation is isn’t dangerous so there’s not a lot a lot to worry about.(and usually means that they can get out of the situation easily).

( whether or not ace aware that he’s used as a gauge is up to interpretation)

:::::::::::::::::::::

Bonus Scene: The spades also use the drop gauge especially for after a big fight or a rough storm, everyone keeps their guard up until Ace drops , meaning they’re in the clear , then they can relax.

Spade pirates just finished raiding a marine base or rival pirate crew.

Despite being over an hour since they’ve seen any enemies and probably a safe distance away The whole crew are on alert. Weapons ready and everyone is in position to defend or to get the ship ready to make a quick getaway.

Deuce who’s going over a map with A newer member of the crew.

Deuce: We can head towards this island here if they catch up us.

New crew members: um deuce do we really need to make another escape route? think we can relax now.

Deuce glancing at their captain ,who was talking with skull: no not yet.

Newer crew member: But it’s been an hour already and we haven’t seen anything. I think we’re pretty safe now.

Deuce, knowing that the other more senior members were keeping subtle eye on their captain turns back to the map in his hands:Not until the captain shows us it’s safe. Until then stay vigilant and be ready for anything.

And few minutes later is when the captain ‘shows’ it’s safe.

Ace drops mid conversation, skull catching him before he face plants on the deck.

None of the crew panic when their captain suddenly slumps over ,They’re all to used to the logia suddenly dropping out of nowhere, that they’d normally continue with what they were doing like nothing happened. Unless it it was after a battle.

Anytime Ace drops after a fight he’s always properly checked over.(there have been false drops before like when ace lost to much blood or that one time he got poisoned).

Deuce a little concerned ( because his captains an idiot who doesn’t tell him when he’s injured until he passes out from his wounds) :Well?

Skull looks up after evaluating the logia , who’s already starting to snore, giving the first mate a thumps up.

Deuce smiles and turns back to the rest of the crew. They were all waiting, had been the moment bone and ace stopped talking. they all look in direction waiting for the verdict.

Deuce:Alright captain dropped we’re all clear!

There’s a cheer as the crew finally relaxes.some even start making they’re way to retrieve the booze they managed to steal along with lots treasure.

Ace wakes up: Why is everyone Cheering?

If i got something wrong about narcolepsy and how it works please let me know.

[fruit-salad-ship]

This of course makes me think of Roman AU Peach saving a baby Booker, maybe he was captured with his mom for the coliseum and she can’t stand to see him held like that, she doesn’t know what to do but she hates it. Maybe Plum is around to see and demands to buy the cub, says she’s taking it home as an exotic pet but puts Peach in charge of him and makes sure he has a safe place to rest near her lodging. He’s so small, they don’t realize how old he is until he’s better fed and cared for, just been malnourished so long he’ll probably always be small, but he’s strong and smart and does whatever Peach tells him to

The sting in the tail.

Peach was forced to fight the momma bear, it was kill or be killed, thing nearly had her, but humans are smart, and peach was agile. She killed the mother and came out of that with a moderate scratch down her lower back. It was the second fight plum saw with this woman headlining, and the fight that could have been her last there.

Peach returns to the pits, injured, miserable, she didn’t want to hurt that bear, it wasn’t fair, if she could just stop fighting it could have been her to die out there not it, but the bear would only have to fight again as she did, eventually, one will die, the other will move forward a step. The guilt hangs heavy over her, humans sometimes get under her skin, their personality types clash with hers, so a kill can be…less thought about, not in any way ok or good, but not endlessly playing in her head. An animal however had nothing in this situation, not even the opportunity for freedom one day, they’d live and die in this place.

So when she gets to sit for a moment, and hears the cries of a bear somewhere echoing around in the stone chambers that she resides in, her attention is drawn. One young Welp is trying to help her with her injury, tries to stop her getting up and going towards the sound. Nothing can hold her back, not even her owner grabbing her arm and telling her to go to her cell to get treated so she’s not a money waster next fight. She continues, knows it’ll get her hurt for not listening, seeing the large cage the bear was no doubt once held. Inside however was a cub, no bigger than a small dog, someone poking at it with a stick through the bars. She doesn’t think, just grabs the person by the collar and slams their head into the bars, repeatedly, until they drop the stick, and run away bloodied.

The cub is small, hurt, tired, and peach knows now she just orphaned it.

Plum is discussing with her owner as she looks on, paying for this fighter, seeing her start to get roughed about by some guards, the man she had beaten for poking at the bear told on her, a couple of huge thuggish men making sure she didn’t forget where her place was. She had no sword, no shield, just fighting back as best she could. Plum overhears the conversation, it’s about the bear. This whole fight if about that cub. She says she’ll pay for it too, and to get the old owner to stop the thugs beating up her new purchase. NOW.

Peach was about to get a world of hurt, pinned up against the bars, hearing a soft voice that stopped everything. This new person in her life. The man in charge explained she’d serve plum now, and to take the bear with her.

Peach doesn’t have belongings to gather, handed a rope, the door to the cage unlocked. Plum waits, besides her grey who was about to step in on the fight.

From there it’s peach’s job to tend the bear, she doesn’t argue, she’s the reason it’s alone now. She’ll make it up to him, swears on it.

[sansypansy]

Cold rage

Tim Drake was all an Alpha should be, and nothing an Alpha shouldn't be.

It was no secret that he was a person to be admired, to be respected and held in the highest regard within the wealthy social circles of Gotham. He spoke only when necessary, sweet and charismatic lines that could sway even the most uptight business clients. Unbonded, rich Omegas flocked to him like bees to honey.

But he never paid them any mind. To a quiet, calculative Alpha like Tim, he saw them as vultures. Sleazy and scheming, just like all of Gotham's elites were. Not to say he wasn't manipulative himself, but that only happened when he wanted to be.

No, none of them were worth Tim's attention. There was only one single Omega that he yearned for, with such a value not even he deserved. Someone who brought out all of the primal instincts within him. Someone who could match his intensity and return it tenfold, capturing his heart and his devotion.

Tim Drake was all an Alpha should be, and nothing an Alpha shouldn't be.

Nobody was allowed to bring harm to the Omega he'd imprinted. They would be faced with the coldest, most dangerous version of him which Tim kept tight on a leash.

The thug didn't even see what was coming for him. One minute, he was stepping into a room full of fallen, unconscious bodies. The next, a metal staff was hurled and impaled him brutally in the stomach, lodging him into the wall behind. A scream of pain escaped his throat the same time Red Robin finally emerged from the shadows like a Bat out of Hell.

"You know what I want. Talk."

The criminal's legs shook at the violent, vicious pheromones emitting from the Alpha vigilante. As a mere Beta, the reeking scent was enough to have him writhe in pain other than the baton currently protruding from his abdomen, blood dripping from the wound. Coupled with Red Robin looming dangerously over him, it was enough to make the pathetic Beta spill his guts.

"H-He's in the back room!! Down the hall, last door to the left, and there are only two guys watching him! W-we didn't rough him up too much, h-he's only drugged, I-I swear!! We didn't do anything else!!!"

As protocol, Tim was required to wear scent blockers at all times when in the cape. But when he was already one flimsy thread away from snapping, using his pheromones got the job done much easier. He didn't care what Batman thought. Not listening to Bruce had been what got Tim into this life, after all.

The last two goons didn't stand a chance against a cold, near feral Alpha. A new staff was brandished, breaking one guy's kneecaps and giving the other one brain damage. Then, finally, Tim was able to slowly approach the barely conscious Omega restrained to the chair.

Damian.

His scent quickly switched from unadulterated rage to soothing comfort as a croon rumbled from his chest. Tim gently relieved the younger teen from his binds, releasing a chuff in response to every whine until Damian was nestled in his arms.

"You're safe now."

And just like that, the blood-thirsty Alpha inside of him was snuffed away and locked up once more as he walked out, carrying Robin in a tight hold that promised care, protection and possession.

Tim Drake was all an Alpha should be, and nothing an Alpha shouldn't be.

[araveninthedarknight]

brooookkkkeee please bless me with a Shibaman fluffy fic that takes place in the rain. Like maybe he gets caught in the rain or something and the reader shares her umbrella. She is from daruma (or whatever sword group you feel most comfortable with except for white rascals). A bunch of guys try to fight Shiba during their walk but they recognize the reader and flee in terror.

I use she but you can use whatever pronouns you feel comfortable writing. Thank you for opening requests ^-^)/♡

Of course my dearest leader (iykyk) I sall write you with one of your favorite boos UwU, hopefully this is ok, i had to restart because my laptop glitched wich is a bummer cus I was in sappy mode.

Warnings: Some swearing, slight mentions of fights, mostly tooth rotting fluffy cotton candy with darling Shibaman.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Shibaman had been out and about all day, numerous errands had been done and now he was starting to feel a little tired, he decided to stop at an old bench that was once part of a bus stop, taking a rest was his best bet, only a few minuets he had promised himself.

The cool night air created a delicious burn in his lungs after many hot stuffy hours at Oya and various other places he had visited. His head rested back, eyes closed as he took in the crisp air, a faint breez sweeping across his face. The quiet was nice, and he had been glad to not need a jacket that day. It felt free for him. He felt himself doing an internal reset, one he had much needed and not even really known. Everything seemed to be going his way until the skies opened up and a downpour pelted him with hard crystal like rain, he had not seen that in the weather forecast today and he let out an annoyed sigh, now he was soaked and going to get cold fast. He saw the falling appart bush shelter that was unused, and went under it, the rain only drizzling in the enclosed space, keeping him from getting any more soaked in rain.

A few block away, Jay was walking out of a restaurant where she just picked up something to eat for dinner, she had had a long day at Daruma and was ready to unwind for a bit. The rain that greeted her made her smile, she had always loved it and decided that she would not be bothered by it ever even in unexpected times like this. She put her umbrella up, stepping into the col and rainy night air with her bag of food in hand, unknowingly walking to where her next great adventure would await her. She was in for a surprise and a half when the six foot tall teen would capture her heart.

As she approached the old run down bus stop, a smile on her face as the pitter patter of rain on the umbrella sounded, she saw a tall figure, soaked from head to toe and almost looking to be lost or maybe just having had a rough day. whoever it was didn't have a jacket and that was never a good thing.

"Are you alright sir?" Jay asked, her eyes falling on someone who seemed close in age to her and he looked almost like she had seen him somewhere.

"Im ok, just got caught in the rain that came out of nowhere." Shibaman chuckles, not hiding the fact that he was soaked to the bone on raindrops. "Well come with me, we can share my umbrella and I can walk you to where you need to go, I can't let you stay out here all night and get sick waiting for the rain to stop." Her voice was a melody to him, and he felt compelled to take her offer, so he did, standing under the umbrella with her, trying to hold it for her so neither was pelted with the rain. "Thank you for getting me out of the rain, Im Shibaman." The smile on his face was genuine and could melt even an ice heart, Jay decided. "Im Jay, nice to meet you Shibaman. Where are you going to?" She asked "Just Oya." He mutters, hoping not to frighten her, he had yet to realize she was from Daruma and was anything but skittish. "Alright, sounds good." With that they walked twards Oya, only to be stopped by thugs from a riaval school gang getting ready to attack the Oya student. Jay steps from the sheild of the umbrella and shouts at the new faces, not afraid to scare them off, "OI,Get lost you pieces of shit."

The guys facing her pale when they realize who they messed with, running off and leaving Shibaman confused and Jay going back to him, "That should keep them away." As they arrive later at Oya, Shibaman lets out an almost sad sigh, not ready to leave this lovley energy he had been talking with for thirty minuets, "Thank you again for bailing my ass out." "No worries big guy. Say, you wanna go out for dinner some time?" She asks, a small smirk dancing across her features.

"I would love to ms. Jay." The young boy nods, confirming with her he would meet her again, exchanging contact info before leaving inside of Oya and leaving Jay a lovesick mess, even though she knew Daruma would have a field day giving her shit, all that she cared about was now she loved the rain even more.

A/N: I hope this was alright Rain! thank you again for being my second request and for just being an all around amazing friend. <3

[thevindicativevordan]

Thoughts on the new intro sequence for My Adventures?

Adore it.

More than anything shown so far, this perfectly captures the "anime Superman" aesthetic the show is going for. Quick thoughts:

Love the rock & roll theme, wish it had some catchy lyrics to go with it. All my favorite childhood cartoon themes like Ben 10 had catchy earworm themes that I can recall with ease because of how many times I heard them. Welcome reprieve from every Superman adaption going with an orchestral theme regardless.

Superman winking at the camera is enough to make a hardcore Superman fanboy cry. God we're finally getting a Clark who isn't a stick in the mud, and it feels so good.

Clark and Lois are so fucking cute together, and Jimmy's reaction is hilarious.

Again it sticks out to me that while Jor-El shows up, there's no onscreen showing of the Kents in the intro. Could they actually be dead in this show? Don't want to get my hopes up but it's starting to feel like an actual possibility

Cackled that all three of the trio have their own "anime power up" moves

And finally we have the big showing of the villains. Starting from the center and going clockwise it looks like the shadowed figure is Brainiac, the smaller figure in front is either a spoiler character from the leaks (AI Lara, who I've just realized is basically this show's take on Eradicator) or Zod, then Livewire, Mxy, some kaiju monster that might be Parasite (hope not, I don't want a technological Parasite), someone who could be Bloodsport, Deathstroke, or Atomic Skull, then Amanda Waller, generic Intergang thugs, Silver Banshee, a guy I don't know but I've seen others speculate is a minor Intergang bad guy called Rough House, and finally a guy I'm guessing is Metallo.

Like the Kents the biggest omission that stands out is no Lex. Doesn't bother me at all to not have him for the first season.

Regarding the villain designs, I love Mxy's. His comic design of just being a regular dude in a suit is terrible. A 5D sorcerer-imp should look much more demonic or at least otherworldly, so their redesign is welcome. Waller looks fine and if that is Bloodsport I like their take on his DCEU redesign. Silver Banshee and Livewire I'm not a fan of. Making them tech based is boring and a downgrade from how they look in the comics. I guess Livewire will also be a member of Intergang to justify the change and that I'm fine with.

Metallo, if that is him, looks New 52 inspired which isn't my favorite design but is a great story foundation for his character if that's what they're drawing on. With the focus on Clark & Lois' romance I'm wondering if Corben will start out as a rival for Clark's affections, and with Waller in the mix we might get General Sam Lane, Waller, and Metallo hunting Superman. That would make for great drama - Clark and Lois are in love, Lois' dad is hunting her boyfriend, the guy trying to kill Clark is also trying to woo Lois, could be great. Kinda wish we had a love quadrangle going on with Clark starting off dating Livewire and Lois with Metallo, before the two hook up and their supervillain exes target their rivals (Metallo going after Clark and Livewire going after Lois respectively) in retaliation

Man if that's Bloodsport I hope he kicks Clark's ass and gets to look cool. If it's Deathstroke I hope Supes utterly bodies him.

Funny how amongst all the major redesigns, that silhouette looks like we will be getting a fairly straightforward Brainiac take

Final big thought regarding Lex's absence. Originally this show was greenlit for two seasons, and I hope that's still the case. I could see this first season being about humanity trying to bridge the gap with Superman's natural powers via tech. Brainiac is the big bad to stand out as an evil counterpart of both Superman's alien power and humanity's tech based enhancements. Then in S2 Lex arrives and he starts experimenting with the metagene. Silver Banshee and Livewire get redesigned to be more like their comic selves cause they unlock their metagene powers, Parasite and Bizarro are created, basically we see the rise of the "supervillain" to contrast with S1 being aliens and tech enhanced organized crime.

[ausetkmt]

Active Clubs: Will2Rise Sells Activewear to Fascist Brawlers – Rolling Stone

This Activewear Brand Wants to Be Lululemon for Fascists

Will2Rise is marketing “militant active wear” to white nationalist Active Clubs, which train members for street combat

Conservatives opposed to shopping at “woke” corporations have launched their own lines of pillows, piss beer, and mobile phone service. Now, unabashed white supremacists are setting up shop in this so-called parallel economy. 

Consider the fascist fashion house Will2Rise.

Will2Rise makes sports gear for white nationalists — including muscle-tees, track jackets, “militant active wear pants,” boxing gloves, and hoodies emblazoned with “Cultured Thug.” Leaving no doubt about its politics, the company’s gear is branded with stylized silhouette of a fasces — the ancient Roman symbol (consisting of a bundle of wood with a protruding ax head) later embraced by far-right Italian militants, spawning the term “fascist.”

The company specifically markets to members of Active Clubs, a global network of white supremacists who “tribe and train.” The members of these tight-knit local chapters pursue street-fighter fitness in advance of an anticipated race war, or other violent confrontation. Rather than the Hawaiian shirts and AK-47s that characterize extremists like the Boogaloo Bois, the Active Club aesthetic is gym-wear and mixed martial arts prowess. Will2Rise sells training hoodies and tight-fitting ringer tees labeled, “ACTIVE CLUB.”

Will2Rise is also playing the role of a corporate sponsor for white supremacy events. The company staged a second-annual MMA tournament this August, in a Huntington Beach warehouse decorated with white-power flags. Hosted by the SoCal Active Club, the contests featured fighter representatives from the Tennessee Active Club, Big Sky Active Club, Great Lakes Active Club, Evergreen Active Club, as well as from Patriot Front, another high-profile, white-nationalist group. Many of the fighters sported Will2Rise boxing gloves and other apparel. 

Think of the brand as Lululemon for white-power bros. The company touts its commitment to “bringing high-quality goods to Our guys.” Its white-power symbols are often coded. Many items for sale carry the Roman numeral XIV, or 14. For the neo-Nazi set, that’s a reference to the “14 words,” a dark oath about securing “the existence of our people and a future for white children.” A video montage on the slick Will2Rise homepage is more explicit. It flashes the words “white youth revolt,” “white unity,” and the slogan “action today, victory tomorrow.”

The company’s whites-only ethos extends to what Will2Rise dubiously labels its “Ethical Supply Chain” — with products exclusively “made in Eastern Europe, so not a single hand touches the production that is not of like mind.” The copy continues: “We keep Our people employed and keep all funds within our ranks.” The company takes Visa, MasterCard, Paypal, and Stripe.

https://www.rollingstone.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Will2Shop-screenshot-shop.jpg?w=1024

Will2Rise represents an attempt to monetize the Active Club movement by the same folks who founded it. Active Clubs are the brainchild of Robert Rundo, a white nationalist from Orange County, California. Rundo previously led a street-fighting group called the Rise Above Movement, whose brawlers made a practice of roughing up antifa at social justice protests. Federal prosecutors have described RAM as “a combat-ready, militant group” that’s part of a “new nationalist white supremacy and identity movement.”

Rundo was indicted on federal charges of “conspiracy to riot” in 2019 stemming from RAM actions in Huntington Beach, Berkeley, and San Bernardino. The charges were dropped for a time but reinstated in 2021 after an appellate process ruled that the charging statute is constitutional. However, Rundo eluded capture, decamping to Eastern Europe where he continued to organize around his violent brand of white supremacy — including morphing RAM into a decentralized network of Active Clubs.

The Active Club movement is growing exponentially. A new report by the nonprofit Counter Extremism Project, reveals that there are at least 46 active clubs across 34 states in the U.S. The “transnational” network also has chapters in 15 countries, including Canada, and across Europe, with 23 chapters in France alone. 

Alexander Ritzmann, who conducted the CEP research, describes the groups as “trying to build a militia” in plain sight. They foreground a broad ideology of “white unity” — both to prevent infighting and to appear less threatening to law enforcement. The exact purpose of the fight-training remains ambiguous, but Ritzmann insists this is on purpose, following the philosophy that a violent white supremist movement needs more “fighters than thinkers.” The endgame, he warns, is for these Active Clubs to be the tip of the fascist spear when the next “Day X” — think: a redux of a Jan. 6 — requires the services of a fighting force: “It’s about building that militia for the day a leader shows up … that needs some sort of army.”

Rundo was also “a driving force in the creation” of the Will2Rise clothing brand, according to the CEP report. The Southern Poverty Law Center recently included Will2Rise among entities it labels “white nationalist hate groups.” The shop serves many purposes: reinforcing the public-facing aesthetics of the Active Club movement, raising money, and aiding in recruitment. According to Ritzmann’s research, the shop gets about 10,000 visits a month, with visits lasting about 15 minutes, “indicating shopping.”

Rundo’s life on the lam in Europe came to a halt this year. The 33-year-old was collared in Romania in March, and his extradition to the United States was announced Aug. 2. He has pleaded not guilty to the conspiracy to riot charges, and is expected to go to trial in December. 

Not surprising, Rundo has become a cause célèbre in extremist circles — especially for Will2Rise. A banner at the top of its website demands “Free Rob Rundo.” The company is also selling Shepard Fairey-esque art posters reading “FREE RUNDO,” and is even raffling off a wood carving of its fasces logo, fashioned by supporters at the “Austrian Art Academy.”

Following his vision, the groups Rundo set in motion are continuing to act without him — including by holding the Huntington Beach MMA fights. Extremism experts insist this is in keeping with the leaderless “open franchise” model promoted by Active Clubs, but note that SoCal Active Club has been effectively stewarding the movement in Rundo’s absence.

Will2Rise has not responded to an email request for information on its business, revenue, and profits. The company lists its address as a P.O. box in Virginia. It also features a non-working telephone number with a Georgia area code and one too many digits — ending in 88. That number is often used by white supremacists as a numerical correspondence to the letters HH, short for Heil Hitler.

[traditional-with-a-twist]

lviii. Beauty and Her Beast

<<Previous || first arc || second arc || third arc || AO3 || Next>>

After the spectacular victory at sea, Tanbarun had commenced a systematic purging of the Claw’s associates.

This had proved difficult.

Headless, the limbs scattered — vanishing into hideaways and boltholes, melting back into the anonymity of the underworld.

For every pirate the soldiers captured, two more evaded them.

...

The smugglers’ elusiveness frustrated justice, but it posed at worst a tepid threat. The sea witch had masterminded the vilest of their evils; she alone sported the fangs of the operation.

Umihebi had carved blood and misery across the seas.

She had built an empire, trading in flesh. She had defied the might of the royal navy and the merchant marine, digging her nest so deeply that its tendrils extended all throughout the land before she was rooted out at last.

By trapping her, the joint forces of Prince Raj and Prince Zen had lifted a scourge from the kingdom, freed it from a menace that stalked its borders and devoured its children.

They had laid to rest a malignant enemy.

Without her venom, the thugs at her command might snap at the heels of Tanbarunian society, but they would not imperil civil order or the health of the body politic.

Now Umihebi walked free again.

...

Word of the danger spread quickly.

News, rumors, began circulating. The countryside felt the shivers of realignment as people followed.

The more unsavory characters wound towards the source of disturbance, drawn like buzzards by the promise of blood. Whispers followed in their wake, warning of a force gathering — a hatred building.

Safety was west.

Obi went east.

...

He had left something behind him in that bedroom with Torou. He no longer sought distraction.

No more would he search for a way to forget or suppress the memories, as if he could find a cure for his regrets. This was no malady plaguing him, no medical condition. He was not ill — he was guilty of a crime.

He stopped visiting towns and taverns after that — stopped looking for ways to drown or stifle thoughts of her.

...

His mind roamed more wildly than his feet, vacillating confusedly from remorse to accusation. Where had he gone wrong — leaving? Staying? Asking her to be him? Discarding her and the home they had built together?

Every decision seemed suspect; entirely contrary choices struck him as equally wrong-headed, equally inimical to everything good.

How had he dared to presume he could care for her — how had he dared to abandon her?

...

Obi knew no rest, in soul or body.

He had always been a light and fitful sleeper, prone to snatching cat naps on window sills, sofas, beds that belonged to someone else — but now he knew not when he slept. 

He would come to himself in a wood somewhere, unconscious of whether he had dreamed or only sunk into a reverie. 

Other travelers passed him by, perhaps unaware of his presence, perhaps drawing back as instinctively as animals shied from the dangerous of their kind — scenting death in the walking wounded.

...

He felt marked, a  wanderer like Cain, cursed by his own transgressions — but he had lived on the wrong side of the law for many years.

This time a chasm had opened, between himself and the rest of humanity, such as he had never known in all his years in the underworld.

It would be easy enough to let the world grind him to nothing, as it had always tried in any case, but there was something to do first — one thing he had left to take care of.

...

Obi followed that undefined sense of incompleteness to a rough town near the border — “town” being a generous term.

It was one of those the places of buying and selling sprung up in conjunction with the crossing patrolled by their neighbors to the east.

Here, one might change money, change papers, change your identity even — and buy a drink, of course.

...

No such shadow town would be complete without a place for men to wet their throats, but this hub in particular did a brisk business in reallocating confiscated liquor.

The eastern empire did not smile on spirits, as many an ill-informed merchant discovered to his chagrin.

Sometimes a  finely aged brew would find its way to the dusty tables.

Other times, Obi thought, as he watched the bartender fill his glass, it might as well have been ditchwater.

...

He sat back and surveyed the room, his mind assessing, appraising each party.

Many drank alone, but a band was gathering against one wall.

They drifted in by ones and twos, ostensibly occupied with a game of darts, but Obi noted few heads turned in direction of the play and little interest in its progress.

The men were more occupied with consulting, murmuring to each other in low voices while their eyes flitted from face to face.

...

He downed his glass.

It tasted worse than it looked, but this mattered nothing to Obi.

Perhaps his body had reached its limits at last — perhaps there was a point beyond which a man could feel no more.

Obi rose. 

He was about to find out.

...

He strolled up to the dart game like a blind, deaf dog robbed of its scent faculties — oblivious, in short, to every sign thrown out to signal his unwelcome.

The men glowered, shifted together, closed ranks against him.

A fellow with an eye patch, stationed at the group’s periphery to head off interlopers, gave him a look that was downright mean.

Obi sauntered past, headed straight for the thick of their band.

All their low murmuring ceased.

...

A few watched him coldly; others fingered the weapons at their belts.

One lifted a short, heavy-handled knife. With a grunt, he sent it spinning through the air to bury itself in the black ring surrounding the dart board’s bullseye.

A moment later, Obi’s leaf blade joined it — dead center.

Now he had their attention.

...

'Do you know how it is when they punish a thief?' His knife blade dances between his fingers. 'It is different in every country. 

‘In the south, they charge a fine. In the north, they lock you up. 

‘Go east, and they cut off a hand.' 

The blade spins through the air; he catches it with his fingertips. 'But no one has invented a punishment for my crime.'

...

“Listen, you miserable whelp,” growled a hook-nosed man, eyes burning beneath the low brim of his hat. “Do you have any idea who you’re jabbering at?”

The corners of Obi’s mouth curled up.

He raised his hand, three fingers bent in, and pawed the air in an unmistakable slash — the kind he had found carved into a tree, a lifetime ago in Tanbarun.

Obi cocked his head, holding their gaze. “Meow?”

...

A heavy hand descended on Obi’s shoulder.

It was the man with the eye patch, and his fingers gripped like steel.

“That’s a nice story you’ve got there,” he said softly, leaning in close to fix Obi with his good eye. “I know somebody who’d like to hear you tell it.”

[thekimspoblog]

Gross FotD but...

Iris managed to pop their dislocated shoulder back into place, but it's still sore. Even without this handcuff cutting off the circulation in their ankle, it wouldn't be a good plan to try to bumrush the armed guard. They've been locked up in this gangster's cement basement for over a week, and it looks like they're going to be trapped down here for a while longer. They would have to wait for the perfect opening before making their move. Just try to keep their strength and their sanity until then.

A cockroach had been scuttling around the corner of the dungeon. It would wander out of view, Iris would sleep for a few hours, then when they'd open their eyes, the insect would be crawling towards them again. After three days, the animal was finally within reach. If Iris strained against the shackle, the tips of their fingers could just barely graze the rough brown carapace. The touch still made Iris's skin crawl, but at this point it was hard not to see the roach as a makeshift pet. This was the only other living thing Iris had seen in days; it was Iris's sole source of entertainment for the foreseeable future. Iris managed to kill some ten hours cycling through possible names for the little guy, making a game out of predicting whether the creature would pace clockwise or counterclockwise next. They knew they were probably imagining things, but there was almost a sense of affection, the day the twitching little legs finally climbed into the palm of the prisoner's hand. Did the insect just come close to get a taste of Iris's sweat and blood, or was this some level of intelligence and trust?

The light was dim, but Iris was able to hold the cockroach up close enough to inspect it. God, it was ugly; a face only Mother Nature could love. Iris's sister, Fille could see the beauty in all animals; Fille was just that kind of person. And at least Fille wasn't the kind of vegetarian who only opposed the killing of cute animals; Iris could respect anyone's worldview as long as it wasn't shallow or hypocritical. Fille was of the opinion that if you don't have the stomach to kill an animal yourself, then it was cowardly to outsource that dirty work to anyone else. Iris was inclined to agree; commodity alienation and cognitive dissonance rots the soul; a lack of farm-to-table thinking was a major factor why the world was in the mess it was currently in. But Iris loved meat too much to give it up, so while the siblings shared a set of principles, they had reached opposite conclusions. Fille could be judgmental; darling sister wasn't exactly subtle with her misgivings about Iris's controversial line of work. If Iris knew their sister, she was probably stewing right now, upset that Iris had tried to take on the Bauer Syndicate by themselves and of course gotten their stupid ass captured. It would be fine; when Iris got home, they would prove this mission was nothing they couldn't handle. It's not like they WANTED to make Fille worry; it wasn't their fault Fille loved them! But if Iris didn't take care of these technocrat thugs, who would?

Even with a dislocated shoulder, a groaning stomach, and the toes on their right foot turning purple, Iris knew they were exactly where they needed to be, doing the only thing they could ever be fulfilled doing. Men like Bauer treated everyone like animals; if not chattel to be used and then slaughtered, then vermin to exterminated outright. By embracing their role as a pest, Iris took a little bit of power back from him. They were PROUD to be a fly in the ointment. If Bauer wanted wanted them dead, Iris was damn well going to make him work for it! Most people would be demoralized to be chained down here in the dark, with the rats and the roaches, but Iris wasn't most people. They could make their own light even in total darkness. They could look at a civilization-ending drought and see an opportunity for reform; they could look at a disease-carrying insect and see a symbol of endurance. Iris held the cockroach up to the narrow shaft of light and smiled at it... then stuffed the invertebrate into their mouth and chewed hard, trying not to think about the texture. They swallowed. Fille might not have given in so quickly if she was here, but Iris was sure eventually Fille would have eaten an animal too. Dad had always taught them: "Principles are important. But survival comes first".

[gcldfanged]

❛ how few our numbers have dwindled... ❜

Watching the Silver General sit there with his hands folded atop a minimalist desk had diminished his vertiginous image somewhat. They were always surrounded by it back in Midgar, building tall artwork of the latest propaganda. Sephiroth holding his trademark weapon, surrounded by a graphic corona usually reserved for traditional artistic renderings of Gods. An unseen light source illuminated his figure, captured each shape in artful relief. The dark, polished leather of his coat didn’t just whisper but roared with a false modesty. It was just barely enough to cover the broadness of his torso- Muscle deformed it’s creases and organically curved planes, ridiculous pectorals that blasted up with a disgustingly clinical anatomical perfection. It was a glaring contrast to the ever present fetor of smog and steam, the sulfurous stink of moral rot.

This land was not their home, though for a moment, Jae almost felt like it was- because their culture had been wrought and shaped by the same ideals that Shinra had mystified his people with, had seduced with it’s ugly and profane luster. It was a land of steel and neon lights that they strove for, fought for, and killed for- but it was still imperfect. He himself dwelt in a place that was neither of the extremes painted of the cities, but somewhere hedged between them.

Is this what his people called freedom? Freedom to prostitute yourself or starve, die quietly on the street or in prison. They had truly been withering beneath Wutai’s iron fist, but tasting freedom only to become… this. Freedom to kill and steal like a fucking thug in some ugly city where the sun didn’t rise at all- Just what the hell was freedom anyway?

And yet he remained alive, while others weren’t.

Verdot had once told him that he was independent from the others, not another part of the greater pack of young wolves- young killers- that needed a leader. That for them it was almost like a marriage in that fellow soldiers would become a part of each other’s every day life. Your comrades were not only another gun, not merely another uniform. Even the assholes you hated were still there covering for you, another living facet of the harder-than-a-coffin-nail diamond that made up your unit. But like all gemstones, there was always a breaking point and when part of it shattered, it’d tear away a part of that seamless perfection you created together.

Sephiroth barely turned, but Jae could feel the weight of his gimlet-eyed stare. Jae couldn’t avert his own, of course. You can’t look away when a superior officer is addressing you.

Yoon wasn’t standing there in nock-kneed awe or pissing himself in abject fear like he’d been locked in with a grizzly bear and told to try and teach it how to read. His eyes shone like dark woad, arms folded and fingers drumming against the gabardine suiting. They were rough, swept with scars faint seams and gnarled with calluses, the handgrip of a trench knife stamped into the discolored skin of his palm.

“I need more time to work with him.”

Him, the prisoner. The Genesis Copy. Men will say anything once you flay the skin from muscle, muscle from the yellow of exposed bone. Pop off a finger or two. Dragging the man through Hell was necessary, though. You had to break something in order to build it back up. He’d leave the man in isolation for a few days, until his desperation could be plied with hot food and kind words, the rare gift that was a gentle human touch.

"Do you know how long the degradation takes to run it's course? I'm not sure how long it might take to whittle him down, everyone has a different breaking point. I'm starting to get a better picture of why so many SOLDIERs defected with Rhapsodos, though."

[kudosmyhero]

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Micro-Series #1: Raphael

Read Date: September 19, 2022 Cover Date: November 2011 ● Writer: Brian Lynch ● Art: Franco Urru ● Colorist: Fabio Mantovani ● Letterer: Chris Mowry ● Editor: Bobby Curnow ●

Synopsis: Raphael and Casey rough up a few thugs in an alleyway. Afterward, Casey questions Raph on how it feels to suddenly have a family. Raphael is unnerved, preferring action to talking, and gunshots are suddenly heard. The two of them scope out the scene: a cloaked and wrapped figure is fleeing from two thugs with guns. The victim kicks one of them in its attempt to escape, and Raphael comes down to attack the other. The first one attacks again, and Raph puts him in his place. The second returns for his second wind, and is stopped by Casey. The fleeing figure turns out to be a female Mutant arctic fox calling herself Alopex. Alopex claims to know little of her life before her current state, other than being a normal arctic fox that was captured in the wild and experimented upon. She'd since escaped, and her captors sent many hired hands to retrieve her.

Knowing that his brothers would like to talk with her, and that Splinter could potentially help her, Raphael blindfolds her and carries her off to the lair, leaving Casey to dispose of the thugs.

On the way to their destination, it dawns on Raph that the kick she used to subdue her attacker was much too professionally placed for her to be the sweet and innocent fox girl that she portrayed herself as. Raph drops her off of a rooftop, and Alopex stops herself from falling by sliding down the wall with her claws. Alopex is surprised that he saw through her ruse, and Raphael deduces that as an arctic fox, her sense of smell would be powerful enough to trace their position despite her blindfold, allowing her to report to her superiors the location of the lair. The two briefly scuffle, but Alopex retreats with a flash bomb.

Raphael catches up with his brothers and tells them of his night. Donatello checks him for wounds, Michelangelo dispenses jokes to deal with the uneasiness, and Leonardo decrees that they should never go out alone again, and that Raph should stay out of that neighborhood for a while. Raphael breaks both rules by going to see Casey. Casey tells Raph that the two thugs escaped. Raph tells Casey of Leo's rules, and Casey thinks that means they need to stop hanging out. Raph lets him know that it is to the contrary—that he's dragging him into whatever comes their way telling him that he "suddenly has four new brothers." Casey is fine with this.

Elsewhere, as Alopex assaults a punching bag, the thug she kicked chews her out for striking so hard, and she defends herself by claiming she had to sell the hit. Both thugs claim that the reason Alopex was able to hold her own so long against Raph was due to being a mutant, and they claim if they also were mutants, they'd be able to trounce him. A ninja appears and tells them that they will be "changed" as soon as the "master" decrees it—behind him is a spiked, armored shadow.

(https://turtlepedia.fandom.com/wiki/Raphael_(IDW_Micro-Series_issue))

Fan Art: Alopex by Shellsweet

[ryanmeft]

Killers of the Flower Moon Movie Review

It is a sad and quiet thing. In the early 1920s, the Osage Indians who live in Oklahoma are the richest people per capita on earth, because the worthless land they were forced onto is in fact bursting with oil. After centuries of persecution, they now drive the finest cars, eat the finest foods and live in the finest homes. And bit by bit, one by one, their fortunes are transmuted into white men’s fortunes. Rich Indians are dying mysteriously, and every death seems to benefit a white man.

The subtitle of the book by David Grann is “The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI”. These words make it clear that the two-fold focus of the story is on the victims of the killings and the attempts to crack the case. Indeed, in the book, the years-long investigation takes up most of the second half, while the first half is largely focused on the Osage themselves. Readers are given many plausible leads, and the identities of the perpetrators are left in doubt until the G-men begin to uncover them.

Scorsese takes a different approach. Within ten minutes of the 206-minute runtime, we know exactly who the villains are, exactly what goals they have, and swiftly after that we know their methods. Almost the entire film is consumed with studying them, while never offering a human motivation to their madness. That is not a deficiency of Scorsese and Eric Roth’s screenplay, but a simple consequence of the fact no sane motivation can exist for the atrocities committed by William Hale and Ernest Burkhart. Robert De Niro and Leonardo DiCaprio unite for the first time under one film to portray the master and his willing lieutenant. One has nothing human left in him, while the other trades what is left of his for money.

As with Spielberg’s fascination with Amon Goeth in Schindler’s List, Scorsese himself seems gobsmacked that such a blatantly evil man as Hale can exist. Dubbed “The King of the Osage Hills”, he is composed of so many self-justifying threads that the man ought to collapse under the sheer weight of his own contradictions. In strictest confidence, he informs Burkhart that the Osage money must remain “in the family”. When speaking of assassinating, brutalizing, poisoning and blowing up the people who stand in the way of the transfer of that wealth, he talks as if he were discussing the weather. While he does this, he offers high sums for the capture of the culprits and assures his Osage “friends” that their loved ones are in a better place. Money is his stated motivation, but his true motivation seems to be to do whatever he wants and get away with it.

No better actor could have been found for this role than De Niro. He is so natural a paternalistic figure that even I, who finished the book mere weeks before the film released, wanted to believe he was genuine. To believe he is masterminding dozens of murders of those who trust him out of pure lust for power is like being asked to accept that your own grandfather is guilty of war crimes. Scorsese examines his quarry from a great remove, never letting us inside his private thoughts or very deep into his inner character.

This is in line with the book, in which Hale’s own life is regarded from a distance. How else can you regard it? There is nothing that could change to make him sympathetic. He is an animal driven by covetousness, elevated above the thugs he employs only by his suits and his status. Indeed, he begins already wealthier than he ever needs to be. He does not not need the Osage money. He simply wants it.

Ernest Burkhart, a naturally nervous and rough man, does need it, not being independently wealthy himself, and he goes from petty thief to a willing cog in a grander scheme, constructing ever more elaborate rationalizations. He reaches a point where he is willing to slowly poison his own wife and blow up innocent people’s homes with them inside, yet he never quite reaches Hale’s level of detestable evil, because his actions are directed by another. Burkhart is aided by a series of accomplices who play on the trust of the Indians, and while each stands out, it would be too laborious to summarize them all here. Instead DiCaprio assumes the role of the most visceral bad guy, taking many traits of the book’s characters unto himself.

As the plot progresses, it becomes less quiet but no less sad. Hale, finding his thefts less smooth and more challenged as outside forces intervene, resorts to increasingly brazen means to keep the wealth flowing from the Indians and to him, and finally he pulls the caper that gets him caught: the bombing of the home of Bill Smith (Jason Isbell) and his Osage wife Rita (JaNae Collins). This is too loud, and it sends Mollie to Washington to beg assistance from the President directly. That involves the Bureau of Investigation, precursor to the FBI, who dispatch Tom White (Jessie Plemmons) to the scene.

Here Scorsese’s choice results in the film’s biggest weakness. In the book, since we don’t know the details of the master plan from the outset, the investigation takes up a much larger portion, and it is a thrilling one. Witnesses come and go, being seduced or murdered by Hale, seedy private detectives hinder more than help, and the Osage Hills become a place where people disappear into the chaos of the early 20th century’s new frontier. These investigations in the film take up barely the space allotted to an episode of a TV procedural, and since the solution is a foregone conclusion, all of the tension is sapped.

Similar, too, is the treatment of the Osage characters. Grann develops them in detail, reaching into their inner worlds. Most importantly, he portrays their lives in the context of their times, where white men ostensibly charged with protecting them think less than nothing of turning Osage wealth into their wealth. A murder of an Osage, as the movie points out, is after all less of a crime than the murder of a dog, and the Osage are only wealthy because they lucked into land that should have belonged to whites.

While Lily Gladstone as Mollie Burkhart, whose husband slowly poisons her with tainted insulin, absorbs every scene she is in, she is ultimately in too few and Ernest in too many. Again Scorsese has chosen to focus on the villains, and we never get to know Mollie as a person. The politics of the times are likely to ensure Gladstone becomes the first Native actor with a real shot at an Academy Award, and she has earned it but done so in a role that should have been greater than it is.

It is not my job to turn in a book report but to tell you if this shift in scope damages the film. That answer may depend on your perspective. Scorsese wanted to make a film that regards a fundamental evil as a force unto itself, without justification, and he has made one. It will not grant great insight into any other aspect of the times, the people or the killings, but it does come with one great insight into American culture: the traditional text denouement of what happened to who after the film is replaced by putting on one of the radio plays J. Edgar Hoover so loved for the glorification of the Bureau and himself. Actors-playing-actors read out the fates of the cast while using common objects to create the sound effects, and viewers of a pre-TV era can appreciate this both on a stylistic level and for the look it gives us as to how we process reality.

Verdict: Recommended

Note: I don’t use star ratings. Here are my possible verdicts:

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid Like the Plague

Note: both the book and the film use the term Indian to refer to the Osage characters, and I have followed that convention here.

[maestrojax]

Jarlaxle cracked open a red eye when he noticed the assassin walking over. Only now realizing that if he so wished then he could easily kill him. He shook his head ignoring the thought, that could never be unless the drow did something awful to him.

He only watched him as he sat down next to the tub. A soft groan coming from the drow as he moved to look at him. Not leaning over the tub, not wishing to get the others armor wet and have him smelling like him for days. Though it wasn't such a bad idea.

"Ah yes." He said glad that he was reminded of the real reason Entreri had followed him into the wash room. Though he hurt that he wasn't distracting enough for him to forget about that.

Fingers rapped on the edge of the tub trying to think of a place to start, it was a grand tale after all. Well he could make it grand even if it wasn't.

"This was just to spice things up." He said a playful smile on his face as he looked at the human. "Of course it was foolish of me to allow myself to be captured so. But I did make it out with most of my good looks intact." He said with a wink the other mans way. This awfully intimate situation had him falling back to flirting with the man. Anything to hide the sadness such things made him feel, a momentary distraction for such things.

Though in regard to him getting caught? that was an error on his part. He did make the most of it and stole all the half way worthwhile things the thugs had. Even if it was going to look rough for a little while, maybe some kind soul would take pity on him.

Something Entreri did not realize about himself in this moment was that the warm, close air of the washroom, filled with a scent that had become quite familiar to him recently, actually calmed his nerves somewhat. Perhaps it was only natural that when traveling with someone and sharing space with him, particularly someone who had become your one ally and one tether back to life, the smell that clung to his gaudy clothes would become a small comfort.

But Entreri did not realize that about himself. His shoulders simply relaxed, ever so slightly.

He held Jarlaxle's gaze at the line about 'focusing elsewhere'. Despite how old Jarlaxle was, his face still looked young sometimes, even with the bruises.

"I'm glad too," Entreri said seriously. For a moment he had intended it as a nothing phrase, just something to fill up space or perhaps even be a bit wry, but instead it came out more as just a blunt statement of fact. When it came down to it, plenty of unspeakable things could happen under an enemy's hands. The bare fact of it was Entreri didn't wish any of that on Jarlaxle, whatever squabbles they might have.

He watched Jarlaxle sink into the bath. He looked oddly small somehow. Perhaps that was just what anyone looked like when sinking into a bath alone--or alone with a curmudgeonly spectre. There was a slight purplish flush over Jarlaxle's sharp cheekbones, but surely that was from the warmth of the water and the room. Either way... It was disarming.

Or perhaps not. It occurred to Entreri that Jarlaxle was allowing him to see this without asking him to disarm in turn, and he wasn't sure what to do with that information. A part of him was grateful for it and yet... A part of it was deeply melancholy, in a way he did not have words to quite desribe.

He saw glimpses of that feeling sometimes in Jarlaxle. Just a flash of something very old and sad.

Without really thinking about it, Entreri left the wall and stepped closer, sinking to the floor to sit at the side of the tub. His motions were slow and obvious, like how one might approach a wounded animal. No surprises.

Them at least being at the same height felt better somehow.

"... You were going to tell me about your harebrained schemes," he reminded Jarlaxle.

[davidlcki]

Babes it’s me again hihi 🫶🏻

This randomly hit me when I saw your profile pic lol I love it: being friends with Bruce but secretly being a villain and him going all soft for you, not wanting it to be true but knowing all along. Smth like “stop this. I know you’re not like this” 😫

DUDE! THANK YOU! YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY COMING IN CLUTCH WITH THESE REQUESTS. I LOVE YOU YOU GENIUS 🫶

all along

pairing: pattinson bruce wayne/ reader

warnings: mild cursing, movie typical violence, bruce in pain. (i think that’s it!!)

words: 1,297

you had known bruce for a long time. long before he was batman and long before you became who you were today. although you two became very good friends, the two of you went very different routes. you were an orphan just like bruce, but you didn’t exactly have money. you lived in the orphanage until it lost its funding, then proceeding to live out most of your teenage years on the streets, which were very rough on you. since then you’ve been angry at the world, it never treated you with kindness, and you swore you’d get revenge on those who deserved it. that’s when you met bruce, and alfred decided to take you in, letting you live in the mansion alongside them. you were there for the creation of batman, but you didn’t agree with how bruce went about things. you didn’t let him know this of course, but you thought those thugs and criminals out there deserved nothing less than death. so, you trained yourself, going out on your own and ending the bastards yourself.

one night in particular, you came home after a night out. it must have been 3 am as you crept through the mansion doors, nearly jumping out of your skin as you’re met with bruce standing before you. as you came into the light, bruce’s stern features softened at the sight of you. he was planning on asking you about his suspicions, but it was now the last thing on his mind. you were covered in blood, and your face and body were littered with bruises.

“Y/N?” bruce’s voice was soft, worried.

“i uh, what are you doing up bruce?” you ask, tilting your head away as he walks up to you carefully. you were lucky you had tucked your suit away into your bag before coming in. now you stood in a white cropped tank top and workout leggings. he brought his hands up to your arms before leaning his face in close to yours, examining the damage.

“what the hell happened.” bruce carefully brushes your hair back before deciding to pull you off to the kitchen where he could clean you up a little.

“got in a bad bar fight. i’m alright bruce, you should see the other girl” you lie, giving a little laugh. bruce looked at you blankly, he saw right through you, but decided to keep quiet and instead tend to your wounds.

“i really wish you’d be more careful. i care about you, a lot, Y/N” bruce stops and looks dead at you. you felt your stomach twist at the genuineness in his words. his eyes were soft, and pleading as he looked into your weirdly cold ones. had your eyes always looked like this?

you didn’t know what to say, so instead you pulled him by the shoulders to your lips. his kisses were desperate, his body engulfing yours as your hands find his hair. bruce was making noises that could make you go weak, noises you most certainly have never heard from him before. suddenly, you pull away from his lips. bruce gives you a look of ‘did i do something wrong?’ as he catches his breath, his eyes half lidded.

“i don’t need you to worry about me, bruce. i can handle myself. i promise.” you were almost begging the man. you knew he had an idea of what was going on, and you also knew he wouldn’t be able to leave something like this alone. instead of responding, bruce seems to tug you impossibly closer by your hips, reconnecting his lips with yours. how long would this moment of bliss last before things went to shit?

not even a week had gone by. probably 5 days since the two of you shared that kiss. on this night, you had found a very well known criminal in gotham. upon capturing him, you decided to drag him to the top of a deserted building, where you could end his life. before you could speak a single word to the now terrified criminal, you heard a voice.

“Y/N” bruce’s rough voice rung out into the night air of gotham. quickly, you turn around, freezing as you stare at him. from the pained look in his eyes, you could tell he knew for a long time.

“bruce. just go. this isn’t any of your business.” you look up at him as he walks over to you slowly, the frown on his face growing as his suspicions were confirmed. you were the villain he had known you were. you look away, it suddenly felt like your heart was being squeezed. it was much easier to do this when you thought bruce had been more clueless. bruce’s hand finds your chin, gently pulling you to look at him.

“stop this. i know you’re not like this.” bruce sounded desperate as he spoke from his heart. he didn’t want to have to go against you. slowly, you snake your hands up his chest and to his face to cradle his cheeks. you stand on your tippy toes, smashing your lips against his. he kisses back without hesitation, and when you pulled away he tried to lean forward for more, before finally getting the hint and pulling back with a shaky breath.

“go. please.” you plead with bruce, but you knew he couldn’t. not with the way his eyes were flickering between you and the criminal who was half conscious on the floor. he gives you that look, and you knew things were going to be different. with an inhale, you sweep his legs out from under him. he was quick to get back up before you could pounce on him, grabbing your shoulders and pressing you harshly against the wall. a shocked noise that you could only describe as a moan leaves you lips, followed by a laugh. it’s all you could do, laugh at the situation before you. it began to rain, and you could feel his shaky breath fanning over your face as he looked down at you. you could tell he didn’t want to do this. unfortunately, that was his weakness. using all your might, you push off the wall and send a kick to his chest that sends him landing on his back. before he could get up this time you were on top of him, your knee pressing down to his neck. he gasps, hands grabbing your leg, but he dosent fight back. if you wanted to, bruce would let you kill him. he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Y/N, plea..se don…don’t do this. you’re… bet…ter than this” bruce’s voice was strained as he pleaded with you in between gasps for air. his grip on your thigh tightens, but you don’t budge.

“this city was never good to me. never good to us. these pieces of shit on the street, hell, even the politicians, no NOT deserve life. they deserve to feel what i, and so many others have felt. i died a long time ago, bruce, and i plan on returning the favor. i’m sorry, but i don’t plan on stopping. i love you, so please, PLEASE stay out of my way.” you didn’t notice the tears that were rolling down your red cheeks as you released your knee from his neck and turned to leave the building, leaving the criminal for bruce to take.

bruce gasps and blinks away the black spots that were beginning to form in his eyes from the lack of air. he closes his eyes tightly as he hears you leave, and he became aware of the tears in his eyes. or was it the rain? he loved you, and he had never been so truly conflicted in his entire life. where would he go from here?

[jellyfishlemon]

why do they always end up in a warehouse

.posting a hurt/comfort and also sick fic abt dick bc i want to

ao3: ilovedickgrayson 

disc: this is my fic i wrote please don’t steal

Nightwing had been chasing after a group of thugs for a few minutes, he saw a way to corner them in an alleyway. Swinging from his grapple he led them to the spot and cornered the thugs.

Dick coughed and groaned as he launched his grapple to a new spot, he had been sick since he woke up, but that’s no excuse to miss patrol. Plus, he hid it from everyone the best he could, and not to brag or anything but he hid his sickness very well.

“I got them in the alleyway on 8th” Dick spoke to Red Hood, Red Robin, and Batman through his coms. “Coming Dickie” Tim replied. He landed in front of the criminals, he knocked out the first two and walked forward across the rough asphalt to take out the other two thugs.

All he felt was his shoulder shifting and something ripping, a bat hit the back of Dick’s right arm. Nightwing groaned in agony and struggled to stand, holding himself against the wall, white flashed across his vision.

“Fuck you.” He spat at the criminal as he slammed him into the wall. Turning around, Dick dodged a few swings but quickly tied up the two remaining thugs.

Nightwing clutched his limp arm and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Great, his shoulder is dislocated, at least one ligament is torn, AND he feels like shit? This is awesome. Especially since Bruce told him not to go off on his own anyway.

“What’s wrong?” Tim stepped up behind Nightwing, he turned around.

“Hey Red, nothing’s wrong, sorry I just got distracted.” Dick attempted to move his shoulder to make himself look more natural, instead, he earned himself a sharp pain in his arm and the taste of iron in his mouth for biting his tongue so hard.

Tim looked him up and down, giving his older brother a quick assessment. “Okay, let’s go finish up patrol.”

“After you.” Dick grinned and bowed to Tim, trying to make everything seem normal.

Once Tim shot his grapple and left, Dick slid down the brick wall and screamed into his hand. He could also tell that it was an inferior dislocation, the most uncommon and worst type of dislocation. The type he couldn’t just shove back into the socket.

“Okay, deep breath.” Nightwing shot his grapple and followed Tim, grimacing in pain, his limp arm brushing against his side as he flew through the Gotham sky.

Tim, Dick, Jason, and Bruce met on a dark side street to discuss their plan for the capture of a new drug lord who rolled in a few weeks ago. Dick tried his hardest to act normal and it worked, for the most part, it helped that the alleyway was almost pitch black so he could hold his arm and clench his teeth without anyone knowing. The headache from being sick was setting in, as well as his sore throat.

“Red Robin you have watch up top, Jason you go with me, Dick you’ll take out the guards and lead us to this guy.” Bruce assigned them their roles and Dick couldn’t think of a worse time for him to be fighting.

‘Are you kidding me Bruce??’ Dick thought to himself as he nodded and then proceeded to say “Yeah, I got that.”

‘Fuck, this is gonna hurt’

Dick landed in the warehouse and clenched his stomach hunching forward to retch onto the pavement, why does he have to be sick right now?? A dislocated shoulder is bad enough.

“Nightwing? Are you okay?” Bruce spoke sternly into the coms.

Shit, Dick forgot to turn off his coms. “Yeah sorry, the wind got knocked out of me.” Dick swallowed his shame and finished retching.

A crunch came from behind him, Dick whipped around just in time to smack a gun away from his face. He jabbed the man with an escrima stick and kneed him in the stomach as the thug fell to the ground.

“I took down one, I don’t know if he had any affiliation with our guy,” Nightwing informed his brothers and father.

Bruce responded with “Red Hood and I are fighting off some guys as well, I can see Red Robin scouting on the roof. Nightwing, go to the center of the warehouse.”

Dick didn’t need to respond, there was an understanding that when he was told to do something by Batman, he did it immediately. Nightwing held his right arm close to his chest and swallowed down the bile slowly creeping up his esophagus. He continued to fight off the aching blooming in the base of his skull and behind his eye sockets.

He dodged the needle coming at him from the right side, he grabbed it and shoved it into his belt for Batman. Dealing a kick to his right, his leg contacted something solid and the criminal fell to the ground with a thud.

Time was blurred from that moment on, someone hit his right arm and he fell to the ground in white-hot agony, screaming for anyone or anything who could get him away. Groaning and shrieking in pain, he remembers throwing up and getting knocked so hard in the knee it felt like his leg was going to snap off. He was used to that feeling though, lots of criminals tend to go for the legs.

But he still got up and finished the job. Dick saw the drug lord in the middle of the room, injecting himself with a needle. The purple substance leaked from the man's arm and made a *plink* as it hit the floor. No guards were near him so he took advantage, jumping up the side of the rough concrete wall and staking out an overhead attack.

“Update?” Bruce growled.

“5 minutes” Dick responded wearily, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

If he wanted to get out of here safely this would have to be quick and probably pretty sloppy, Dick took a deep breath and attempted to keep his right arm still as he jumped from the balcony onto the criminal. He was careful to land as gingerly as possible on his injured leg.

Dick’s head was spinning and the whole room flipped but he still managed to land a few punches with his left fist. Not before a metal rod hit his neck, hitched his breath, and slammed his back into the ground, forcing Dick to cough and vomit more. His vision shook when he hit the floor, the wind was knocked out of him and Dick struggled to breathe while choking on his own vomit.

He punched and kicked but not being able to breathe took a toll on his fighting ability. Clicking his communicator on, he let Bruce and his brothers hear his effort, hoping they would come to his side.

If he didn’t die from lack of oxygen he would most definitely die from a ruptured artery if this guy didn’t lift some weight off of the bar. Through the pain shooting up his arm, Dick found the strength to arch his back and sweep his leg across the ground. He guessed his plan worked when he heard a grunt and the rod rolled off his neck.

Coughing, Nightwing twisted onto his good arm and threw up more, spit and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth and stained the concrete floor a dark red. His sweat-soaked hair stuck to his forehead and mask, one last cough, and Dick was finally able to get himself up. Well, not before stumbling to his left and falling against the wall, his vision faltered while he slid down the wall. His breathing was shallow and painful.

No, no he can’t fall asleep or out of consciousness, it didn’t matter which one, they were both bad in his condition. Dick doesn’t remember hitting his head but that could mean he just forgot that he hit it, or it could mean he’s fine and never hit his head. However, Dick wanted to be on the precautious side of that dilemma so he fought the urge to sleep and slip into the painless, black void behind his eyelids.

Dick doesn’t know how long he sat there, staring in front of him, unmoving not knowing if he was really awake or not. He took slow, shaky breaths cradling his ribs and limp arm. Every few minutes pain would shoot up his arm like a lightning strike and he would groan softly, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching his shoulder, rolling his head back against the wall, hearing the concrete scrape against his scalp.

He had to get out.