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world-of-fire-and-flight · 1 year

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Pair of Dorks

A/N: This literally just came to me this morning despite daydreaming up snippets while my co-conspirator (@heroes-villains-side-blog) were cooking up our prompts for @black-rose-events and planning out our Villaintine’s Day event😅 As for the prompts, I chose Grumpy!Villain x Sunshine!Hero, “I loathe you”, and black roses with a dash of sleeping curse and nemesis-versary/nemesis proposal from @black-rose-events’ Villaintine’s Day prompt list!

Warnings: uhhhh….none? Maybe some harsh words/teasing at someone else’s expense but otherwise I can’t think of anything that requires a warning😊

My Masterlist | Taglist Info | Check out our prompt masterlist for Villaintine’s Day!

“What’s this?” Villain asked, eyeing the offered rose suspiciously.

Hero blinked at her, then at the black rose he was offering her. “It’s a rose?”

Villain hummed, leaning against the doorframe of her home—her home. How did Hero even find her? Who else knew what he did? The beginning of a headache began to pound in her temples. She hoped Hero hadn’t spread the information of her home address to the entire heroic community. She didn’t want to have to move again, actually feeling a sense of comfort in the quiet neighborhood of spacious yards and privacy and houses tucked back from the road, nestled amongst the woodland.

“And so what? I accept it, sniff it, and fall victim to a sleeping curse?” she frowned, “No thanks, Hero. Now get off my property.”

Villain straightened. Before she could take a step back and slam the door in Hero’s face, she found herself freezing at the slack-jawed expression that had taken over Hero’s features.

“Wh—” he started, then stopped and shook his head decisively. Even so, he still sputtered as he tried to explain himself. “No! It’s just, uh, a rose. You know for our nemesis-versary.”

Any amusement Villain had from watching Hero squirm as he tried to explain what he was doing here and what the rose was for evaporated. In its place was confusion as her eyebrows knitted together. “Wait, our what?”

“Our, uh, nemesis-versary?” Hero shifted on his feet and finally dropped the black rose, glancing at it self-consciously. He avoided her gaze as he continued, “It’s been over two years since we started fighting each other, and exactly a year since we’ve started to fight each other exclusively—though I guess that has to do more with my case assignment from the Agency then a conscious decision, but still—I just…I don’t know. I saw the black rose and thought it was cute.”

“And you decided to give it to me? For our nemesis-versary?” Villain asked, folding her arms over her chest. Her lips quirked into a small amused smile as she took in his pink-tipped ears and worried brows, the way he bit his lip. “A celebration that literally no one’s ever heard of?”

“Well, yeah. Who else could I give a black rose to?” Hero said quietly, his voice hardly a murmur. “I thought it was neat and because I’m trying to be more financially responsible, I needed an actual reason to buy it other than—”

“Oh so you’re giving it to me as an excuse, and not from the kindness of your heart?” Villain grinned deviously. It was too easy to tease Hero, especially when he was so vulnerable. This entire interaction reminded her of the time his mask had slipped during one of their fights. He’d tried to cover his face with his hands and tell her not to look at him, but it was too late. She’d already seen his face.

Hero’s shoulders slumped. Villain didn’t know why the sight of his defeat made her heart pang. Normally she loved victory, but this was…unprovoked.

“Well,” she said with a click of her tongue. “At least it’s not red. That would be cliché and yellow would’ve been the wrong color entirely. I think the black rose suits me.”

Hero’s gaze snapped up to her, taking in her waiting hand. Hesitantly, he held up the flower, watching dumbly as Villain took it. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it.

Twirling the black rose between her fingers, Villain smirked at him. “Happy nemesis-versary, Hero. My gift to you is a crime free day. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Villain left him standing on her porch, gaping. She locked the door behind her and walked away, not bothering to see if he’d gone. Laughing to herself as she set the rose down on her kitchen counter, she grabbed a glass and filled it with water. How could such a thorn in her side be such a dork? Maybe she needed a new nemesis, one who actually deserved to be punched in the face. Or the gut. Shaking her head, Villain dropped the rose in the glass and stared at it for a second too long. A soft smile came to her face. Maybe they were both dorks.

#Villaintine's Day 2023 #black rose events #prompt: black rose events #heroes and villains #hero x villain #hero x villain community #hero x villain crack!fic #my writing #writeblr #snippet #hero x villain snippet #villaintine's day 2023 #tis i spectre👻

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cesmo17 · 7 months

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Spectre de la Rose

dancer César Morales Anderson

#ballet dancer #cesar morales #art #ballet men #bailarines #hombre #male dancer #artphotography #ballet #spectredelarose #spectre de la Rose #manintights #black and white #blackandwithephotography #balletphotography

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yandere-toons · 6 months

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IN MY DEFENCE

Bakugou Katsuki – Platonic Scenario

WARNING: yandere, strong and bloody violence, guns, swearing throughout, morally ambiguous reader, toxic mindset.

WORD COUNT: 4.195

"Does he even want us on this mission?"

From out the darkness overhanging an awning slunk a blending of scales and skin. A man below the neck; a viper above; a triangular skull bisected by diamond-shaped eyes; a forked tongue undulating and licking; a rounded crest mottled and flared—nature's grotesque experiments had found a new beast to assemble.

He wound a coil of tongue around lead, colouring it morbid yellow, before stuffing it into the top of a magazine and locking it in place. A ring of light spiralled off the barrel as he took aim, the oblong proportions of his head forcing his neck to twist hard.

A lone bullet whistled low before the crack alerted Katsuki; and you collapsed at almost the same instant to one knee, and thence to the road.

Kirishima dove to catch your head before it split on the asphalt, and the skin on his arms metamorphosed into flesh-coloured rock. He hunkered down close against you, his back to the noise, his body crumbling to grit, then growing back stonier by the second.

A fever of resentment cooked inside Katsuki as though he'd been fed hot charcoal fresh out of a furnace. "What the hell did you do?" his voice rose ten decibels with each syllable, and the skin on his cheeks turned purple as he bellowed out a heap of breath on the last word.

Many a young heart cried out in fear at the depth of his rage, which flowed without ceasing, as foam at the mouth of a rabid dog.

Katsuki charged the villain faster than he could blink, arms outstretched to the point of aching, palms up to reveal the flex of his hands. There ignited the essence of a bomb, the biological incarnation of a lit match, of flint against steel, glistening and accumulating sweat in obeisance to him.

A thunderous roar and hiss on par with artillery fire wrested peace from every eardrum in the district. The maw of this inferno drank up the earth's light, engulfing it in a near infinite storm of colour. The sun returned swiftly, but the spectre of the bomb danced still in the eyes of each observer, clawing out bursts of black and white that fuzzed round the edges like sparking wires.

You shooed away the hand of another and hovered your own above the gaping wound. There arose the song of metal bending, and the bullet levitated from where it had lodged in your femur. The sudden collision with bone shattered the bullet into tiny, gore-drenched chunks.

Kaminari went rigid as a drop of blood snaked along the bullet, bloated at one end and splattered down. He reeled towards Kirishima, his hands spread wide, grasping at the air. "Can't you do it? Your Quirk makes you way better at this kind of thing than me!"

A few metres away, an explosion devastated the road, and a golden glow of embers flashed across Kirishima's serrated teeth. "Listen to me, you gotta man up!" his expression hardened by the sobering reality of the battlefield, but his voice remained clear and true: the sound of encouragement passed from friend to friend. "I've only got two hands, so I need you to pick up the slack!"

Gulping his last protest, Kaminari crossed his hands over the wound and steeled himself against the slippery flow of blood. "Bakugou's gonna kill me." His chest heaved with a breath so deep he seemed keen to disappear underwater, and he dove into the mess of blood gushing from your thigh.

Kirishima listened to the string of obscenities running amok, some he'd heard before, others mixed in with profanities he'd never imagined in his darkest days. "I think he's a little distracted."

Blood spurted from the wound, bubbling over his fingers, lapping at them with a warm tongue, and Kaminari struggled to keep down the lump in his throat. "Gross," he whined, scrunching his face to the brim with wrinkles. "I so wish I had gloves right now." Kaminari glanced wistfully at Katsuki, whose hands lay shielded in puffs of cloth.

The laughter of the nearly departed wheezed out from under your haggard breathing. "I'll remember that when you take a bullet."

As the pallid white waves swept across his cheeks, Kaminari pronked with a start, his mind's eye now teeming with grisly visions. He let out a weak laugh, almost choked with comic horror, and hoped the levity would ease your pain a little. Every hinge of his smile begged to collapse, but Kaminari forced his muscles to hold it together until you once again propped your neck against Kirishima's arm.

With a flick of your hand, the bullet reversed its course and sliced clean through the wasted left ear of he who had fired it.

A drizzle of red encircled the road beneath his feet as the villain wrenched wide his mouth, hissing, teetering towards escape.

Before Katsuki could bound forth and give chase, Kaminari leapt in front of him and pressed both hands to his chest. His whole body spasmed at that moment, and Katsuki jumped back, his fists twitching. He swallowed down the urge to knock Kaminari out of his way, wrenching a shred of control from what burned through his entrails.

"Dude, we got him! He's totally on the run!" Kaminari laughed goodhumouredly. A glob of blood hopped from his palm, smearing his fingerprints on Katsuki's costume, but as Katsuki fidgeted, the shape mangled into confusing streaks.

Shame churned in his stomach as Katsuki watched the blood fall and answered for himself who had spilt it.

A whisper laden with groans drew his attention over his shoulder, where you had wormed your way into the fetal position. Kirishima knelt at your side and took your hands in his own, sweat trickling down his face. "Squeeze as hard as you can, buddy, you know I can take it!"

"I'm not done yet," muttered Katsuki, dazed by the state of the mission and your deteriorating health, his eyes fixed on the retreating figure's battered form. He seized Kaminari by the back of his jacket and flung him to the pavement. "Until I blow his fucking head off!"

Kaminari braced, rolling until his elbows pressed against his chest and his screams of terror faded into the air. He winced at the scrapes on his hands as he slammed his palms down and lurched to a stop on his belly, the shock propelling a jolt across his spine as he reached out for Katsuki.

The path forward, now unobstructed, promised the sweetest opportunity to crush and dominate his enemy, and it thrilled Katsuki; the ambition to inflict upon this villain a pain like none had suffered before, or indeed ever would again, rampaged ahead of all other desires.

His pulse throbbed in every limb, threatening to burst from his neck, and the details of the world round him warped in and out of focus. Hearing nothing but his own breath and heart, he threw his arms back, splayed his fingers, and bent his knees.

Blast after blast sent Katsuki sprawling into the street, each one picking up speed and hurtling him closer to the villain. Smoke and flames streaked across the Musutafu skyline, obscuring that entire part of the world, the black of the smoke and the red of the flames as intense as a sunrise after a moonless night.

The villain had fled into an office building, the door riven and clashed shut, pinned with a chair. He walked backwards into a cubicle, counting the seconds, pistol trained on anything that broke through the barricade. Yet putting his other hand on the grip to steady the first hand seemed too great an effort;—sweat beaded on his palms, turning his limbs to mush.

Katsuki wove in the air with the tenacity of a guided missile, landing with such force that steam billowed everywhere. He pulled himself up to his full height, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck back and forth over one shoulder. But first, he thrust a laugh between his teeth, then heaved in another breath and took aim.

Bricks and mortar flew into every corner of the office on wings of smoke, one smashing into the villain's face. The trauma ripped the pistol from his hand the instant after his index finger clenched the trigger on impulse. With a scuff of his shoes on the concrete, he tumbled backwards, his skull caroming off the floor.

The muzzle blast revealed the dark spread rushing down his chin, the numbness of his dislocated jaw, and the silhouette rising from the edge of the rubble in the distance. In the darkness of the ruins, everything touched by sunlight appeared fulgent and blurred.

The demoniacal passion that beat in the throat of anyone bold enough to summon it drove Katsuki's voice to the brink of distortion. "Come out and fight me!" every remaining window in the building cracked at the sound of his challenge.

Katsuki stuck his boot atop the heap of rubble nearest to the entrance and listened, controlling every breath and holding every upset. Amidst the rustling of dust, the injured man's grunting stirred the blood in his veins, and Katsuki let out a yell and leapt towards the source, releasing every bestial urge he possessed.

Two explosions, one from each hand, propelled him higher, reaching their apogee above the murmurs of pain. There, Katsuki swung his arms overhead, blasting the ceiling with precision, setting it ablaze, and plunged downwards with his legs outstretched, poised to stomp the life from the voice. Instead of the crunch of bones under overwhelming pressure, he heard the sound of splinters.

The concrete fissured beneath his feet and a shockwave went up in a puff of smoke, followed by a faint scream from ten paces away. Katsuki lifted his head to see the outline of the villain, who shuddered before him and scrambled in the opposite direction. Periodic whimpers and curses escaped from the gap between his fingers, and each time Katsuki seemed to take pride in this weakness.

Every few seconds, his hand snapped with a crackle of sparks. A mist of light draped in ribbons across his face, the glint of burning orange shining more clearly than ever against the sea of black. At that moment, his canines shone prominently, baring and grinding his teeth until his mouth vibrated with menace.

The villain looked into the abyss of smoke, and in the eyes that looked back, there was no reflection of the hero, only the light of a mind that shrieked with primal hatred and fed on vile fantasies. The same red colour that poured from his nostrils floated in the darkness, shadowing him.

Katsuki swung his arm, puncturing the column of smoke and drawing it back as a curtain. The longer he beheld the villain, the more veins bumped along his temples and muscles bulged like sinewy ropes in his neck. There came the sound of an old record scratching and a firecracker popping, flanked by a flash of light on either side of Katsuki.

As soon as the villain staggered away, a gloved hand struck him in the chest; that horrible moment of death pierced him and the inescapable realisation that he was seeing his own through the eyes of another.

The force of the blast doubled in intensity, pain and heat flooding through his body like a grenade, splintering his sternum and filling his ribcage with shrapnel. A crater opened up in the wall behind him as concrete slammed against his spine, and his feet lifted high enough to never again touch the ground.

Through the din, the hero roared in a trance of vengeance, his voice growing more and more animalistic. Katsuki reached for the villain's heart, his arms tremulous, barely able to catch his breath. He struck with all the strength of his body, his eyes bloodshot from the smoke that sucked the air from his lungs.

From the inside of his gauntlet protruded a metal pin;—as he bent his finger to hook it, an instantaneous surge of rage shot through him. When he loosed the pin, a single word, "Die," burst forth, a word that packed a lifetime of contempt and rancour.

A swirl of the most vivid reds and oranges, hot and unquenchable as the core of a forest fire, tasted the air through the tubes of his gauntlets and soared infernal. An explosion more powerful than the loudest clap of thunder rang out, and everything opposite Katsuki burst into embers and spatter.

A whirlwind of flame and smoke pushed the unburnt pieces of concrete into darkness. Thick soot and ash blackened each window, and with a loud crash, shards of glass rained down into the street. The hiss and echo of shrapnel cascaded through the air, flying on the wind, before the explosion waned to a booming rumble.

Sizzling steam wafted through the air, exhaling the sticky fumes of sweat and blood. The hard soles of his combat boots thudded against fissures in the pavement. Smoke arose from his slick forehead, stinking at the hero as he stalked through the clouds of dust, and the threads of his costume stretched as his chest grew heavier.

These huffs and puffs fell short of his eyes, which glowered at all before them. The wildness that had possessed him withered to its usual ache once the sun gilded his face. With each step more driven than the last, the gloom of the wreckage and those whom it buried slipped further and further from his mind.

Katsuki hovered as close as he could without stepping on you. Dollops of blood dripped from the spikes of his hair and stood vibrant against the black of his costume.

"Hey, Bakubro!" Kirishima scanned the street in the vain hope that he would find the villain handcuffed, not reduced to the meat paste one wiped from their shoe. "Where's the villain?"

The muscles in Katsuki's face contracted, as did the muscles in his fingers, which curled inwards to throttle even the memory of the villain. For a moment, a sour calm passed over him, and the twitching in his cheeks subsided. "I blew his ass to pieces."

"Serves him right." You spat out a glob of blood and phlegm onto the asphalt.

A swell of pride drew from Katsuki a chuckle both brief and spirited, for his eyes lit up as the glow of his brightest explosion. The primordial anger that boiled within him gave way to the triumph and bloodlust espoused only by those who relished the battlefield.

Kirishima, whence he sat with hands clasped about your own, slackened them and recoiled a tad, his face blanching and on the verge of contortion. "What? But we can't just..." he bit his tongue as Katsuki swooped down on him.

"We made a judgement call, shitty hair!" He swung his arm wide. "So back the hell off!"

Another wheezing gasp escaped you, but it shrank to a torn, guttural pant as the moribund life inside failed to regain its strength.

As the short distance from the pavement drew his eye back and forth, back and forth, Kaminari eased his hands about your underarms and hauled you up to his chest. The first step to the pavement shot through your body a convulsion of spitting, flailing, and snorting. Froth and drool gelled in your mouth, and blood emptied from your nose into your throat.

The instant Kaminari dropped you and flinched back, wincing at his own carelessness, the skin on his arm erupted with invisible flame and rocketed closer. The centre of his face seemed to cave in on impact, spewing viscous strings of snot in blood and saliva in tears.

Katsuki struck him hard on the wrist, and Kaminari fell over backwards, cracking his nose with his own hand.

"Dumbass!" thundering footfalls commanded his attention, snarling out a venom that would give even the fiercest of beasts pause. "What the hell are you doing?" Kaminari shivered at his reflection, for in the same eyes that brooded over him, there lay a familiar glaze of fear.

With one hand clamped over his nose to stymie the flow of blood, Kaminari squinted through tears. He pulled his knees close and curled into a ball, his side to Katsuki. Despite the congestion in his throat, which Kaminari fought down to the best of his ability, he looked Katsuki squarely in the face.

"We have to move them! We can't just leave them in the street!"

A howl of an outburst so rancid it transcended words, a drive to demolish anything that moved, poured out of Katsuki between teeth squeezed so tight his jaw cried for relief. Nightmarish tension warped the muscles of his face, and he pivoted away from Kaminari, intent on checking your condition.

"Shut up and let me think for a minute!"

You had fallen into silence, the fatigue taking over, the road seeming fused to your skin, the agony so sharp your heart thrashed and stole the light from your vision.

"Go for Recovery Girl! Tell her we need a medevac!"

Kaminari slapped a hand on his earpiece, flooding every hero channel he could locate with a distress signal.

Katsuki spied it moments before Kirishima drawled his name: the swirl of fog over your eyes as Death trotted near.

He snapped his head up and fixed his most intense stare, a mixture of madness and wrath, on Kaminari's back. "Now!" Katsuki lunged for Kaminari, who cowered back, gnashing his teeth and pushing out searing breath. "I don't care who she's with! Bring her here now!"

A miniature explosion shimmered and evaporated from his palm, which Katsuki shoved into Kaminari's face. A line of froth trailed after each word and splashed Kaminari, who wrenched one eye shut and turned to block the droplets with his hand.

Upon seeing Katsuki towering over him, blotting out the sun, Kaminari hunched forward to make himself smaller.

In that instant, as another frantic shout dangled from the tip of Katsuki's tongue, a wretched terror stole the sound from his world. The shrillest ringing, like bullets raining down on him from all sides, shook his sanity, and a cold sweat plunged down his spine. Warmth drained from the most blistering explosions, and chilling tendrils writhed in his stomach.

The phantom pressure of breathlessness, of a sharp heel against his chest, dug at his heart.

Where reinforcements should have charged in unison, the vacant, lifeless road stretched on, beguiling his wide eyes into staring, twitching with the sickness of a revelation most dire. As Katsuki watched the bend in its infinite, absolute distance, one thought of dreadful proportion stuck in his mind: "No one's coming."

The cacophonous voice scratched at his ears again, but the sharpness of his adrenaline-fuelled senses directed him towards the smell of blood.

Kirishima opened his arms as a final, desperate obstacle, lips drawn narrow, flesh bared and hardened. "Bakugou, you saw what happened with Kaminari! If you move 'em now, they might die!"

Katsuki stopped short, reaching one upturned hand. "Take a look at 'em, shitty hair! They're dying anyway!"

First casting his eyes behind, Kirishima meditated on the truth in those words.

The metal shells of his knee guards skidded across the asphalt as Katsuki shouldered Kirishima aside and hurled himself on the ground before you. Freed of all hesitation, he cradled you for a moment, secured you on his back, and made sure to keep his eyes forward.

Black blood, curdled and rancid like old soup, matted his gloves. The tremor in his legs and the stone in his throat came not from his nauseous spring up, nor from the sweltering rush on which he arced through the sky.

* * *

Katsuki paced a uniform sea of white sandstone, staring into the distance at an unreachable target, a target that chased him from sterile wall to sterile wall. He cursed under his breath, as if chanting a spell, at himself for not acting sooner, and at all the scum that abandoned you on the field. His gauntlets rattled with every swing of his arm, skin smeared with soot and blood.

Every three or four laps, a new wave of doubt seized him, and Katsuki paused to watch your breathing, assuring himself that it hadn't ceased or grown errant. Each time, he searched for the barest hint of consciousness, and each time, the pressure of frustration clenched his chest a little tighter.

His shadow loomed over your bedside, slathered with debris and reeking of scorched death, silent as though he could menace the wound out of you.

At the faint creak of a handle turning and a door sliding open on its hinges, Katsuki wheeled round on the entrance and flung out his arm. A light that rivalled the sun bathed his palm with sweat, but Aizawa's dark eyes peered out still from beneath a veil of shaggy hair.

"Where the hell were you?" Katsuki thrust his hand forth, each word aloft from the bombilation of sparks.

Shota Aizawa, a man whom the undead would welcome into their ranks, faced this threat with reddened eyes half overcome by slumping lids: "Your actions today broke more laws than I can count."

Katsuki swiped a ribbon of smoke through the air and neared the foot of the bed, a strip of muscle in his cheek bulging and pulsing. "I ain't apologising for shit! That bastard got every bit of what he deserved!"

A glimmer of scarlet flared to life from deep behind Aizawa's eyes, and the tips of his frayed hair began to levitate. "If you value your career, I suggest you stand down immediately."

Recovery Girl trudged over, her eyes closed in exhaustion, her legs still moving with an impeccable sense of direction. She trailed the hem of her coat on all the dust of the hospital floor. "I told him to take a break I don't know how many times, but he won't leave his friend's side."

The pulp of Katsuki's stomach knotted, and the hairs on his neck bristled. "We're not friends!" He dragged on the last word, voice heavy and exasperated, as though it were an accusation he fought off daily.

Recovery Girl scolded him, pursing her lips and shaking her head, then took up with Aizawa, who lingered on him for a minute.

"They're just some idiot on my team." Katsuki turned to you again, eyes frozen and puffy, haunted by the thought that your hollowed skin looked fit for a casket.

All signs of the convulsion had been wiped from your mouth and dumped inside a steel bin. A blanket, bleached and prone to tangles, pooled thinly over you, and Katsuki drew it forth into a more complete covering. "Hey," he called, as though pulling you out of training, "I know you're hurt, but don't die."

There was a gentleness of mien then, followed at once by a droop in his posture. "Okay?"

The chatter of flapping gums and popping saliva was a needle down his ear, and Katsuki stiffened, his face gnarled once more, before rounding on the noise. "Old lady, get your ass over here and fix this!"

* * *

The head of the academy, his white fur neatly tucked behind his suit vest and chequered trousers, crept up the slope of the chair. A diagonal scar ran from the centre of his forehead down his right cheek, exposing a stripe of pink skin, dulled with time and deprived of fur. A cup of steaming tea in hand, he sat no taller than a small child.

The autumnal air flowed in, cool and refreshing, through the ajar window that Aizawa had hastened to shut.

Principal Nezu replaced the sound with a most pleasant and disarming one, his voice lowering everyone's blood pressure until it cheered death and destruction. "Bakugou's conduct was no doubt reckless, and we shall assign him extra duties for the remainder of the month."

"That's it?"

A forepaw shot out, silencing him.

"We all agree it was excessive force, but young Bakugou acted in defence of a fallen comrade. The fact of the matter is, villains outnumber heroes ten to one, and they will only grow larger unless we as a school do our part." Principal Nezu set his teacup down carefully on his saucer, his head bowed and his eyes closed.

His beady eyes turned black as stone in the reddish haze of dusk. "It falls on our shoulders to train the next generation. Like never before, we need students who can meet this threat. Students who can push the limits of what heroism means."

Nezu slid forward with his elbows, linked his forepaws, uplifted his mouth with permanence, threaded each finger through the others, and rubbed his hands. "We must never encourage lethal force, but if our students are to succeed, they need also recognise when it may be necessary."

Aizawa took one last look at the after-action report before pulling himself to his feet, leaving the folder open to the description of the villain: "Unidentified, body recovered in pieces from a ten-kilogram detonation at close range, all other remains vapourised in the blast."

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

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sadlybeans · 2 months

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No More Batman AU Part 3: Lazarus Pit

AO3 link || part 2

“All ready?”

“Ready and waiting, N”

“Same here”

“….”

“Good, then let’s get this party started… You know what to do, Nightwing out”

The coast was all clear and the preparations were perfect, but just as he was about to step out and finally get the case over with, the ground shook and one of the trucks by the warehouse exploded, alerting the thugs that quickly raised their guns as alarms were sent out. It all happened too fast for any of them to react before it was too late.

“What the fuck was that!?” Spectre yelled into the comms, and Spoiler’s answer came too jumbled with static for Nightwing to make out.

“It’s the bat!” one of the thugs screamed, pointing wildly at the shadows “it’s Batman, he’s here!”

Dick cursed under his breath, but at least they seemed afraid of the thought of meeting the Batman, and they had to move fast now—

“Batman!?” Dick froze. “I’m ROBIN!”

A slender figure, barely a blur of yellow, dropped down from where they had been hiding behind a stack of containers and the smoke of the explosion, kicking a thug as they landed and quickly contorting to evade the bullets, moving as fast as a shadow to put the criminals down.

And Nightwing… Nightwing stared with eyes wide as saucers, breath picking up as all he could see was Robin, his little brother and his wild black hair, the yellow cape that had a chili sauce stain in a corner from that one night Dick saw him last, the same scratches in the front and the chip to the R on his chest. The kneepads that had once been red but the colour had faded into black again, and the gloves that he had stolen from Dick’s old suits because he didn’t quite like how his’ fit.

“N! N, you have to breathe!”

No, no, no, no, no—- Jason was gone, he was dead, he couldn’t be here, he couldn’t.

“Nightwing! Fuck— Dick, breathe!”

Spectre slapped him across the face and he gasped, taking a big breath and chocking on it as the burn of his lungs registered. Through his blurry eyes shapes started taking definition again and he found that Tim was holding his shoulders, his worry visible even through the sharp angles of his cowl.

“Robin… Jay…” he croaked weakly.

“Spoiler and Black Bat have him, you need to listen to me; breathe slowly. One, two, three… hold it”

He gulped and started to imitate how Tim’s chest rose and fell, and slowly but steadily the panic attack subsided and he was left shivering in the cold metal of the shipping container he was half-sprawled onto. It was only then that the girls jumped down next to them with Robin.

He looked up so fast his neck could’ve snapped— It wasn’t Jason. Dick blinked quickly, moisture gathering in his eyelashes and making the mask uncomfortably slick… Damian, arms crossed and lips twisted in a scowl, stood right in front of them all. Robin’s old suit didn’t suit him all the way, he was taller and broader than Jay had ever been, but when his hair wasn’t brushed back and when he was far away enough to overlook his bronze skin they could be confused for one another. Spoiler and Black Bat looked right about to jump him, and when Spectre stood up with his fists clenched, ready to unleash his fury upon the kid, Dick started sobbing.

Clark took a deep breath as he leaned on the balcony railing. The sun was almost gone down the horizon and the house was submerged in a tense silence that could’ve been cut with a knife. In any other circumstance he would’ve taken the time to be surprised and excited to finally, after over two decades finding Batman’s real identity, but the situation was dire.

“I know I’m asking for too much” Bruce repeated “but you and Diana are the only ones I could trust with this”

“Are you completely sure?” Clark finally turned to him, brows crinkled in worry “It’s just so…”

“Impossible? I would think so too if I hadn’t checked all of their suits’ cameras” Bruce passed a hand through his hair and walked back inside the studio to grab his forgotten glass of whiskey and chugging it down in a single gulp. “I can’t leave Damian unsupervised any longer, and I no longer think letting him leave is the best option”

Rao, he was just a boy… but Clark knew it was true, he had seen the recording as well, and he still couldn’t shake the look of the kid’s glowing green eyes out of his head. When his emergency comm rang so late at night he worried, and he’d flown straight to Gotham to find that Bat— Bruce’s kids had gotten into a full on fight with the youngest and most recent addition to their family. By then Damian was already locked inside his room but Dick had still been mid his second panic attack and Tim needed a cast on his entire left arm since it was broken in three.

Bruce was adamant that Talia wouldn’t have lied about the Lazarus Pit, not when it came to her own son. That meant that, seeing as Damian had refused to talk, they needed to find the one other person who knew the full truth; the boy’s mysterious caretaker who he called his ‘baba’. And most importantly…

“Locking him in his room is not going to help” Clark adviced softly.

“I know that, but what… what can I do now? What if he snaps when he’s in school or takes the opportunity to run off? You and I know well that if the League considers him a danger I can’t vouch for him any longer, and I don’t trust Ra’s Al Ghul to not come looking for his grandson. Even worse, when others start realising he’s different, he’ll be a target for many other—“

Clark held Bruce’s shoulders and shook him gently to snap him out of his spiralling.

“I know, just… breathe. That’s it…” he waited until he’d calmed down before he let him go. “Ok so, um, I think we can actually work with this. Damian needs an escort both for his safety and everyone else’s, right?”

Bruce squinted his eyes at him as he let himself fall onto the couch.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Well, Jon’s a couple years younger but fortunately for both of us, he is half kryptonian and could keep an eye on him” He sat down next to him and pat his shoulder “Who knows, maybe he can be a good influence”

For a long moment the billionare stared at him as if he had grown another head. Was he seriously suggesting they let a twelve year old boy supervise Damian? Sure, he was near invincible, but he wasn’t prepared to deal with that of all things.

“Clark— Jon is a good kid, he’s making good progress and all but…”

“…But you think it’s not enough” Clark finished.

“No! No, it’s…” Bruce pursed his lips “Damian is a fully trained assassin, I know he’s just fifteen and he looks innocent and harmless even with the whole… pit thing, but he can and he has killed people. I trained my kids as best as I could and still he bested both Tim and Steph, if it wasn’t for Cass and Dick he would’ve done much worse than just break Tim’s arm. I don’t think even Superboy or Supernova would be safe from him” He stood up again to pace around the study, although there was a defeated air to his desperation this time. “You don’t understand, Clark, I— I didn’t know he had snuck out, I never realised he went into the cave and took Jason’s suit! It was Oracle who told me over two hours later… It was a warning, I told him he couldn’t have Robin so he showed me what he’s willing to do if I don’t give him what he wants”

The more Bruce talked it became evident that he was terrified, he had been Batman and he had thought he was prepared to take in his biological son, only to be slapped in the face with the fact that he was no longer on top of the field… Batman died ten years ago with Robin, and time had kept running for everyone else. They all got better while he chose to ignore all about that world, and whoever had trained Damian had done a damn good job at it.

And he— he hated it. He hated that he could do nothing to fix this situation and that he was scared of his own son. But… god, he was even more afraid of losing another child.

“I think you need some rest” Clark sighed and stood up “I’ll call Lois to let her know I’ll stay and… and we can solve this in the morning”

Breakfast was more akin to a funeral by the time Bruce and Clark made it downstairs, and it was only just after they sat down that Alfred came into the dining room with a serious expression.

“Master Bruce, I believe it’s important that you should know there was a package just delivered for young master Damian”

Bruce paled and at the other side of the table Duke’s head sprung up from the table.

“Did you give it to him?”

“I did, and I made sure the security feed in his room was available” he nodded, offering a tablet to him.

Dick stood up from his seat and ran to stand behind his chair as Clark leaned over his other shoulder, leaving the rest of the kids to pile up behind them.

On the screen, Damian sat cross leged on his bed, staring intently at the small box without moving as if analysing it. They waited for around a minute and were about to give up when he grabbed it and sliced off the tape with a small blade he’d pulled from his sleeve -Dick visibly suddered, he had registered all his clothes personally and thought there was no weapons-. Inside there was a note that he unfolded and read through quickly before he tossed it aside and jumped to get a burner phone out of the box, turning it on and scrolling through it.

The expectating silence in the dining room was heavy and overwhelming as they saw him await for a call to be answered, and then suddenly a voice came out of it, quickly made audible to them when Bruce adjusted the settings.

“-mian?”

The boy’s eyes widened and he held the phone tightly.

“Why didn’t you call?” he snapped then, speaking just as rudely to this person as he had to everyone else.

“… I’m sorry, I had to make sure I was out of sight” the man’s voice was young, but distorted through a voice modulator. “Are you alright? Was your father too big of a jerk?”

“He’s not my father” Damian answered automatically with anger “and I don’t want to stay”

There was a small sigh at the other end.

“We talked about this before, you know that”

“I hate it here”

“You’ve been there for two months, you have to give it time”

“I don’t want time, I want to go home”

As they spoke each their voices was raised in a frighteningly identical temper.

“Damian you don’t have a home anymore” the man snapped, harsh and brutal “So you’ll stay there like it or not”

There was a long tense silence in which the teen didn’t move, staring at the wall opposite to the bed.

“Why did you send this?” his tone was blank as he spoke “Why are you doing this if you’re going to abandon me forever?”

“What— no, that’s not it” the man audibly fumbled as he slipped and a bit of an accent shone through; american. It was gone the next second “I don’t want to do that”

“You’re a liar… you got rid of me the first chance you had, you’re never coming back to get me because you’re sick of me”

“That’s not how it works“

“Then explain it!” he screamed, standing up and throwing a textbook against the wall “You just do shit expecting me to not make any questions! I’m not a child anymore! I know how to make choices!”

“Yes you are! Are you even listening to yourself? You ARE a fucking child, you’re fifteen years old and you have no idea of how the world works! Do you think I can just— keep you? Your mother ain’t no saint and we both know that, she would get rid of me the moment I was no longer useful! What the fuck am I supposed to do to keep the Demon’s Head off our backs just so we can play house and pretend we’re normal people!? All your damn biological family has enough power to take you back in less time it takes you to blink! Hell, even your adoptive brothers have more rights than I do even if I raised you, why can’t you understand that I don’t have a choice!?”

Bruce didn’t know what to feel as he saw his son quietly sit on his bed, silent tears rolling down his cheeks while he held the phone to his ear. It was such a defeated silence from the both of them and he— he hated that he knew what the man at the other end of the line felt.

“…. B-Baba, I want to go home”

Even through the voice modulator the small intake of breath was heard.

“… I know, habibi” Damian let out a chocked noise and his shoulders started shaking “I wanna go home too”

Damian woke up late on sunday after crying himself to exhaustion. On his bedside table the burner phone was charging and a tray of cold food sat right next to it. The door was left open as a silent indication that he was no longer on house arrest, but he made no move to get out of bed just yet. At the end of the day he hadn’t truly gained anything at all… baba didn’t hate him, baba wanted him, but… he couldn’t come for him. From now on he was stuck with the Waynes until his mother decided otherwise, or until his grandfather decided Damian’s time was over. He knew baba would never come back to Gotham… he was too hurt. The Waynes had hurt him too much.

Batman had failed baba but… what if Damian could fix it? What if he could finally clean up the mess and get vengeance in his name? He slowly sat up and looked at the other side of the room where the old Robin suit had been thrown— it had been picked back up while he slept and likely carried back to the cave. That was fine, he would take it back, and then Robin would hunt a clown.

“Damian?” Wayne stood at the door, looking hesitant. “Can we talk?”

His first instinct was to say no. He had locked him up like an animal and likely looked at him through cameras— he hadn’t bothered to look for any to dismantle because he knew it was pointless.

“…” He nodded.

The man took a deep breath and pulled a chair to sit in front of him, fortunately at a safe distance.

“Did you sleep well?”

Damian glared and he winced.

“Yes, sorry about that… We had to make sure you wouldn’t hurt the others or yourself”

“…”

“… Right. I’m going straight to the point, ok? I need you to be as honest as you’re willing. Had you ever experienced an episode like that?”

Damian scoffed and Wayne sighed.

“Do you know why you snapped?”

“Of course I know, I’m not an idiot” he finally replied full of snark “I was awake when I was dipped in the pit all three times”

Damian didn’t suffer from the madness of the pit. In a way, mother and baba suspected he was almost immune to it now. Baba had only been put inside once and he’d become dangerous enough but Damian… well, he was special. He was made by hand, every trait and every little piece carefully selected to carve out the ideal statue, the perfect heir… the perfect vessel. Damian had a use and so he needed to be strong, perfected to the last detail. Baba had only been allowed to stay because he could help him and teach him control.

“Do I have any reason to suspect it’ll happen again?” Wayne looked pale, queasy. So he couldn’t even stomach the thought of everything Damian had lived, after all.

“…. No. Not if you give me what I want”

“I can’t let you be Robin” Wayne refused “I can’t fail another kid like that”

Damian opened his mouth to say something cruel and then stopped.

“What?”

The man sighed and lowered his head, looking exhausted and way older than he normally did.

“When… When Dick became Nightwing, I adoped another son. His name was— Jason. Jason Todd. He was very bright, with an excellent potential, and I… I failed him. The Joker killed him, and after that I promised myself there would be no more Batman and Robin again”

That— that couldn’t be right. Mother had said nothing changed!

“Drake?” he asked.

“Tim tried convincing me and Dick that Gotham needed Robin, but I refused. He only started being Spectre a couple years ago”

“But….”

“I can’t stop them from going out there, but I don’t want them, don’t want you to be in danger”

But baba…

“Why not kill the Joker? Why let him live?”

“I know things for you are very different, but I don’t kill. It’s… I almost wanted to” he quickly blinked to keep tears at bay “but if I did, I would taint everything that Jason died for”

Baba didn’t need a legacy, he wanted to say. He just wanted his dad to love him and miss him, he wanted his family to notice he was gone… and they never did. Even now they hadn’t bothered to check his empty grave?

“Damian, this is the one thing I can’t give you, so I need you to promise you won’t try to steal my dead son’s suit again. Can you do that?”

…Ok.

I’m sorry baba, I promise I will be careful and follow everything you taught me. I know you will be very mad but if Wayne can’t do this then it has to be me— it’s the least I can do. Call me back when you see the news, but remember I’m being watched.

Damian sent the voicemail and put down his burner phone with the screen down right next to the keyboard, taking a deep breath. The school’s library was nearly empty and his chosen corner offered no room for anyone to sneak up behind him without him noticing, keeping the screen of the computer concealed. He cliked the bright blue button and waited for the slow internet to load.

Seventeen pictures, all badly taken and blurry but still unmistakably the Robin that had been missing for ten years, were posted for the world to see.

#batfam #batman #bruce wayne #damian wayne #jason todd #no batman au #angst #family feels #angst with a happy ending #damian’s whole thing with the pit isn’t actually relevant to this fic #so i won’t go in depth with it but yeah there’s more to it #this chapter is also rushed on purpose to emphasise how quickly it all went down #guess who’s also about to make a comeback?#;)

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nearest-dearest · 1 year

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Masterlist - Rose of the nighborhood

The Red String

The Painting

The Waltz

The Red Lady

Fabricated World

Masterlist - Audio transcripts

You finally said Hello

Masterlist - Welcome to the Unknown

Yanis, Into the Unknown

The Bell and The Circus Master

The day they hanged Black Robin and The Spectre

The Cast

#wally darling #wally darling x reader #wally darling x y/n #wally darling x you #welcome home #fanfic #wally darling my beloved #wally x reader #welcome home arg x reader #welcome home fanart

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qtubbo-is-not-fine · 4 months

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Here's the promised playlist <3 it's probably bad, because it is the first ever playlist I ever made, thank you all for sending me songs, if you want to scream at me about some songs you can, also the list here:

It's gonna get weird - Gravity Falls

Ready as I'll ever be -Tangled

Alan Walker - Spectre

The Mechanisms - Odin

The Mechanisms - Ragnarok IV Jormungandr

The Mechanisms - Lost in the cosmos

The Mechanisms - Rose Red

Portal - Still Alive

Portal - Want you gone

Derivakat - Don't Wanna Lose You

Derivakat - Tell Your Story

Time machine - miracle musical

Everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears

keane - everybody's changing

skillet - would it matter

skillet - one day too late

совергон - космический кит

мельница- марсианский экспресс

ajr - next up forever

damien rice - 9 crimes

numb little bug - em beihold

sleeping at last - seven

sleeping at last - eight

sleeping at last - Neptune

Элли на маковом поле - рядом

beetlejuice - the whole being dead thing

All for us - labrynth, Zendaya

Roots - imagine dragons

Chronically cautious - braden bales

What we love is gone - moonfall

Lost it all - black veils brides

Stray gods - The Ritual (green with red ending)

Within Temptation - Our Solemn Hour

Cut my fingers off - ethan bortnick

contradiction - megan shumway

Lost it all - fabvl

bedshaped - keane

1000 years - robin aristo

abney park - clockyard

just add water - cavetown

heading south - zach bryan

Running up that hill - kate bush

#qsmp #tubbo #qsmp tubbo #qsmp playlist

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kalevalakryze · 8 months

Note

I hope you know I'm picking random numbers for the writer ask thing

1, 38, 77

Thats not actually random, thats like, the first one, middle one, and last one

cracks my gay little knuckles 1. Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

Buddy, my dude; my guy I have not updated a single one of my multi-chaptered fics in... months; I don't wanna talk about it 38. Would you ever write commissions?

I mean; Yeah? If somebody liked my writing enough to commission it? I don't think I'm that good yet, but I'd do it; (except for that one request on AO3.... I think about that shit often bc wtf....) (ah the days before I closed my comments to users only) 77. Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from [Fanfic Name] story/chapter?

THE HOCKEY AU HASN'T EVEN BEEN RELEASED YET B R O

HOWEVER (and, honorable shoutout here to @thegirlsinthecity because if it wasn't for them, we would not have hockey au for me to dangle in front of your noses)

“And Wren is breaking away! Crossing into the Spectre’s side, she’s all alone!” “Looks like Hati picked up on the fluke, they’re racing down the ice-” “Oh! That one has got to hurt!” “Big hit by Hati, Mercenaries are in control- wait a minute, looks like Wren isn’t willing to stand for that one!” "Whistle on the play, time will stop-" Sabine's glove came off with a good timed shake, knuckles connecting with Shin's jaw just as she was shoved back against the ice. Shin's helmet came off with the hit, and a small rivulet of blood rose to the surface from her lip. There wasn’t much time to focus on the look in their eyes when a gloved hand launched into her face, smacking her head back off the glass hard enough to bring black spots to her eyes, though the second hit, ungloved, and right into the sliver of space between the pads right into her kidneys was the one that sent her to the ground, knees hitting the ice hard enough to make her bones ache. The crowd was screaming and cheering at the fight, smaller fights broke out on the ice around them, and Sabine could just barely see the Center, Skoll, managing to drag Shin off of her as Ahsoka and Kix rushed over. The ice was really soft, darkness was rushing into her vision, and Ahsoka was moving so fast-

#fic writer ask #star wars #sabine wren #shin hati #wolfwren #ahsoka series #ahsoka tano #clone medic kix #hockey au #a little snippet #THE HOCKEY AU #i'm so excited #a little bird told me there MAY be a pre-release coming this Sabine Week. . .

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charliesinfern0 · 1 year

Photo

i made kidswap sprites for page! :D

(Alien, Clown, Controller, Orange and Snowflake symbols made by @deepseaspriteblog)

some trivia under the cut:

Page Egbert (Heir of Space)

- (touch tone telephone playing on repeat)

- very interested in aliens and space, and also paranormal stuff

- doesnt get much sleep

- has glasses but rarely wears them

- in love with Karkat Megido :) (a ghost, an alien and a cute boy all rolled into one?? swoon!)

Page Crocker (Prince of Life)

- only bakes as a hobby, really doesnt like the idea of being the heir of crocker corp.

- loves detectives and musicals (chicago is her number one fav)

- also likes harlequins (has a clownsona)

Page Lalonde (Rose-ways) (Page of Light)

- Very interested in ghosts and spirits and spectres

- Creepypasta aficionado

- would in fact smooch a ghost

Page Lalonde (Roxy-ways) (Seer of Void)

- loves video games (mainly cute rpgs and platformers)

- a bit of a fashionista

- uses all the emoticons. aaaaaaaall of theeeeeeeem.

Page Strider (Dave-ways) (Rogue of Time)

- music loving freak

- loves their friends so much

- wears a black long sleeve under their shirt

Page Strider (Dirk-ways) (Knight of Heart)

- autism(TM)

- incredible cook (knife skills are off the charts)

- biggest nerd ever. just in general. can recite nearly every wikipedia article from memory

Page Harley (Witch of Breath)

- loves studying weather

- has a strange bunny as a pet

- favorite season: all of them

Page English (Maid of Hope)

- autism(TM) pt.2

- awful memory

- needs a nap

- the spine by tmbg but human

#homestuck #homestuck art #homestuck sprite edit #homestuck oc #homestuck fankid #homestuck kidswap #homestuck au

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tikitania · 3 months

Note

I completely agree with the names you added to the list and your opinion!! Kuznetsova and Savelieva also intrigues me. They should at least be coryphees. But the Mariinsky has this tendency to cast *a lot* some dancers, but never really promotes them. So, basically, the promotions happen with the theater's favorites, at the time.

There are some second soloists who already should be first soloists, for years, now. And some first soloists who should be principals (but I'll never be, due to their ages).

Also, about Bulanova, she only gets cast in more contemporary pieces or more secondary roles. The MT has this emploi thing very strict. So I (unfortunately) don't see much changes to her, due to her emploi. But I definitely think she'll make it to first soloist (at least).

I see Khoreva, Karamysheva, Iliushkina, Nagahisa, and Kulikova going up because they're management favorites. Not saying all will become principals, but still, they get plenty of more opportunities.

I'm not sure about Anushenkova and Bespalova, but the theater really see potential in both, especially in Anushekova.

Sorry about the long rant, lol

I love speculating about Mariinsky promotions or lack thereof, because, as you pointed out, it doesn’t always make sense! (Ahem…Osmolkina & Stepin.)

Kuznetsova getting the White Swan PDD in two divertissements — and soon the dreaming lady in “Spectre of the Rose” — they are clearly building something with her.

Savalieva danced the Black Swan PPD last summer at a ballet event, she dances the Queen of the Dryads beautifully, and recently posted a performance of a variation from Paquita that took my breath away, shared below.

Interestingly, Anushenkova just won 3rd at the Russian Ballet competition. Camila Sultangereeva (sp?) won first. I don’t know if you recall but Camilla left Vaganova for the Bolshoi school this past May smack dab in the middle of exams, which created a small scandal.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Svetlana Savelieva (@svetlanskaya6)

instagram

#ballet #mariinsky ballet #russian ballet #instagram #ballet promotions

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black-rose-events · 1 year

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[Image ID: the "not sure if..." meme with Fry from the show Futurama squinting eyes. The top text says 'Not sure if I'm in love' and the bottom text reads 'or if I'm latching on to the first person who has shown me basic human decency in a long time.' End ID.]

Raise your hand if you're personally attacked by this meme 🙋‍♀️

#heroes and villains #heroes and villains memes #hero x villain #hero x villain community #villain x villain #villain x civilian #villain #evil #evilcore #villaincore #black rose events #villaintine's day #writeblr #mod: spectre👻#memes

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kaijudirector · 11 months

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007 Fest - OC Day!

(My little contribution to OC Day! He’s a modified variant of my main character of my original fic. The difference is the latter is far more dour and realistic, not to mention professional and to-the-point. Vic here has a lot of flair and showmanship.)

VICTOR CESAR TORRALBA

SPECTRE operative, working as an enforcer, or hitman for their execution squad. Of a higher rank than most of its foot soldiers, though not part of the squad’s management. Generally, his position is equivalent to an NCO in modern military establishments. Based on reports, he is highly valued as an enforcer for the organization, despite his flair for the dramatic. Draw speed reported at 0.34 seconds. Uses a Ruger Blackhawk that uses special hand loaded .44 Magnum. Reported in: Bahamas, Italy, Istanbul, Russia, Switzerland, Morocco, Uganda, Montenegro, France, Bolivia, Great Britain, Cuba, Japan, the United States, and the Philippines.

DESCRIPTION: 6’5 and 200 pounds. Slim and muscular. Eyes brown, hair black in a Caesar-style haircut. Hands measured at 15cm. Body covered in scars.

ORIGINS: Born in the Philippines. Joined the Philippine Army in his teens, and rose to the rank of Sergeant. Was the Philippine Armed Forces’ boxing champion. Noted for his aptitude in combat and psychological warfare. Supposedly participated in several brutal repressions of Communist rebel activity. Reportedly involved in a corruption scandal that saw him drummed out. Went freelance not long afterward, before being recruited by Fransisco Scaramanga, who took the ex-soldier under his wing. Later farmed out to Spectre’s execution squad.

RESOURCES: Paid salary by SPECTRE, rumored to be around $10,000. As such, possess various false identities provided by the organization during travel. On occasion, will travel with high-ranking members as part of their security.

ANALYSIS: Has a bit of a flair for the dramatic, supposedly for “psychological reasons” but when the job calls for it, he will drop all pretenses and do any job, no questions asked. The latter could be used against him. Has a bit of a sadistic streak and holds little moral qualms. Generally easy-going, but when angered, will tend to be violent and requires some restraint. Despite this, he is also reasonably intelligent and has a good grasp of military tactics and operations.

#007 fest 2023 #007fest #teamcivilian #team civillian #original characters day

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bluejaysandblackbats · 6 days

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Sweet Honey Bee

Fandom: DC Comics, Flashfam

Summary: Bart tries to uncover the seemingly sinister deeds going on at the campus while visiting Thad's art school.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Thad Thawne, Bart Allen, Meloni Thawne, Don Allen, President Thawne

Additional Tags: Bart and Thad Smoke Weed in This, Ballet AU, No Powers AU, Dark Academia, Boarding School AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Swap, Protective Siblings, Family Bonding

Chapter One: The Gate

As they pulled through the iron gates to the heavily-forested campus, a sliver of sunlight pierced through the trees and landed on the water in the fountain. Statues and gothic art installments littered the quad. Modern hand-carved gargoyles, grotesquely frozen in horrific writhing positions, glass aquariums with realistically-painted dolls frozen in water-like resin prisons, old hollowed-out televisions-turned-terrariums . Bart shivered. “They take Halloween seriously around here, don’t they?” Don whispered.

“In May?” Meloni asked as she took a hat from her purse and slipped it over Bart’s head.

“Mom—.”

“It’s chilly out… Donny, do you remember where the lady told us to go?” Meloni asked. Don nodded, crouching down to look inside a television terrarium.

Meloni hugged herself, and Bart stood on his tiptoes, staring defiantly into the eyes of a stone-carved beast. “Sunshine, get away from that,” Meloni warned. Don turned the knob on one of the TVs as the exhibit label suggested, and it played music. The knob turned counterclockwise by itself.

“Would ya look at that!” Don smiled. “That’s neat! Real neat!”

“Dad, we gotta go. We’re gonna be late meeting TJ,” Bart reminded him.

Don led them past the fountain and into the garden. It was all set up for an outdoor play, but everything was covered with a tarp. Bart wanted to wander further into the garden, and Meloni reigned him in by his backpack. “Nuh-uh, Sunshine. Stay close,” Meloni whispered.

Don followed a decorative stone pathway to the garden’s edge, where a weeping willow stood alone. Behind the willow stood four gothic buildings. Spooky black buildings with large, dark blue stained glass windows. A light flickered on in one of the bay windows, and a windchime made soft hollow glass noises as the wind licked at its chimes. “Which one is Thad’s? They all look the same…” Meloni pulled Bart back.

Don pointed to the third building on the left. “Juniors live in that one. If he’s not home, he said he’d be at the BH,” Don replied. They walked toward the junior dorms, and Bart pressed the button with their last name on it.

“Hello?” Thad answered. His voice was like Bart’s, but his speech was slower, less confident, and shaky.

“Teej!” Bart shouted. The line went silent, and they waited for nearly a minute before the door swung open. Thad embraced Bart and nearly knocked Bart off his feet.

“Smeeny!” Thad exclaimed. Bart held on tight, pressing his face into Thad’s shoulder, breathing him in. “Smeeny…” His voice broke, and he cried.

Bart spun him around. “Schmingy nee!” Bart replied. It was their language. The words didn’t have a specific meaning, but they had emotion. Don took a picture of the boys. A handful of little nonsense words meant everything to them. Thad and Bart let go of each other, and Meloni showered Thad in kisses.

“Hi, Honey Bee! I missed you so much!” Meloni laughed. It was like all her fears melted away. “And you’re still wearing the cologne?”

“Mom,” Thad laughed. He did wear it. Everyday. And he eternally smelled like rosemary and lavender. Bart picked the scent for him three years ago, and Thad’s worn it ever since. “Dad?” Thad lifted his gaze to meet eyes with his father. Don’s eyes were kind and wrinkled at the corners with pride and experience.

Don picked Thad up and squeezed tight. “We missed you so much, Sparky,” Don whispered, “Still playing tennis?”

“Not enough time right now. I’m doing two ballets for the summer showcase. I never leave the stage for Apollon or Le Spectre de la Rose, so I dance continuously for forty-five minutes, not accounting for the costume change during announcements and makeup,” Thad explained. Don nodded.

“Taking care of yourself?” Don asked. He looked Thad over and hugged him once more. “I love you so much. Have any of us told you that today? We love you, Sparky.”

Thad grinned from ear to ear. “I love you too, Dad. And I hate to jet, but I’ve gotta get to my afternoon rehearsals. I’ll see you at dinner, though? Won’t I?” Thad questioned. Bart nodded as he stared at Thad.

“You’re not gonna rehearse in that, are you?” Bart teased as he tugged on Thad’s turtleneck. Thad took Bart’s hand, placing it at Bart’s side.

“I’m wearing my ballet clothes underneath, Mew,” Thad whispered, “I’ll see you guys at the cafeteria in two hours, right?”

They waved and walked to the car to grab the rest of their bags. “He looks so good,” Meloni smiled.

Don grinned as he hung his camera around his neck. Bart took Meloni’s bag. “Dinner’s in two hours?” Bart whined once he registered what Thad said.

“I packed an extra sandwich for you,” Don reassured him. “Text Grandma and Grandpa and tell them we got here safe, and Thad looks great.” Bart reached into Don’s pocket. “Why can’t you use your phone?”

“It’s dead… Is Grandpa Teddy coming?” Bart asked. Don chewed his lip and nodded. “Is he still mad at you for Easter?”

“He’s always mad at me, Squeaker… But this time, I’m not going to play into it. I’m smarter than that,” Don replied as he opened the guest house door and rang the check-in desk bell. Bart tapped Don on the shoulder.

“Didn’t you say that last time, Dad?” Bart asked innocently. Don wrinkled his forehead, and Meloni giggled.

“He does have a point there, Duckie,” Meloni whispered sweetly. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Why’s he have to come to this one? Wasn’t it enough that he ruined the twins’ first birthday? Or Easter? Or Bart’s cheer competition last summer?” Don muttered. “I bet he got here early to sit in the guest house and think of ways to ruin Thad’s performance.”

“I will handle Daddy… Okay? I will handle him,” Meloni whispered, “You can’t let him get to you… He’s only sore because he knows I can’t live without you. You were my singular act of defiance, and he still hasn’t forgiven me.” Meloni stood on her tiptoes and kissed Don’s cheek.

Bart took the key from Don and rushed up the stairs. “I won big, huh?” Don whispered. Meloni nodded. Don picked Meloni up and carried her up the stairs. “Damn right, I won.”

“Donnie cut it out,” Meloni giggled. When they reached the second floor, he set her down. “Which room are we in?”

“Two-oh-five,” Don replied. They turned right and walked down the hallway until they found a room with a yellow door.

Upon entering, they overheard Bart talking to Mr. Thawne in the kitchen. “Perhaps you could stay with me next school year, so you can reach your full academic and athletic potential—.”

“Bart’s doing fine in school,” Don interrupted, “And I recall you offered the same opportunity to Thad eight years ago…”

“That was eight years ago. This is now. I’m more patient now, and I recall you begging for my help back then… Being that Bartholomew was sick—.”

“Daddy,” Meloni warned. “Both of you, stop it. No fighting… No putting the kids in the middle… Just cut it out. Why can’t you both be like Bart? He gave up an important weekend with his friends for this and hasn’t complained once.” Meloni kissed Bart’s forehead.

“Okay. I’ll go first. I’m sorry that I got snappy with you. Bart’s old enough to decide where he wants to stay next school year, and I appreciate you taking an interest in his academic career,” Don apologized. Meloni rocked forward on the tips of her toes and smiled.

“Thank you… I apologize for putting Bartholomew in the middle of our brief spat, and I’m sorry if I implied that you haven’t done an adequate job parenting the twins,” Mr. Thawne mumbled.

“Thanks,” Don replied.

“Good. Now that that’s settled… Let’s get unpacked and rest for a while. Dinner isn’t for another two hours,” Meloni smiled. Bart groaned.

Don took a paper bag from his suitcase and handed it to Bart. “I’ve got you, Squeaker,” Don whispered. Bart smiled from ear to ear as he opened the bag and unwrapped his sandwich.

“Best dad ever,” Bart whispered before he took a bite. Don messed up Bart’s hair.

“Would you like a sandwich, Mr. Thawne?” Don asked.

“No, thank you. I’ll hold over until dinner,” Mr. Thawne replied.

“I’ll take a sandwich, Duckie,” Meloni whispered. Don kissed her cheek and handed her a sandwich. Don smiled proudly.

#fic #flashfam #sweet honey bee fic #Thad Thawne #Bart Allen #Meloni Thawne #Don Allen #President Thawne #Bart and Thad Smoke Weed in This #Ballet AU #No Powers AU #Dark Academia #Boarding School AU #Angst #Hurt/Comfort #Identity Swap #Protective Siblings #Family Bonding

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gavroche-le-moineau · 8 months

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The imagery in this chapter is haunting. Now we're pulled back and invited to view what just happened outside the gate of the Rue Plumet as a "natural" phenomenon- what are bloodthirsty beasts with claws and teeth in the face of a shadowy spectre from beyond the grave? This is far from the first time Hugo has likened Éponine to a supernatural being, ghost, or spectre.

On the one hand, this comparison is powerful. Hugo says these beasts (Thénardier & the Patron Minette) are "merely matter," whereas the "black figure barring the way" (Éponine) is an "unknown being." It was clear in LM 4.8.4 that Éponine had absolutely nothing left to lose, which gives her the advantage against the would-be robbers. The implication I got is that she's not frightened of anything because she doesn't value her life, and Hugo strengthens this with imagery of her being already dead. “Then she continued, raking her bitter flaming ghost’s eyes over the rest of the crooks: What’s it to me if they scrape me off the pavement in the rue Plumet tomorrow, hacked to death by my own father...”

On the other hand, I feel that this comparison may take away some of Éponine's agency. The fact is, while she may not value her own life, she is not a ghost or a supernatural being, and that isn't the reason the robbers were afraid of her. She used her own cunning to prevent her father and the Patron Minette from entering the Rue Plumet gate. First, she tried appealing to her father and Montparnasse, using her relationships with them to incite sympathy. When that didn't work, she came up with another tactic- screaming to alert everyone of the robbery. She changed her demeanor, deliberately, to act dauntless and crazed so they would believe she meant it. And they did. She says, “All I have to do is scream, they’ll come running, whoosh! There are six of you; but I am the rest of the world.”

I do think the spectral imagery is an important part of Éponine's characterization. It shows us the true horror of her destitution. But that's not all there is to her, and that's not why she succeeds in fending off the attack. Éponine is smart, she's creative, and she's cunning enough to know she can leverage the forces of this cruel world if she wants to.

Quotes from Rose's English translation

#lm 4.8.5 #lm 4.8.4 #les mis letters #eponine #patron minette

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queenaeducan-writes · 1 year

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Spokes in the Wheel

Pairing: Kirrahe x Mordin Solus Characters: Kirrahe, Mordin Solus Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy Archive Warnings: Major Character Death Other Tags: Double Drabbles, Salarian worldbuilding Summary: There was a word for what Kirrahe meant to Mordin, but it took a lifetime for him to find it. A series of 200 word fics about Kirrahe and Mordin's relationship. Written for the @spectre-requisitions-exchange for jaigheart. You can also read it here on AO3!

13th of Kesh, 2756 GS. 600 hours. The first time Mordin saw Kirrahe. He was dressed simply, relieved of his STG armour for a more casual fit. The black weave of his jumpsuit only served to make him look greener, his bright skin blooming against the synthetic light.

While the other agents lounged in their seats, he sat straight. His ambition could be measured by the angle of his spine. He appeared at first the picture of arrogance, a young commander with a chip on his shoulder and plenty to prove. Mordin was prepared to work through gritted teeth. He’d known sooner or later the soldier faction within the STG would rear its head in this project. No Salarian ever set foot on Tuchanka without a bullet to spare.

And that was what Kirrahe was: the unwavering path of a bullet, hurtling towards its target with the force of a mass effect field behind it.

“You’re Doctor Solus, aren’t you?” Immediately, he rose from his seat. A smooth, liquid movement. Almost disarming to witness.

Almost.

“My superiors spoke highly of you,” he continued, offering his hand. “I’m eager to see what you and your scientists are made of.”

“STG hired the best,” Mordin replied. “Adjust expectations accordingly.”

20th of Pa’esh, 2756 GS. 1800 hours. His head felt lighter than yesterday morning. Far from a relief, instead every movement needed to be recalibrated. Relieved, now, of his right cranial horn, what before was a simple turn of the head would now send him careening.

Rather than spilling onto the floor, a pair of arms caught him, steadying him with apparent ease. “Shouldn’t you be resting?” Kirrahe chided.

“No time for rest. Immediate danger dealt with, must now deal with other… personal matters.” Mordin blinked. Drop 16 still felt like a dream. The inconvenient kind. The events of the day moved through his mind as though another salarian had lived them. Yet the injury to his horn proved otherwise.

That was until he remembered Maelon. The dismay in his voice when he saw they had killed krogan females was all too real.

“Personal matters. You mean Maelon?”

“Yes. Hope to convince him to recant protest now that dust has settled. See necessity in parameter shift.”

“I’ve already struck it from the official report. He’s young, one moment of weakness shouldn’t define the rest of his career.”

Gratitude swelled in his chest. Hard to believe this was the man he’d traded so many venomous barbs with yesterday.

1st of Da’esh, 2762 GS. 1000 hours. Medical personnel had reassured him all was well. Though the Commander— no, Captain’s unit had taken heavy losses, Kirrahe himself escaped with only minor injury. Mordin knew better.

He’d drafted countless emails inquiring after him. Deleted them just as quickly. Better to go himself.

Hearsay placed Kirrahe on Nasurn, his homeworld, in his clan’s embrace. The natural place for any salarian to return when life’s tests threatened to overwhelm, though Mordin had never felt such loyalty to his own.

“The first word I received when I was released from hospital was that Clan Narra had accepted my family’s bid for a reproduction contract,” Kirrahe told him not long after their reunion. “It looks like I’ll be a father again.”

A match most males would kill for. Then again, Kirrahe had.

“Seem hesitant.” Mordin sniffed. “Unlike you.”

“These days I save my certainty for my soldiers. I don’t have much to spare for myself.” The captain stretched, then winced, clutching a hidden injury. “It is nice to think something good could come from Virmire… what a mess.”

“Your last daughter— a product of the Modification Project success, correct?”

“True, but she’s not the only good thing that came from those days.”

15th of Kesh, 2765 GS. 500 hours. “Are you willing to admit that I was right?” Was the first thing Kirrahe said to him on Sur’kesh. Before platitudes, before niceties.

Mordin wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Would sooner die,” he shot back, which only encouraged the Captain— no, Major.

“I see age has done nothing for your obstinance,” Kirrahe said. “Perhaps we settle the matter over drinks, loser pays.”

Neither needed reminding of which argument they were returning to. One word, and it was as fresh in Mordin’s mind as the day it was had. The weary look on Rentola’s face as they continued was a clear sign they were not alone in their remembering.

What few hours Mordin had to waste were spent in Kirrahe’s company. Although, he was ashamed to say, he couldn’t remember who won, which certainly meant it was not him. Still clear, however, was the flash of Kirrahe’s eyes in the failing daylight. They invited curiosity. Questions Mordin had never forgotten, but buried beneath years of guilt.

Later, Eve would jest that perhaps their kinds were not so different, if the vehicles for how they expressed love played out so similarly. Albeit with fewer headbutts.

Mordin had no answer for her.

27th of Da’esh, 2765 GS. 2100 hours. It will be raining on Nasurn, Mordin thinks. It always does this time of year. When he closes his eyes, the patter of stone on the reinforced glass nearly passes for its chorus.

As he slips further into the distance, Shepard’s figure vanishes beneath a plume of rubble, and he is left with his memories. Nostalgia drowns his fears.

In the years after the Genophage Project ended, Mordin dove deep into the ancient wisdom of his people. He’d long thought there’d been no word for what Kirrahe is to him, at least not until the asari settled among the salarians. By the time he learned there was, their lives had passed one another by. Or so he thought.

Like the cycle of life itself, salarian lives turned in circles. It brought him to Shepard, to Tuchanka, to Maelon, and to Kirrahe.

Shadows pass over him as he draws nearer his destination. A nervous song plays upon his lips. He remembers how Kirrahe’s hand folded over his as he spoke the word back to him. Skin so green it stripped the colour from Sur’kesh’s leaves.

The door opens. Fire drinks the moisture from his skin. The wheel turns for him again.

#kirrahe #mass effect #mordin solus #salarian #mass effect fanfiction #character: kirrahe #character: mordin #pairing: kirrahe x mordin #pairing: romantic

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