#also no spoilers please! i'm watching very slowly and i hear there is a twist lakdfalek | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bluegarners · 3 years

Note

For the bingo card, I'd like to request the "tortured for information" square with Dick being the one who's tortured (sorry Dick alskjda). You can include any other batfam member(s) that you want, I'm not picky 😁.

Oooo, that’s a good one! I was super excited to see your request, I hope this does the prompt right~ @hood-ex

Tortured for Information

The room they’re being contained in is small, perhaps eight foot by eight, and the ceiling barely crests at seven. It’s cramped and hot, the stone bricks that surround them leaving no room for air ventilation or any sort of moisture except their own sweat. They know there’s a door somewhere off to the right, but the enclosing darkness leaves most of it to the imagination. Pitch black inks the area, not a single source of light filtering through its void. They only know there’s a door in the darkness because there used to be four of them where three now sit in anticipation. A few inches rest between each of the three remaining figures, all trying their best to breathe through the heat and not inhale the stench of their own gross fluids.

Time is hard to tell in the dark, minds so used to constant movement that stillness is unexpected and dangerous. What they do know is that, before there were just three, they awoke one by one, feeling out for one another in the darkness, checking supplies (they had none), and trying their best to figure out how to escape. The door was the obvious solution at first, the largest of them using his shoulder as a battering ram against the heavy wood. There’s no give, no weakness, and the eldest stops the biggest before there’s unnecessary hurt inflicted. There are no hinges or door knobs or anything obvious through the touch of careful fingers, so other than hopelessly banging against the door, there’s no way to open it.

All of them were still on the cusp of disoriented when they realized there’s no air flow and that, if they’re as trapped as they believe themselves to be, conserving oxygen was the next priority after a failed escape. Suggestions of being underground were thrown around, all failing to recall how they ended up in the small room in the first place or who took them. The underground theory is plausible, being that there’s no light, but the sweltering heat doesn’t match the coolness of deep earth. Being in a basement was also likely, but seeing as their prison isn’t much of a room for a house or other building also leaves the hypothesis flimsy. They compared notes from what they could remember.

“Patrol,” Tim started, a small voice in the black, “in the West portion of Gotham. I was alone though.”

“Spoiler accompanied me in the South,” Damian said.

“Last I remembered, I was in the Cave with B,” Dick chimed in. “We were going over logs. Hood?”

“Drunk,” was the muttered reply. “Still nursing a headache actually so if you guys could shut up and think, that’d be great.”

They’re still on rickety terms with the estranged brother. Things have gotten better over the years, but the progress only graduated from ‘shoot on sight’ to ‘stay the hell away’. Progress is progress though. They’re getting there, slowly, and one day Alfred will coax him into a Manor dinner.

Silence fell on them, more out of nothing else to say rather than to comply with the command, and the only sound was their breaths filtering through the stagnant air. The heat isn’t unbearable. No, far from it, they’ve all endured worse, but the closeness of their bodies provided little relief. There’s hardly enough room to stand and take a few steps before accidentally smashing someone’s hand and soon enough, agitation was brewing. Britsling words, huffs, tuts, an occasional snap; none of them did well in dark, small, and claustrophobic situations.

The hard part about residing in shadow is that one cannot tell when eyes are open or closed, seeing darkness or dreaming in black. When Jason awakes for the second time, a fierce pounding building behind his ears, he realizes that someone is missing. Someone is gone from their eight by eight confinement. A stutter of breath is absent among the shallow patterns. His fingers fumble loosely against the hard flooring, rough in texture and covered in cracks and pebbles, until he finds a body.

He shakes them. “Wake up. Wake up now.”

It’s Damian. He’s up and alert in an instant, grasping at Jason’s wrist in a move meant to harm the older man. It merely pinches him. “What’s going on?” the boy hisses, grip frightfully tight.

Jason ignores him. Feels around for another body. His hand barely moves a foot before he feels something loose and soft. He tugs at it and a startled yell answers. “What the hell?” Tim growls, low enough to be a whisper but quick enough to be panicked.

A snake of oil and water falls into his stomach as Jason confirms it. It twists around in his gut even as he crawls over to where he thinks the door is, slamming a fist into it over and over again as he feels his own panic settle coolly into his feet. They took him. Dick is gone.

That was, in their best estimate, an hour ago. Now they all sit within reaching distance, careful to watch for the signs of induced slumber, periodically calling out to reassure one another. Tim thinks it was gas. Damian thinks drugs. Jason doesn’t know what to think, just that it happened and now Nightwing is gone. He does not voice his more sinister thoughts aloud on what happened to the man in blue, what might be happening right now, but he does not console the younger vigilantes. Order would dictate that it was now his job to look after them, as the second eldest, but he’s been on his own for years and doesn’t know how to.

Dick is gone and they can only sit and wait.

~oOo~

The vapor takes him last. He’s wedged himself into a corner, straining his eyes to make out even an outline of his brothers, when he hears a body slump to the floor, followed by two after. The noise is alarming because, well, those were bodies hitting the stone floor, his brothers, and Dick prepares himself for something as he holds his breath, clasping a hand over his nose.

The door suddenly opens and white light pours into the small room like an ocean hell bent on taking everything with it. It washes over everything, and for a moment, Dick is completely blinded and overwhelmed with the sudden contrast. Just as quickly as the light burst in, there are hands scraping and clawing against his shoulders and Dick is tempted to shout, but the vapors have finally reached his lungs and he feels the lull of sleep drag at his insides until his eyes weigh a thousand pounds and he is forced to close them.

When he blinks them open, he has to bite back a scream because there’s a masked face in front of him, a ghastly brown mask with gaping holes that peer into the depths. Dick is more than a little startled but finds it within himself to evaluate. His mask is still firmly in place, he can feel the spirit gum sucking at his skin, and he is still fully garbed in his Nightwing suit. A quick glance is easy enough to prove he is no longer in that dark prison he and his brothers had been held in, and another glance confirms that he is the only one out.

His brothers are still trapped.

He, too, is trapped, secured against what feels like a metal cot with leather and metal chains and straps tying his feet and arms to the corners of the cot. The masked face moves away from him, decidedly once it's confirmed he is in fact awake, and retreats back. Dick strains to see where they go but they disappear out his peripherals and is instead replaced with the sight of an old woman, gray, almost silver, hair falling in front of her eyes. There’s bright pink lipstick on her mouth, a dull blue shimmer shade smearing her eyelids, and a coral pink blush struggling to lift up the saggy flesh in what might be an attempt at youth. She smiles down at him. Her teeth are plastic.

“Good evening, Nightwing,” she simpers, reaching out a gnarled hand to stroke at his face. “Did you sleep well?”

Dick says nothing, trying to piece together the woman’s motives. He doesn’t recognize her. She’s new. But old. Perhaps an underground leader then. The masked person from earlier would indicate some sort of dramatic cult. Dick doesn’t know if the concealment of their identity means they intend to release him later, or if the showing of the old woman’s face is a move of power, as if to say that they have the means to keep him stationary and have little fear in doing so. The woman could be anyone from a simple grandmother to an “immortal” mortal, striving for some elixir of youth like the League of Assassins. Really, this could be anything. They, whoever it was that took Dick and his brothers, were clearly very capable.

Just as Dick begins to consider the idea of magic being involved, the old woman snaps her fingers and the wooden face from earlier reappears. The blow is quick, a metal stick coming down to strike at his abdomen, and Dick has little time to brace as metal meets his thin flesh and pain lights a fire inside his stomach. He bites back a scream.

“Now, you listen here young man,” the woman berates, a shaking finger pointing accusingly at him. “When you are asked a question, you answer. Where are your manners?”

Dick is too busy catching his breath to form a coherent response, and the woman snaps her fingers again, another blow striking at his stomach again. Dick relaxes as fully as he can despite the panic that’s quickly taking hold of his limbs, and the metal collides with his side this time with bruising force against one of his kidneys. A huff of hurt escapes his mouth and Dick instinctually begins to curl up into himself, only stopped by the straps that hold him down.

“Do you understand?” the old woman asks, raising her hand threateningly as if to snap again.

“Yes,” Dick wheezes out, breathing through the pain. “Yes, I get it.”

She drops her hand, a pleased and rather pleasant smile marring her face once more. “Good. Lovely. I’m sure you have many questions, Nightwing, but I am not obliged to answer any. However, I want you to answer some questions for me. How does that sound?”

Dick isn’t sure if a head nod is enough to placate her inquiry, so he manages another verbal affirmation.

“Excellent,” the old woman crows. “I’ll begin then. Oh drat, I almost forgot. You arrived with your brothers, yes?”

Dick feels the blood in his face drain. She notices.

“Oh, not to worry!” she reassures, a wrinkled hand coming up to pat his cheek. “No harm will come to them. I would never hurt a child, Nightwing, no sir. Family is very important after all. That’s why you’re here! So, to make sure that you answer truthfully, I would like to propose a bargain.”

“Bargain?” Dick questions. His side winces, still struggling to adapt to the injuries. He’ll have to deal with it later. Later.

“Quite so,” the woman agrees. “If you answer my questions with complete honesty, and I mean that young man, I will grant a few privileges to your brothers. I don’t like shutting them away in their room, but I know otherwise they wouldn’t behave. You can help them though. Here, I’ll show you.”

A screen flickers to life above his head, a monitor illuminating the ceiling.

“If you answer my question, I will turn on one light for them,” the woman says, shakily motioning to the pitch black screen. “That is how this will work. I will tell you what privileges can be earned for your brothers, and then ask you a question. Answering truthfully is the only way to give them those rewards though. Do you understand?”

“And if I don’t?” Dick questions back, the situation finally settling into his head. Rule number something that Bruce had always instilled in him was to never bargain with your captor, especially when others were involved. Innocents.

“Then I snap my fingers,” the woman responds coldly, “and Burtrum will do his best to force the truth out of you.”

Burtrum. The hulking figure in the wooden mask. Burtrum. Okay. Okay. Not the weirdest but- okay, fine. Burtrum.

“We’ll start easy, just so you understand that I am truthful in my promises. Are you ready, Nightwing?”

He can say no. He can say no and get beaten for it, but if he says no, then there’s the chance that his brothers will suffer for it. The old woman promised not to hurt them, she said she wouldn’t hurt children, but he can’t take anything she says as absolute fact. If he says yes, that he’s willing to answer her, there’s no telling what kind of questions she might want to pry an answer for out of him. She could ask about anything: identities, the Justice League, the Titans, Batman, codes, locations, anything. And if he doesn’t answer the way she wants, he’ll get beaten for it. Tortured, more like it, and he really doesn’t want to put himself through that if he doesn’t have to.

“I don’t know how you were raised, but I don’t accept silence as an answer. You will use your words.”

Tell that to Bruce, Dick thinks ruefully, mulling over his options once again. “Fine,” he settles on, “I’m ready.”

“Splendid. Burtrum, do please fetch me a chair. My knees are brittle and it’s cold in here.”

The massive figure of Burtrum, dear lord that sounds like a name Alfred would know somehow, lumbers away and Dick, admittedly, feels a little tension ease out of him now that the immediate threat is gone. Well, the immediate physical threat.

“Now, I promised you that I would turn a light on for your brothers. I understand that children can be afraid of the dark, and it is not my intention to frighten them like this. So, tell me, Nightwing, what is your favorite color?”

“My favorite color?” he repeats back dumbly.

“Yes, indeed. Answer that and I will lighten the room. It’s not a trick question. Everyone’s got a favorite color.”

Dick can’t think of how his favorite color might be used against someone, and he certainly doesn’t use it as his own password or anything, so he says, “I like blue.”

The old woman laughs, a vibrant blue fingernail tapping against the emblem spread across his chest. “I do as well,” she titters excitedly. “Lapis is such a beautiful color, wouldn’t you agree? Such a darling, delicate shade.”

Dick doesn’t know if it’s a question he actually has to answer, it seems rhetorical, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. The fewer bruises, the better as always. “Yeah, it’s-”

“As promised,” the old woman interrupts, talking over him, “I will turn on the light. I am an honest person, Nightwing, so I hope this show of good faith will inspire you.”

Immediately, Dick’s eyes snap to the screen above him, holding his breath in anticipation as he stares into the darkness. A few seconds later and a calm yellow washes over the dark screen, the slumped figures of his brothers finally in view. It appears to be a live feed, something Dick had originally been worried about, but as he sees Jason stand up at the new lightness and Tim’s head whipping around in astonishment, Dick feels his heart sigh.

Burtrum re-enters the room, rumbling with a newer heaviness in his arms as he carries a padded wooden chair. He gently places it onto the ground and the old woman sinks into it with a gratefulness that reminds Dick that this is literally an old woman he’s dealing with. Not some crime lord, not some super villain, not some drugged out meta human. She is, quite literally, just an eighty something year old lady with a singular, large butler like henchman at her service. It all feels quite ridiculous now that he thinks about it, and for a moment, Dick wonders if he’s hallucinating or dreaming.

The smarting ache in his stomach reminds him that, no, neither of those things are true and this is truly a dangerous situation with so many unknown variables. He needs to be careful. Needs to be smart about things.

“Now that we have established my honesty, it is time to establish yours. Let’s begin, shall we?”

~oOo~

The darkness retreats suddenly and unexpectedly. Damian does not jolt, any Robin to a respectable Batman never jolts, but he will admit the sudden brightness leaves him feeling antsy. The lights meant a few things. One, someone was watching them. Two, the room was far more complex than a few bricks and an immovable door. Three, something was going to happen soon with this new development or something already did.

Todd is swearing left and right, making for the door again. Drake is peering around the room skeptically, angling his head this way and that in an attempt to understand the new light sources. And he? Damian is staring a hole into the rough ground, thinking hard. About what, he can’t quite put to words, but somehow, the light does not comfort him. It only reassures him that there was something, rather someone, crucial missing from this entire situation, the darkness having hidden that blatant fact beforehand.

The illumination does not heat the room any further than it already feels, but Damian supposes time will change that. By itself, even before the brightness, the small prison was near sweltering and Damian could feel the back of his suit becoming soaked in his own sweat. Perhaps three hours, maybe a bit more, has passed since the first time they awoke to be trapped in this confinement. Dehydration was inevitable. Escape, by all means, was still a quandary that would not be answered for the foreseeable future. There was no telling if anyone was looking for them currently, no way to communicate a location with all of their materials stripped from their persons, and being trapped inside such a tiny space with two of his least favorite people in the world only worsened that fact.

To top it all off, Richard was still gone. Still missing. Captured. Elsewhere.

The heat must be making him light headed because suddenly his neck feels too weak to support his thoughts. He rests his face in between his knees and continues to think. There is little else to do.

~oOo~

“I have a list of necessities here. Every question you answer is one of them given to your brothers. When I have run through the entire list, of which there are only three elements, I will have Burtrum deliver the items you answered to. Is that clear, Nightwing?”

It’s insane is what it is, is all Dick can think, but his voice says otherwise. “Crystal.”

“We’ll start with hygiene. How often do you patrol in Bludhaven?”

“Whenever I have time to.”

The old woman frowns and taps two fingers against the metal cot. Burtrum and his dark brown mask loom forward and Dick can feel hands rest against his ankles. Dick has the sudden realization that his boots are gone. He has nothing but thick socks and a few band-aids on his feet.

“Do not be coy, young man,” the woman carps. “Answer properly. A schedule will do.”

Will giving away specific days be too much? Yes, likely so. Though it’s true he patrols whenever he has time to, those are for extra patrols when he has the opportunity to do so with a friend or fellow vigilante. Every second month on the third Tuesday, he patrols in Gotham with Batman and Robin. On a ‘regular’ schedule, he takes every chance he can get to go out on the streets of Bludhaven. Even then, if someone watches closely enough, he does have a pattern in the how/when/where he patrols. It’s a bit too far reaching to truly connect dots, but he can’t be sure. He also had to consider that there was hygiene on the line, whatever that meant. It could be a bathroom, a shower, medical supplies, medication. It could be many things, so was he willing to pass over that for his brothers? No, not truly, but he doesn’t really know how far he can push vagueness in order to appease the lady.

He’s taking too long. The grip around his ankles is tightening and though he’s almost sure Burtrum isn’t a meta-human, he certainly looks strong enough to do some serious damage.

“I don’t have a schedule but-”

The twists are sudden, efficient and ruthless, and the sickening snap that echoes in Dick’s ears takes a moment to register. Adrenaline keeps his brain from processing the sight of both of his feet and the tops of his toes pointing straight at him, but the bulge that shines through his socks is enough to jerk his thoughts to a screeching halt. Then the pain comes. It’s blinding. Bones grinding against each other, snapped unnaturally and grating against his muscles, creating a euphoria of fire and cold, cold ice that spreads to the very tips of his toenails. On instinct, he flails and immediately, immensely, regrets it as tears spring into his eyes and his lips contort in a half snarl, half gag of anguish.

“Your brothers have lost toilet privileges,” the old woman mutters unkindly, dull eyes unfeeling for his pain, “and Burtrum has done exactly as I warned. You are a selfish man, Nightwing. Selfish and unwise. I pray this has been a lesson for you on the consequences of being dishonest.”

Dick can hardly hear her over the roar of blood in his ears, heart beating faster and faster as the pain only continues to torment him. It’s crazy, he knows he can’t actually feel the bones touching one another, it’s not something he’s aware of on a daily basis, but right now it feels like his bones are singing and his nerves are their opera house. A raging cacophony of violence and crackling misery. He sucks in a breath. Slowly pushes it out. Repeats. In. Out. In. Out.

“Let’s try again. Water, three twelve ounce bottles. Do you work with the BPD often?”

Even in his agony induced haze, Dick understands that this is something he must answer. Water is important, essential, and he doesn’t know how much longer they’ll be captured here. The offer of water is much too tempting to pass up and he knows that the room the others are cornered in is already hot. Dehydration would take hold of them soon and he only has the flimsy word of his captor that his brothers will not be harmed. He has to have some trust that the bottles of water will remain un-tampered with.

“No,” he manages, words thick like sludge on his tongue, “not officially. Sometimes, I’ll help them with drug factions or serial killers.” Dick closes his eyes and breathes deeply again. Speaking is difficult when he wants to bite through his lip to distract himself from his broken bones. “I don’t have a working relationship like Batman does with the GCPD.”

The old woman hums, clapping her hands together. “I am happy you’ve come to your senses. Your honesty has earned your brothers some water.”

She reaches out to brush some of the sweat slicked strands of hair from his face, cooing in an odd motherly way. He hates the tenderness in her touch, as if she hadn’t just ordered someone to break his ankles. This woman wasn’t just dangerous, she was psychotic. Unpredictable. To further worsen a bad situation, he still can’t figure out what the purpose in all of this was. What the ultimate goal is. She seems interested in him, Nightwing, rather than his secret identity. She’s neglected to pry about Batman, of which all villains do when they’ve got a bird in their grasps, and the soothing motions of her hands juxtapose her violence.

Dick’s head is spinning from it all, the fire licking at his feet worsening the vertigo. He doesn’t understand anything at all and the circulation in his legs is thrumming in the worst way. His feet will turn blue soon, but before that, the flesh will balloon into something almost unrecognizable with the swelling that is sure to come. How long does it take for ankles to heal? Two months? Three? That’s ignoring physical therapy and if all goes according to plan. The breaks look bad, not exactly clean, and Dick is scaring himself with the possibility of never walking properly again.

“Let’s proceed with the final item on the necessities list. Three granola bars, all high in calorie. A real treat with chocolate chips, ho ho. I know children just love sweet things.”

He’s tempted to drown her out, just focus solely on the monitor still hanging over his head and watch his brothers, but once again he evaluates that food is indeed essential too and that he still doesn’t know when rescue or escape will be. His best estimate on timing is that they’ve been captured for the better part of four, maybe five hours. Possibly more. They’re nearing the timing in which someone will notice all four of them gone. Help will come soon, but he’s got to compensate for that large if in all of this. If help arrives. If they escape. Those snacks could end up being a saving grace depending on all of those ifs.

“What do you know about the Anaconda Killer?”

The moniker is familiar. An early 2000s serial killer in Bludhaven that strangled his victims after kidnapping and holding them for a week. Most of his victims were young girls, high-schoolers and undergraduates in college, and all were blonde with blue eyes. The killer was never caught and it haunts the BPD as their first major cold case, a total of seven known victims staining the profiles.

He tells her as much, paraphrasing, and she frowns. For a moment, Dick fears that he wasn’t specific enough despite his little knowledge on the subject. His eyes dart to Burtrum, still stationary at his feet and mask staring at nothing and everything, and Dick waits for confirmation as the old woman closes her eyes.

“You worked on the case?” she asks slowly, hands crawling up to rest lightly against the metal cot. “You know of the victims?”

“Yes,” he answers, careful to keep his tone steady. A jolt of doubt strikes through him though as the old woman’s eyes snap open, a feverish excitement taking hold of her.

“Oh that’s good,” she whispers. “Very, very good.”

~oOo~

They pass out for the third time.

Knocked out is probably the more correct term, but Tim can’t find it within himself to actually care because that was the third fucking time. He can’t figure out how they do it. He’s almost completely sure it’s some sort of gas agent that leaks in through the bricks, but he can’t find any gaps or seams where the gas would invade from. He’s looked, double checked, and he can’t find any discrepancies between the bricks and stones. It’s driving him crazy because if it’s that easy to take them out, why hasn’t anything been done to them yet?

And furthermore, why leave water and food in its place?

He’s holding one of the bottled waters in his hands, inspecting the seal to make absolutely certain it hasn’t been opened. Tim knows there are other ways to tamper with water other than actually unscrewing the cap, but honestly he feels a little desperate for a bit of relief for his thirst. He’s sweat through his uniform, having unclasped his cape about an hour into their confinement. He’s sure his face is a little clammy looking and breathing through his nose feels like he’s sucking in sand, so the water was like some sort of hallucination when he first saw it. The others weren’t sure what to make of it at first either, Damian suspicious that it was poisoned and Jason not really giving a fuck.

Tim’s thirst is winning over his skepticism though, the more he turns the bottle around in his hands, the more appealing the slosh of water looks. “They wouldn’t give this to us just to poison us,” he suggests, trying to reason his way into feeling less guilty about drinking. “It just wouldn’t make sense. Why give us drugged food and water when they’ve already shown they can do that with the air? It would be-”

“Holy shit, just shut up and drink it,” Jason mutters, uncapping his own bottle and taking a large swig. Both of the younger boys turn to him with large eyes, clearly watching to see if there are any immediate, negative side effects. Jason will admit he’s a little nervous to find out as well but his defiance on the subject merely just makes him take another sip.

Ten minutes go by and Tim’s tongue is feeling tacky and borderline dry. He gives in and drinks half of the bottle, swishing the lukewarm water around in his mouth. It’s a huge relief.

“Imbeciles,” Damian says, watching with ill-concealed fascination and disgust. “You are both foolish to accept that from the enemy.”

“Maybe,” Jason tosses back, lying down. His feet almost touch the other side. “Or maybe not. It could be from Nightwing.”

Damian's head snaps up. “What do you mean by that?”

Jason hums. “Well he was taken, what, a few hours ago?”

“Four.”

“Yeah? Huh, no shit. Either way, that leaves time for negotiations. A deal. Goldie just loves making deals.”

“You’re implying that Nightwing is speaking with the enemy about our treatment?” Damian says slowly.

“Speaking, screaming, dying, who knows. But sure. He’s talking to them about our treatment.”

Tim throws a small glare to Jason’s slouched form, irritated that he’s being so casual in such a potentially dangerous situation. A small part is also starting to get more worried though because the older man does make a point. Dick is probably speaking with their captors but it’s a far reach to say it’s voluntary. There’s about a seventy-three percent chance Dick is being tortured at the moment, tortured for information or otherwise. In terms of stubbornness and resistance to torture, Dick was only second to Bruce when it came to that sort of thing, be it threat of pain or mental anguish. His eldest brother has a hard head and an even tougher mindset, but his weak spot is his heart.

If Tim and the others were being used as bargaining chips, well, there wasn’t much Dick wouldn’t agree to. Suddenly, the bottle of water doesn’t feel so much like relief as it does guilt.

~oOo~

“We’re moving on from necessities,” the old woman proclaims, anticipation now tainting her voice. “I have no intention of keeping you and your brothers here forever; children should be allowed to frolic and such. So, Nightwing, this is your chance to earn them their freedom.”

He’s never been offered something like this before. Typically, the go-to style of his torturers always involved a threat of ‘You tell me what I wanna know and I won’t kill you and your loved ones,’ or ‘You’ll eventually talk if I keep you here long enough,’. Dick can’t remember a time where he’s been offered his freedom in exchange for information. It’s just not how these things work.

“I am willing to give your brothers their supplies back as a first exchange, excluding their weapons of course. Such a prize, however, can only be earned through truth and if you lie, I will know and your punishment for lying will be severe. I do not like hurting you, you know,” the woman simpers, “but I will order Burtrum to do so. This is very important to me. Do you understand?”

The stakes are climbing higher and higher with each minute that ticks by. Dick can’t really feel his feet much, only if he chooses to think about it or if he attempts to move anything below the knee, and the pulsating in his stomach isn’t a fantastic sign. He hadn’t originally thought the blows were enough to cause actual harm, maybe a few dark, dark bruises to show for them, but the sharp pin pricks in his side where he had been struck in the kidney doesn’t feel right. Internal bleeding is something that crosses his mind, the symptoms of numbness and a faint migraine building, but Dick forces himself to categorize and shelve the pain. Now isn’t the time. It’s really not the time.

“Yes,” he says stiffly, feeling his tongue scrape against the roof of his mouth. “I understand.”

“Splendid. Who is the Anaconda Killer?”

And wow, that’s a loaded question to start off the promise of liberty with. “The BPD never caught-”

“I don’t care,” the woman snaps, leaning forward. Her breath smells like old soup. “Tell me who the killer is.”

Dick swallows. Takes a breath and releases it. Eyes Burtrum, who is still hovering by his feet. Trails his eyes back to bright lipstick and shimmer eye shadow.

“Kennedy Giavich,” Dick says, unsure if he really should be giving out the name of a civilian that has never been charged. “My investigations pointed to him being the killer but there wasn’t any conclusive evidence.”

The old woman taps a fingernail against the cot and Burtrum moves forward, placing a single meaty hand on top of Dick’s mangled feet. Slowly, languidly, the man pushes against the soles of his feet and Dick sucks in a quick breath, screwing his eyes shut. The pain, like the first time, is laced with fire and ice and Dick is starting to come to terms with the fact that he’s going to have nerve damage if this keeps up. Never mind having to stay off his feet for a couple months, he’s never going to have proper feeling in his toes again.

“Who is Kennedy Giavich?” the old woman presses, leering further into Dick’s face.

In. Out. In. Out.

The woman taps her finger again and the pressure releases, the small scream Dick had been holding back dissipating as well. “Who is Kennedy?” she repeats.

“H-He’s a security guard,” Dick manages to wheeze out, still trying to catch his breath. “Works at a communal library. It’s where he sought out his victims. He, mgh, quit last year though. Brown hair, brown eyes, large build.”

“What else?”

“I tailed him for a couple months but he didn’t have any new victims. He lives near the library he worked at and hasn’t gotten another job since. That’s all I know.”

The old woman eyes him, pressing her lips together in what might be a scowl. She regards Dick with an air of suspicion, as if she could somehow read his mind to discern if he was telling the truth or not. He is, seeing as he really hasn’t done much follow up on Giavich in the past few months. A mistake, possibly, on his part but a cold case is cold, and Dick leaves it at that. Especially when there are more active and pressing things to attend to with the little time he has.

Reaching a decision, she raises a wrinkled hand and waves it behind her, signaling Burtrum to leave the room. Dick’s eyes travel upwards to the screen again, watching with a sick feeling in his stomach as one by one his brothers succumb to whatever invisible agent leaks into their small room. A minute later, the thick wooden door creaks open slightly, Burtrum out of sight of the ceiling camera, and a few utility belts are thrown in. The door shuts quickly, presumably some sort of locking mechanism closing it completely, and Dick abruptly doesn’t feel as bad giving away a supposedly innocent civilian’s name. Hopefully, with their tech back, his brothers will find away to escape and get out of whatever hole they’ve been trapped in.

“You said that he hasn’t taken any victims in recent times,” the old woman says quietly, hands folded into her lap. “That he’s been inactive?”

Dick nods. The sick in his stomach is starting to roll around a bit more violently, nausea taking hold. Burtrum re-enters the room holding something in his left hand, but Dick can’t tell what it is, the large figure just out of his peripheral vision. He swallows at the silence that follows his entrance, the air thick with tension. Dick holds his breath.

The old woman snaps her fingers and Burtrum descends upon him.

The blows are rapid and without prejudice, slamming into every available surface that isn’t obstructed by the straps that hold him down. It’s so fast, so savage, that Dick can’t follow the movements and prepare accordingly, the flash of a weapon and it’s strike zone too much for his pain muddled mind to physically follow. One barely glances against his feet but even that is enough to send his brain into a shock, white fire lacing up his legs and to the tip of his nose. It’s bruising, crushing force, each impact enough to completely paralyze him for a few precious milliseconds. His arms are jerking in their restraints, knees bumping against each other on reflex, and there might be a sound escaping his jaw each time a blow connects, but he can’t be sure because everything is happening much too fast and his lungs are gasping for air that escapes him.

All the while, as Burtrum continues to pummel him and break his bones and bleed him dry, the old woman is muttering, gazing at the beat-down with angered, uninterested eyes and a frown cold enough to freeze the sun.

It’s all Dick can do but try and relax, there’s no point in defending himself like this, but his instincts are going hay-wire. He wants to clench and retaliate, snatch the weapon out of those ruthless hands, but Dick’s own hands are secured tightly. He can feel the marks pulling at the skin of his wrists, indenting and leaving bright red and raw flesh behind in his frenzy. Desperately, his eyes once again travel to the screen above him, his brothers’ forms still and un-moving. The sight brings little comfort, a small and irrational portion of his head screaming that they’re dead, that the old woman killed them, that Dick killed them, that he’s going to die to-

The beating stops. The old woman has a frail hand resting against Burtrum’s huge arm. She’s staring right at him.

“That was unfair of me,” she says. “I should have warned you again.”

Blood dribbles past his lips, saliva and bile sliding out as well and leaking onto the cool metal.

“I told you at the start that I wouldn’t tolerate lies.”

Something shifts inside Dick’s chest. He thinks a rib might’ve been broken. Or maybe that’s his clavicle. Sternum. Something. It hurts. It hurts.

“That Burtrum would extract the truth if necessary. Really this shouldn’t have come as a surprise, Nightwing.”

Breathing is difficult. His stomach spasms with each inhale and exhale. It’s slow and pained. Thoughts are difficult too. His eyes remain fixed on the dull monitor. Jason is moving. Reaching for his empty holsters. Tim is shifting. Damian remains still.

A gentle hand guides his chin away from the screen.

“Don’t lie to me,” the old woman whispers. There are tears in her eyes. “I told you that this was very important to me. Would you like to know why? Why I do this?”

Dick doesn’t have the strength to say yes or no. Doesn’t have the will to nod his head or turn it away. He can only stare through the lens of his mask.

“He has my grand-daughter,” she admits, voice trembling. Her fingers tap a frantic rhythm against his chin and blood flicks in their dance across his face. “I just know it. And I know you must know it too. You live in Bludhaven, don’t you? You work with the police there. Surely you must know? You’ve told me as much, so surely… Surely you know where she is?”

No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t.

The tapping stops and fingernails dig into the sides of his jaw, shaking him. It jars something in his mouth and he coughs, spittle flying out and something hard dislodging. He’s lost a tooth then it would seem.

“Her name is Maria Dunken,” the old woman tells him, looking, searching, for anything like recognition in Dick’s bloody face. “She has blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s only sixteen. Please, you must know what he did to her. Where she is. Answer me! Tell me!”

Dick feels himself drifting, mind floating somewhere between coherence and dizziness. He can’t feel his feet anymore, his heart is beating beating beating, and there’s a dark fuzz building at the edges of his vision.

The old woman releases his face, pulling instead at the heavy arm of Burtrum. “This,” she says almost breathless, the panic building in her voice, “This is her uncle. Don’t you see? You must, you must know where she is. We are her family. Family is important, I know you understand this. See, look at your brothers! You do this for them, don’t you?”

Yes, Dick thinks, a mist falling over his sight. Always.

“I, we both, would do anything for our families. This was my last hope, Nightwing. My last resort. I tried so hard to get the police involved but no one would answer. Do you know how long I searched for you though? How long would you have ignored my grand-daughter if I had not brought you here? How long?”

Dick doesn’t know. The room is getting darker. He can feel his shoulders sagging against the cold table, muscles trembling and collapsing.

“Sorry,” he rasps, because that sounds like the right thing to say. He is sorry about Maria Dunken and her poor grandma. He is sorry he didn’t stick with Kennedy Giavich longer. He is sorry he ever got into this situation. He’s paying the price for it now.

The old woman laughs wetly, Burtrum jerking in her grasp. “All will be forgiven if you tell me where Maria is. Everything will be okay. Just tell me. Please.”

Dick’s eyes are drifting back to the monitor, it’s dull glow all he can focus on. Its bright edges are just enough to chase away the luring darkness that’s clouding his eyesight. Jason is up, pacing, pounding against the door. Tim is picking through his belt, nimble fingers taking stock. Damian is staring right at him. Straight at the camera. Dick feels a smile tugging at his sore features. He doesn’t remember the last time Damian ever looked so small. He’s grown up, hasn’t he?

“Nightwing?” a voice calls to him, distracting him. “Where is she?”

Slowly, Dick glances back over to the petite and frail woman and her hulking figure of a son. They make a funny picture, contrasting spectacularly against each other, but their faces, even if one is covered, are filled with a dangerous kind of hope. Thrill. Expectance.

Suddenly, a headline crosses to the forefront of Dick’s mind. Two weeks ago, a body was found in an alleyway, stuffed underneath piles of garbage. It was a young girl, a Jane Doe, and she had blonde hair and blue eyes. She was strangled to death. Even now, the details are barely there, the news a similar story to all the other tragedies that happen and continue to happen. But still. Grandmother and son look at him, his bruised and broken body, and think he has the answers they seek.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t.

“She’s dead.”

Dick blinks and finds he doesn’t have the strength to open his eyes again.

~oOo~

Jason is about to punch the door for the fifth time when he hears something click on the other side.

Tim is trying to figure out how to get his communicator to work with little reception when he sees Jason take a step back from the door.

Damian is still staring at the weird indent in the ceiling when he realizes neither of the other occupants are moving.

They all stare at the heavy door as Jason carefully edges towards it, pressing a hand against the far side. There is little resistance and the obstruction that had trapped them for so long swings open. White light pours in and they have to squint against its brilliance. An empty hall reveals itself past the frame, and through the hall is another open door, the sounds of the city filtering beyond it.

Jason is the first to move, taking a step out of the small room that smelled of sweat and old heat. Tim follows, gathering his emptied belt and peering into the white expanse. Damian trails after, suspicion the only thing keeping him from fleeing out into the streets. No one stops them as they walk down the long, clean hallway. There are no doors, no windows, no other exits other than straight ahead and when they step out into the damp and smog filled air of Gotham, life dances before them.

They are free.

They are free and are forced to wonder: At what cost?

#bad things happen bingo #tw:blood #tw:torture #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Tim Drake #fanfic #prompt #tbh i wrote another version of this with about 10 pages before i decided i did not like it #maybe one day i'll try re-writing it but for now it's just going to be some random draft #uh i don't think dick died in this story? it's an open ending i suppose #so you can make up whatever ending you want #dick grayson whump #angst #in the good ending the boys find dick and take him home and he makes a full recovery with a thousand hugs and some nice hot chocolate #in the bad ending the boys dont find dick and he just kinda lays there and succumbs to his injuries #yikes that'd be real sad wouldn't it?#dick staring down at his broken body: haha don't die you're so sexy #dick looking at his feet: haha don't become lame and lose all feeling haha you're too sexy for that

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fabulouspotatosister · 4 years

Text

please dial again later

summary: you call the doctor. the doctor gets your call a little too late.

word count: ill add this later 1,483

a/n: not a request fill, just a little idea i had that i needed to get down. school is coming up very very very very soon, and i'm a lil stressed out so i haven't really been writing, but hopefully i'll get those requests done soon! this fic is kinda dedicated to @bushlandwriting, whose tags on their reblogs have really been getting me through the back-to-school rush. thanks so much lovely!

(also i almost titled this "you used to call me on my cellphone", so enjoy)

gif credit: @minimoefoe

Ring, ring!

The gentle chimes of a phone ringing filled the interior of the TARDIS console room, the soft sound bouncing off the hexagonal walls. The Doctor looked up from her work - well, it wasn’t really important work, she was just tinkering, but if it kept her mind busy then it was work - and caught Yaz’s eye from across the room. She was staring at her phone, confusion written over her face, and the Doctor caught her question before she could even open her mouth.

“Wondering why you’re getting a call in the Time Vortex?” the Doctor asked, pulling her goggles off her face.

“How’d you…” Yaz trailed off. Her bewildered expression morphed into an amused smile. “Nevermind.”

The Doctor bounded over to Yaz’s side and leaned over her shoulder to look at the phone’s screen. Unknown number, it read, the slide to accept button flashing slowly. Yaz eyed her phone apprehensively. “Should I accept it?”

“Why not? No harm in trying,” the Doctor replied. “Well, there might be. But we’re in the Time Vortex. Should be fine.”

Yaz swiped the button. Glancing at the Doctor, she lifted the phone to her ear and spoke. “Hello?”

The Doctor watched Yaz’s eyebrows pinch in confusion, watched her mouth hanging open as the person on the other end spoke. Then, silently, she lowered the phone and held it towards the Doctor.

“They’re asking for you,” Yaz said.

“What?” The Doctor took the phone from Yaz’s hand and looked at the screen. It still read unknown number, but now the chances of it being someone unknown where much slimmer. The Doctor didn’t know why that scared her so much. “Are you sure they called for me and not another Doctor?”

“There aren’t more of you,” Yaz said. “Are there?”

Loads, the Doctor wanted to say. “In a way,” she said instead. “This call might not even be for me.”

“No harm in trying,” Yaz echoed. A quiet voice crackled from the phone’s speaker, and the Doctor gulped.

“Right,” she muttered. She turned around, slowly lifting the phone to her ear, and took a deep breath. “Hello? The Doctor speaking.”

“...hello?”

The Doctor froze.

To Yaz, she looked perfectly calm. Standing still with her feet planted to the floor. But to the Doctor, calm had an entirely different definition: calm meant that her racing mind had just stuttered to a stop and calm meant she didn’t know what to do next.

It was you on the other end of the line.

You spoke again, soft and croaky. “I’m sorry, who is this? Have I got the wrong number? Uh, I’ll just hang up -”

The Doctor could practically feel you - hearing your voice is enough to make her imagine you by her side, just like you were so long ago. Your smile, your laugh, bright against anything the universe threw at you.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to shout, cry, throw Yaz’s phone against the wall, curse the TARDIS for the call.

She did none of those things. Deep breath, Doctor. “Wait,” she said, her voice strained. “It’s me, I’m the Doctor.”

You coughed. It sounded strange through the phone. She remembered this, the memory coming to the front of her brain clearly - one day, when she was a bowtie-wearing young man, she’d dropped you off at your home and you’d gotten sick. She remembered coming to your house and seeing you days later, miserable and wrapped up in blankets. She remembered you complaining that she hadn’t picked up your calls. She remembered tucking you into bed and waiting until you’d fallen asleep to climb into bed and lie next to you.

“No,” you chuckled. “No, you’re not the Doctor. He’s a guy.”

“I’ve had an upgrade,” the Doctor said. You laughed softly, your breaths puffing against the receiver. You were probably still lying in your bed, waiting. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Oh.” You were silent for a moment. The Doctor heard the faint rustling of sheets as you shifted. “Well, hello there, future Doctor.”

The Doctor could feel a wave of emotion washing over her, and she closed her eyes. If Yaz looked hard enough, she would have seen the Doctor’s hands shaking ever so slightly. Regret washed over her first, so heavy she could have drowned in it.

“Are you still there?”

“Always,” the Doctor whispered.

“Okay, good,” you said, then hummed. “Is this a spoiler? Everything River’s told me so far is telling me that this is a spoiler. But I think it’s a good spoiler.”

“Why?”

“You sound really cute,” you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep. “I really like your accent. Are you from the North now?”

“Suppose I am,” she replied. “You like it?”

You yawned, and the Doctor couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Are you what I have to look forward to?”

You would never even get to see her twelfth face. “Yes,” the Doctor said, her throat closing up. “I think you should get really excited.”

“Hang on, super important question,” you said suddenly. The sheets rustled again, like you had sat up quickly. “Are you finally ginger?”

The Doctor smiled again, though her hearts were twisting in her chest. This was a taste of what it would have been like if you had survived, if she hadn’t failed to protect you, and she wanted it. “No. But I am blonde.”

You sighed dramatically and fell back against your bed with a thump. “You know what they say about blondes, they have more fun. Speaking of fun, am I having fun? With you?”

The Doctor opened her eyes and turned around, glancing at Yaz. Yaz startled - there were tears running down her face, stray strands of blonde hair plastered to her skin. You’d struck the Doctor, deep in her hearts. It hurt, and all the Doctor could think was “why?” Why this? Why you? Why now, when you weren’t by her side anymore? What was this if not torture for her aching hearts?

“Spoilers,” the Doctor croaked.

You laughed. You laughed, and the Doctor nearly broke. The wounds of your departure weren’t fresh, but the sound of your laugh was enough to draw blood once again. She didn’t want to admit that she missed you, because it meant that you were truly gone.

But it was the truth. “I miss you.”

“Miss you too,” you sang. Your voice stuttered, words overlapping over one another - the call was breaking up - but she tried to hold on to the cheeriness in your voice. “Oh - someone’s at the door -”

“That’ll be me,” the Doctor said. And if it was her last chance to say it - “Goodbye.”

“No, not goodbye,” you said, and the Doctor imagined you smiling so brightly at her, “see you soon.”

The TARDIS broke the connection.

“Yeah,” the Doctor whispered. “See you soon.”

The doorbell rang again. Still giddy, you threw your phone onto your bed and stumbled down the stairs, your blanket wrapped tight around your body. What a call! You’d have to make sure it wasn’t a strange fever dream later.

You opened the door and grinned at your visitor - the Doctor, your floppy-haired bowtie-wearing Doctor stood in your doorway, a bright smile on his face. His smile dropped a little when he saw you, and he leaned forward to look at your face. “Are you alright?”

You probably looked like a mess. You hadn’t combed your hair since you laboriously climbed out of the shower, your face was flushed with a fever, and you were like a burrito inside your thick blanket, trying to keep away the chill. The answer, of course, was no, but you had more pressing questions.

“You weren’t answering my calls,” you said, pouting, and the Doctor paled. “Someone else picked up.”

“Who?” the Doctor asked, wide-eyed. “The TARDIS must have rerouted the call, did you get Sandshoes? Please don’t tell me you got Sandshoes -”

You laughed, cutting him off. “No, I didn’t get Sandshoes. Or Technicolor Dream Coat. I got a girl.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “I’m going to be a girl?”

“She’s blonde,” you said cheerily. The Doctor frowned, stepping inside and shutting the door carefully behind him.

“Blonde isn’t ginger,” the Doctor grumbled. A second later, his face broke into a big smile. “That’s brilliant, though. I’ve always wanted to be blonde! That was second to ginger.”

“She had a cute accent,” you continued. “I think you’re going to be really pretty.”

“Yeah?” The Doctor grinned. “I’m already pretty. Or so I’ve been told.”

“Quit fishing for compliments, pretty boy,” you chimed, sidling up to him and resting your head against his shoulder. The Doctor wrapped a careful arm around you, and you settled into his warm touch. “I’ve really missed you.”

(And hundreds of years away, the Doctor lived in the memory of you cradled in her arms, enjoying the time you still had together.)

#jess writes #doctor who #doctor who x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #doctor who fanfiction #thirteenth doctor fanfiction #eleventh doctor fanfiction #<- but like. near the end.

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purplerose244 · 4 years

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Thinking journal for season 12 Prime Empire 😎😎😎 (1/2)

So, I'm keeping this during all of season 12 to put down my thoughts as they appear. It's mostly for not ranting every single time a new episode comes out so please don't mind me too much 😅 I'm following the English release so please no spoilers 😙

I'm gonna split it in two, since apparently the season has 16 episodes. So this is the first part, enjoy my rambling 💜💜

It's the 30th of March and here we go!

IN GENERAL

I'm so, SO HAPPY, we have a theme for this season. For my experience apparently silly themes (tech ninja, ghosts, pirates) had brought very surprising results so I'm SO DOWN FOR THIS 😍😍

It seems that they fixed the mood, there is a specific mystery and a specific mission to follow. I like it too

THE NEW WHIP IS DOPE AS ALWAYS

I'm really glad there are plenty of references to past episodes, comebacks are my jam

The only thing that still kinda bothers me is the length of the episodes. It's not all bad, I just think the 20 minutes format was better. One thing is splitting 20 in 10 minutes, another is putting together 11 minutes of important stuff. Doesn't bother me too much, I just wish there was more time for my favorite show 🤷‍♀️

WOULD YOU LIKE TO ENTER PRIME EMPIRE?

Is it normal for me to feel really old after they made the "what is a VCR?" joke? Like, I'm a uni student so still pretty young, but I lived through the transition from that to the DVD so... eh, I laughed anyway👵

Jay is smart, I really believe he is. Yet I saw him putting a possibly corrupted motherboard into a legendary game randomly found into a villain's lair, and I was like "Of course he did that, I love you you dumb*ss" raising my glass of juice towards him 😎

Okay, I'm down for this Lloyd. I'm down for a season with Lloyd being creeped out just because, being silly, just a ninja helping his friends and- (remembers there's a Harumi avatar in the sets) I'M NOT READY

The ending was actually nicely creepy. Cool nods in approval

DYER ISLAND

THAT INTRO THOUGH, THAT WAS EPIC! Love the techno sounds, love the clear gaming connection, I rate it 10/HECK YEAH LONG LIVE THE FOLD

I was scared about how the shorts were supposed to play along with the season, but it looks fine so far with the mechanic and later for Scott. Good 👍

Ah, Fist to Face, that game came all over from the nostalgic season 1. That's what I'm talking about 😎

So they just associated that Unagami is probably Dyer's avatar like that? Like sure, I thought about it, but it looks a little rushed. Mm, I wonder if there's something more behind it?

LEVEL 13

Cyrus Borg is back and he TALKS!!! Finally, he gets some action! Go tech dad!

I'm so happy he referenced the Digiverse, I would have been very disappointed if he hadn't. Time flies Borg...

Not gonna lie, I thought the next to follow up Jay's spot as best in videigames was going to be Kai or Lloyd. It's not disappointing though, since pretty much all the ninja have been seen playing, and to be honest I like the implication that Cole and Jay probably played a lot together. As bruiseshipping or as BrOTP, I still love them together no matter what 💙🖤💙🖤

Ooooohhhhh, that's why Zane and Pixal are left behind. It makes sense, sure, but I don't understand the implication of the plan: they saw Dyer entering Prime Empire, so why looking for him in real life? Mm, maybe they will investigate about his life and what happened... PIXANE ON THE CASE 😍

Already saw Prime Empire's world in the shorts, of course it looks DOPE, still very happy to finally being there!

SUPERSTAR ROCKIN' JAY

I don't know why, but Kai questioning the double jump made me laugh. Also poor him, he just got his powers back from last season and they're already gone again 😂

And of course. Them. Wow. It must be the most amazing and CURSED thing I've ever seen so far, the League of Jay 🤯 I'm so happy they exist and they freaking use past seasons' suits!!! Awesome!!! Never thought I was going to see Jay's old plain haircut again... yeah, he got better with the curly one, but I'm feeling nostalgic 🤷‍♀️

Their nick are histerical omg, Jaybird, Dee-Jay, Jaywalkin, I'm loving this way more than I should 😂 Also they freaking screamed "JAY-NJA GOO!!!" and I don't know what to do with that, it's too great for me to comprehend 👏👏

And then, THIS happened:

Your Honor, I would like to confirm this as THE MOST SECRET DREAM I'VE EVER HAD FOR THIS SHOW FINALLY COMING TRUE!!! A NINJA FROM NINJAGO DOING THE NARUTO RUN!!! 🤯🤯🤯 Done, I'm done, conclude the season, this is more than enough for me 😍

First Kai gets hit and fall from a building, DYING, then Lloyd gets desperate for his brother (MY BROTP 💚❤💚❤), then Kai respawns and Lloyd looks so relieved and Kai is all panting while slowly realizing it's a game and MY HEART CAN'T HANDLE THIS MUCH OKAY???

As a very passionate Kai fangirl I always expect the cringy moment, it really is inevitable for my favorite hothead. I love that idiot so much it's unbelievable, even if it's an absolute and costant suffering 😅 Holy Garmadon it was painful seeing his VERY slow realization that in this game you only have four lives

... SO HE HAS ONE NOW!?! NINJAGO CREW YOU ALREADY KILLED ZANE, NYA AND LLOYD ONCE AT THE END OF A SEASON, DON'T YOU DARE PLAY WITH ME AGAIN 😱😱😱

Okay, I did not expect to hear about Mr. Cuddly Wamp ever again since Hands of Time and BOY if I'm happy it was actually a password, I love this show 😂

SCOTT FINALLY!!! YESS!!! 😍😍😍

Okay, for as long as it is not debunked, I will hold onto the Scott is Jay's brother/twin theory. I'm sorry but: his jacket has dragons AND lightnings on it, they have very similar skin in avatar mode, he said he was waiting for him in the short, he could very well have his same hair under cap and hoodie and he's a mechanic too. I know, I know, they could have the same skin because Scott helped him for the avatar, and there might be shadier reason behind the 'I was waiting for you' thing, and there are tons of good mechanics in Ninjago... STILL HOW COOL WOULD THAT BE??? 😍

SCOTT HAS ONE LIFE POINT TOO??? NO! NOOO!!! NOOOOOOO!!! Don't you dare appear and steal my heart only to die at the end of the season, come on!! 😭

So for now it seems like he just wants to survive. Can we actually confirm he's an avatar and not an NPC? I mean he could be, but I don't see the point of an NPC self aware of his life points. Idk, maybe I'm overthinking this 🤷‍♀️

Lol, Kai is the only one weirded out by the Jay-con all around him. Probably because he hasn't heard from his fans since Skybound 😅 (I'M STILL HERE MY FLAME BABE, ILY ❤❤❤)

And in all of his glory, freaking Superstar Rockin' Jay!!! 😎😎 Okay, I loved the design since the first time I saw it, but it looks possibly even better in the show 😍😍😍 And Jay looks absolutely adorable in it, and he's got a guitar, and he was waiting for his friends, and he hugs them (I'm weak for LEGO hugs for some reason) and he is so happy and AAAHHH 💙💙💙💙💙

I'm very curious about how Scott will play into the situation, clearly he will provide some kind of insight about Prime Empire. I can't wait to know more about him!! 😍

I AM OKINO

I did not expect this when I saw this Okino guy in the trailer... and I'm so happy I was surprised, I love him 👌

And he's voiced by Alessandro Juliani?? HECK YEAH!!! With all the hype about the DnD 13th season, and consequentially the knight theme, I really miss Nexo Knights and having Aaron's VA around makes me happy... any hope to have Giles Panton as well? I miss Clay the most 💙💙

This is what I'm talking about, the game theme needs this stuff! I was already happy to see life points, double jumps and respawns, but this? The NPC guide? Awesome 👍 It's nice to see the take on the matter, the guide seeing so many players getting killed, first because they did not listen, then because they were actually just unlucky. The touchy matter I always expect watching Ninjago 👏👏

At least I THINK he's an NPC? For now I don't really see a way of knowing, and it doesn't look like it matters. He didn't show life points so maybe? Does this mean he can't die? I have questions people

Which brings me to the cube thingies. That's what happens to the dead players? I mean, I would understand if they just become pixels, but there's also the drone that takes the datas every time. Idk, feels like there's more behind it. And honestly? It looks like great material for angst, like one of the ninja dies but then they discover they just need to get where Unagami stores all of the players! I hope it's something like this!

They designs of the players are really cool, I already saw them in the other episodes, but seeing them this close just confirmed it. Between this and Jay's awesome avatar, I see lots of great cosplay ideas coming 😍 I wonder when will Kai and Lloyd use their avatars, and why would they since I'm guessing Jay did for disguise and to distinguish himself from his fans

PLEASE TELL ME WE'LL SEE SCOTT SOON, I ALREADY MISS HIM!!! 💙💙💙 I have too many theories about that tech dude, I'm so excited about who he might turn out to be!

I was a little skeptical about the new ninja suits, but seeing them in the show convinced me, very cool! Especially on Nya 💕💕💕

THE GLITCH

Alright, Okino is indeed an NPC. Cool the fact that at first he could not understand the fact that he was in a game, but when reality changed he was forced to. Welcome into the crew! 😙

I'm kinda worried about it though, either they will shut down the game and he will stay inside or he will sacrifice for them. He's a very loyal samurai, I can see that happening and I'm SCARED

I WAS SWEATING BULLETS AT THE AMBUSH!!! I 100% saw it coming, we all freaking saw it coming, even the ninja did but where like 'we can walk and die or we can risk and die so might as well'. But still, my babies DYING and respawning so fast was not pretty 😱😱

Nya got the scariest death until now in my opinion, holy Garmadon Dyer DOES have a twisted mind...

Seeing Kai so scared of being in a new situation and with one HP reminds me A LOT of the Digiverse, and that's actually a nice touch. Give him a cellphone, hothead is a social media expert, but put him in a game and... huuhhh... 😅

Have I mentioned I love the ninja's new emoji masks??

BECAUSE I DO!!! 😂😂😂😂

So Unagami knows about them trying to stop him and he sent the rat people because of it. Considering how little we know about this guy, I'm wondering what we are about to discover

Alright, going to the next challenge, very curious about this adventure. So... beware of the rats, ninja? Still not sure what I think about the rats 😅

THE CLIFFS OF HYSTERIA

I would like to say Okino is the edgiest character of the show I've ever seen... but I've seen MORRO. But still poor guy, he got a case of the Matrix

Oooohhhh, the major question in videogames: better go grinding for more money to get the better stuff but while losing lots of time, or get the least expensive just to go on with the story but definitely risking to lose lives?

Ah there we go, so the energy cubes mean something! Also reference to the Sushimi guy of the set (gosh that name, I can't 😂). So do people actually die in Prime Empire or they are just kidnapped kinda? Can the ninja just bring back? ANGST POTENTIAL

Cole please don't die please don't die please don't die for the love of Garmadon please don't die somebody help-

HOLY FSM KAI I MEANT HELP FROM SOMEONE WITH MORE THAN ONE LIFE DON'T DO THAT BE CAREFUL PLEASE I FREAKING LOVE YOU YOU RECKLESS HOTHEAD ❤❤❤

Nya giving Kai a sweet look after seeing her brother is okay, that's what I live for 😍

So apparently Unagami is trying to build some kind of device using the energy cubes of the dead players (sounds kinda creepy like this 😱) to create some kind of portal? To Ninjago? I don't understand, if Unagami is Milton Dyer then why this? Just to bring his army and conquer? I mean I guess, sounds a little simple though. Then again, if it turns out it's not Dyer, it could be Unagami wanting to be real and get into his creator's world? Mm...

I like the message, having the ability to choose your own path. Very fitting for a game themed season, I hope it gets explored even more!

More for the "I love the ninja emoji masks of this season"'s compilation 😂😂😂

THE MAZE OF THE RED DRAGON

Duuuude, Jay being good at mazes comes all the way from Possession, the Tomb of the First Spinjitzu Master! 😍 ... or maybe I just rewatch this show too much... could be both really 😅

Unagami is NASTY!

Confirmed the thing about going into the real world, what scares me is how much powers Unagami seems to actually possess. Like, can he do the block thingy whenever he wants? Just straight up pause and do whatever? Wow...

Jay being extra 😎

I mean, of course he is, he's got better statics! 😂 I like how he seems so focused and in charge, I still hope we see more of him... and Scott... WHERE IS SCOTT???

I love dragons, this metal one is cute 😍

So now we have two ronin: a samurai looking for a path on his own in a digital world... and a shady guy named Ronin 😛 Total respect for Okino, he really showed the values he believes in. No matter he was programmed his way, I hope he finds what he's looking for. Better come back for the final battle!

One Keytana down, two more to go. I know one is the price of the race, while the last one... I don't really know.

More of the masks because I love them 😂 Here we have Vegeta Lloyd and Kawai Cole ✌✌

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bbrandy2002 · 5 years

Text

The Fall of Cordonia

Chapter Four

Trigger Warnings: Profanity, Gun Violence, Death, Sexual Content.

A/N: This came to my attention a few days ago. This series is not a spoiler for what happens in the real TRH book. I would demand every diamond I ever spent back if that happened 😬

I will also be in hiding from a certain fic writer who shall remain nameless, after this. I can explain 🤷

"Leeeooooo!!", Riley screamed as a struggle between life and death ensued over her shattered and torn body. Like a thief in the night, death entered that room with a sickening crack of the neck, taking its prisoner with him back to the fiery pits of hell.

Bradshaw slumped his lifeless body across the queen, momentum dropping him to the floor below, his miserable soul quickly extinquished. At the same time, Leo's bright blue eyes lost their color as he instinctly glanced over to look at his younger brother one last time. There were no words, just the unspoken, I love you's, between them. This was the one final bonding moment between Leo and Liam, before he fell back onto the bed.

Riley watched with horror as he stared blankly at her, jerking momentarily as his breath was literally sucked from his lungs.

Bastien was holding Liam up, literally and emotionally as he watched his older brother slip from his life.

He lowered a stunned Liam into his plush, leather desk chair; still reeling from the events that just occured in front of him.

Liam stood in disbelief from the watch tower, overlooking the empty square below, a heavy feeling pooled in his stomach. He didn't dare look at his brother for fear he would do or say something he'd regret.

"Come on little brother, say something"

"What do you want me to say Leo? Thank you for running away from your duties? Thank you for leaving me to pick up after the mess you are inevitably creating? No, wait...how about this...thank you for being so fucking selfish to ask me to give up my future so you can escape from your responsibilties and place the burden on me.....yes, Leo...how can I truly ever thank you? Is that what you want me to say?

"It's not like that and you know it....Liam, man...I'm not cut out for this shit, never have been".

"You"ve never even tried....the only two things you've ever cared about besides yourself is booze and pussy".

"Thats bullshit"

"You're right.....this whole thing is nothing but a big pile of bullshit and you're too coward to admit you have fucked me over."

"Liam...whatever you think of me, it doesn't change the fact that I"m not cut out for this life....but you.....you are.....you"ve always been"

Liam shakes his head furiously, his mood becoming more somber, "Then why do I feel like you just sucker punched me in the gut?"

Leo places a hand on Liam's shoulder, contemplating his words and actions carefully, "Because its a huge burden I've unloaded on you and I know that.....but shit, I've never doubted for a second, you're the man this country needs. Just say you'll do this".

With the weight of the world on his broad shoulders and trepidation in his voice, "I don't have a choice do I? If not me, then who?"

Leo hesitantly pulled his brother to him, wrapping his arms around him, clapping his back, "I hope one day... I can make you as proud of me, as you have always made me".

"I doubt that Leo".

Liam sank deep into his chair, loudly exhaling what little air he had been holding inside. He allowed the trickle of tears to flow as he thought about his brothers' sacrifice.....Riley is Liam's everything, Leo ultimately died to protect him.

He wiped away the moisture from his face and cleared the lump in his throat. There was no time to mourn; his wife was still trapped in that room of Bradshaw's palace and it was anyone's guess how she would get out.

"Sweetheart, I'm sending help. We have a rescue team in place with our allies and Bastien just informed me they will be there soon. Can you make sure the door is locked?"

The sound of his calming voice was the first time in 24 hours she felt something other than fear. With her attempt to sit up, she groaned loudly at the stabbing pain in her chest, she was positive her ribs were broken. "I can't", was all she could utter.

Riley nodded at Liam as he continued to reassure her everything was going to be okay, vowing to get her home to him. Everything that had happened played like a whirlwind in her mind. As silence took over the room, she heard the distinct sound of her baby crying and it caught her ear.

"Nikolas?"

Riley sat rocking a sleepy Nikolas in the nursery at Valtoria, fighting his sleep with excessive determination. Even through his very vocal, little tantrum, she couldn't help but chuckle as she noticed he looked exactly like Liam when he's angry. That furrowed brow with the crease between his eyes, the way his face reddened and his nose scrunched up.

"My little prince, I love you sweet boy, but, that kind of cry only works on your father".

As Nikolas' lips started to quiver and with his voice turning hoarse, she, too, gave into him.

Riley lifted her 3 month old son to her shoulder, rubbing circles over his tiny back, basking in his sweet baby smell. She hummed a lullaby her late mother sang, amazed it still clung to her memories since she was so young when she passed.

Nikolas lifted his tired head briefly and she soothed him back to her. His cries softened and he became heavier in her arms.

She could never thank Liam enough for this life he made just for her. The titles, the estate, the fancy balls, the lavish lifestyle was nothing, but, this little boy and Liam's love was all she needed or wanted.

The blast of distant gunshots ripped her back to reality. She didn't flinch; feelings, fear, emotions, shock, there was nothing, as numbness took over.

The noise became louder and closer, yet, Riley remained in her position. She waited patiently, expecting the door to burst open any moment.

"Riley? What's going on?", Liam questioned frantically.

Riley didn't hear him, she sunk deep into a world of her own; one without pain, tears or bloodshed. A smile swept across her face as Liam begged her to speak back to him.

"Baby, look at me.....what's happening....please Riley, say something!".

She remained still, closing her eyes, humming Nikolas' lullaby to herself. She could see Liam in her mind, waiting on his table when she turned around and laid eyes on him for the first time. When she told him he was going to be a father and he cried in her arms. The first time he held his son and nothing else mattered in the world.

"Riley, my love.....I need you to speak to me".

The door knob began to twist erratically as sounds of chaos and struggle carried on outside; shouts and blasts ringing in unisom.

"Riley?", Liam cocked his head watching his wife struggle with her mind; she was so calm and placid. He watched as the lights flickered and then shut off into complete darkness. The video feed lost its connection.

Riley didn't hear the door break down, she didn't see the flashlights shine on her face, nor, hear the heavy boots approach her, she was gone.

Strong hands gently shook her, then cautiously lifted her up from the bed, stepping over Bradshaw to carry her out of the room.

She steadily passed through the halls and corridors of the palace, surrounded by dozens of uniformed men and women.

"Maxwell? Is this heaven?"

"Rise and shine little blossom, you have a big day ahead".

"Max, I just want to lay here a little longer"

"I know that, but, when have I ever left you alone?"

Riley snickers, "true.....so you came to get me?"

"Not exactly....let's just say I'm here to watch over you. The good thing about where I am now is you can never get rid of me".

"Maxwell, will I ever see you again?

"Of course, but, not for a very long time....Riley, you have so many people counting on you right now. You have to go back and kick some ass. What's coming is so much bigger than Liam".

"There's more coming? ...Maxwell I can't do this".

"Sure you can".

"I love you Maxwell"

"I love you too Blossom"

Four days later....

Liam gathered the last of his documents and strolled from his office with fire in his eyes. Taking long strides, his black leather oxfords the only sound made as he walked alone down the long corridor.

He hung his head as he paused momentarily at the door of his quarters, his queen still recovering inside. Liam touched the door, in some way hoping to gather the strength the woman behind it may pass on to him. Her screams of terror still waking her every so often. I promise love, I'm going to make this better for you, for Nikolas...for Cordonia.

Bastien met him at the top of the staircase; the head guard taking in Liam's appearance. He was dressed in the finest suit he owned, wearing the emerald cufflinks with the Cordonian seal, Riley gave him in Shanghai and his hair perfectly smoothed back.

He was nervous, as much as his father prepared him for the threat of enemies, Constantine had never faced anything like this. There was no one to turn to, he shouldered this responsibilty himself, not only as a King, but, as a father. He would be damned if he gave up now, remembering Leo's words to him, you're the man this country needs.

He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, "I'm ready", he said confidently.

The palace was quiet, the destruction was apparent all around, the lights burning dimly and the eery presence of lives lost all around him.

He stepped into the throne room, attendees and press immediatly standing to their feet, no one uttering a word. He looked every bit the leader Cordonia needed right now, while inside feeling every bit a failure as a father and husband.

He took his place at the podium, there was no usual applause, no chatter, only sniffles and eager ears longing for reassurance from their monarch. Liam stood silent for the longest time, his people understanding of it, as he looked around the room, taking in each face.

What was left of the council gathered in the front row, his eyes following in a line of each member and those who left nothing but chairs behind. Bertrand who couldn't contain his tears as a rose sat in the seat next to him where Maxwell typically sat. Drake, his arm in a cast, head bandaged, with the most defeated look Liam had ever seen him wear. The empty seat of Olivia next to him, with a scarlett ribbon, a shell shocked Kiara, Emmaline sitting in place of Landon, a distraught Adelaide, a subdued Neville, Hakim, and the rest of the row void of its normal holders.

He brought a fist to his mouth, attempting to catch himself from allowing the emotions to overtake him.

He lowered his fist and rested it on the podium, clearing his throat, in preparation to address the council and nation.

"My fellow Cordonians and esteemed members of the council....Four days ago, tragedy struck our country and has affected each of us in ways no one could ever have envisioned. My heart and mind is with each one of you, even as I, too have suffered great personal loss. While I don't have all of the answers, I do know this....your monarch will not sit idly by and give in to the demands of those behind these attacks. King Bradshaw was just one element of this, it was discovered the recently deceased Princess of Monaco was also involved in harboring the Prince....my son, who has yet to be discovered. In the grand scheme of thing, those two were just pawns for another leader.

That is why, today, I am declaring war against Monterisso. Queen Amalas.....I know you are watching right now, so hear me when I say this.....I'm coming for you. There will be no place safe for you to hide.... and I daresay, I will win. This goes for anyone else involved in assisting her.

Our allies have remained in contact and have worked tirelessly to help save our kingdom. We are down right now, but, we have faced enemies before and have come through victorius...I have no reason to believe this time will be any different.

Now if you will join me in a moment of silence for those who we have lost".

Liam thanked the crowd, declining questions and eased his way into the front row, standing before Bertrand. He embraced him, knowing his attempts at comfort were in vain and there was really nothing he could say. He knelt down before Maxwell's empty chair, biting his lip, all the training in the world unable to hold back his emotions. Drake sidled beside him, kneeling down with his uninjured arm around Liam's back. The Three Musketeers, down to two.

He stood, and held Drake for what seemed like an eternity. Liam moved forward, picking up the scarlett ribbon from the next chair, clasping it in his hands, his jaw tensing as he dropped the ribbon back to it's place.

When he was finished, he left the room and headed back to his quarters alone. He loosed his tie as he made his way up the steps and to his bedroom. He stopped at the door as Riley turned to him, dismissing her nurse before shutting the door behind him.

"Is it done?", Riley questioned, holding Nikolas' stuffed bear in her arms.

Liam nodded, "It is".

He threw his tie on the bed and poured a finger of scotch, downing it all at once. He faced his wife once more, "We'll either win this my love.....or lose everything trying".

Monterisso

Amalas allowed the thin, dainty fingers of her companion to slip under her skirt, groaning with pleasure as two fingers swept between her wet folds.

The two women were enticed by the words coming out of Cordonia, laughing with one another over the supposed threat. Liam has never been alone, Amalas has known his every move and gesture for well over a year. Even now, she is still one step ahead of him.

She lays back on the sofa with her legs wrapped around the neck of the woman who has caught her affections. She swallows hard then moans loudly as the skilled tongue laps up her juices and slides into her dripping entrance . Pleasure begins to ripple through her body and she arches her back as a thumb rubs circles over her clit. She cries out, feeling her lower abdomen tighten, her core pulsing until she is met with her release.

Both woman fall back onto the sofa, breathing heavily, clutching one another.

"I do believe this day continues to get better", Amalas said while clutching the red hair of her companion.

"Shall we celebrate our victory further?"

"Olivia, I think I have something else in mind", Amalas replies as she reaches under the sofa, eager to unleash her next plan. "You should know, I do enjoy doing things on my own".

#the royal heir #liam x riley #the royal romance #dark #king liam #trr liam x mc #trr liam #trh liam

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bluboothalassophile · 6 years

Note

Hello. I'm sorry, please bear with me, I'm not going to make any sense , as I find it hard to put my thought on to paper. I love your blog. You made me fall in love with Jason and raven. I would have never thought of them together. I'm a sucker for Jason with the kids. I kinda wanted to put in a request but now can't think of any. Anyway I love your writhing and always look forward to when you write something new. Thank you. (Sorry if it's just a bunch of words that don't make sense)

Hello,

You’re thoughts are very well articulated and I’m so happy to hear you enjoy my blog! I know you didn’t put in a request, take your time on that, drop it off when you’re ready and I’ll work on it. In the mean time, you said you like Jason and Kids, and have fallen in love with JayRae so…

Here’s a snippet of an Untitled Hopes for a Bastard story and I hope you enjoy! =)

SPOILERS FOR HOPES FOR A BASTARD AHEAD!!!

Nothingbut a Ghost…

13 Years Earlier…

Hazel eyes watched from above as the spare took place.

The kid had black hair, a white streak, gangly, scrawnyteen, fifteen at most. He was small, under weight and size for sure. Theycalled him Shabh, he was good, a fast learner, vicious little fucker though.

The opponent for the kid today was the American, anAmerican, with blonde hair, blue eyes, brutish features. He was bigger thanShabh, though the boys were roughly the same age he guessed. The Americanthough was a meta, with full use of his brain, enhanced agility, speed,strength, and a healing factor. The American was proving to be the biggestasset from H.I.V.E., but the American was a brute and familiar.

The American was also the best of the apprentices they had,but today he felt would be a true test for the American.

The Demon’s Head had favored the American.

However, the Daughter of the Demon was favoring Shabh.

He glared down at the pit assessing the boys.

“What are you thinking Tiger?” a voice as him which had himglancing over his shoulder at the Dark Archer, who stared listlessly at thepit, there was a devoid of emotion in the Dark Archer. Bronze Tiger sat perchedjust a little ways off.

“American,” he answered. Shabh, for all his skill would nothave the strength or endurance to fight the American. This match would provenothing but what he and the rest of the League of Assassins knew, the Daughterof the Demon was too sentimental. The practical pick was the American, for theboy was stronger, faster, bigger and better.

~~~*~*~*~~~

His hair flopped in his eyes, and he stared across the wayat the American and he felt the familiar, heavy weight of the sword in hishand. The heat was mercilessly beating down on them, and he felt sweat rollingdown his temple as he stared at the other teen. The other teen looked like abrute, way older than he was, about the age of a college freshman which had hiseyes narrowing.

This was Ra’s’ champion.

He could see the appeal, guy was a warrior, and dangerous,and arrogant. The American smiled cruelly, and winds gusted, picking up thedirt.

The American moved, he got a proper hold on the katanna he’dbeen given. The American moved first, closing the distance, he charged to.Metal clanged, and he was hit by the full force of the guy. He went for speedas they rushed each other. His opponent was skilled but showy, he moved justfor killing, no show.

Twisting around he slammed his elbow into the guy’s side andknocked him back a bit and bought himself some breathing room. rushing hisopponent, he snarled a bit as he leapt up, metal clanged as they fought, hetwisted through the air. He landed and twisted as he felt the harsh air slashthrough his hair. There was a slash, he felt the blood the searing pain fromthe slash, as he narrowly evaded the sword for his head. He twisted and ran abit to get some distance between them and the American leapt over him. Henarrowly evaded the sword going for his head as he blocked, defense was hisgame. The American went for his feet which had him scrambling to keep his balancewhen he kicked dirt into the man’s eyes, knocking him back with his knee andlunging with a snarl.

The world took a green haze as he attacked without mercythen.

The blonde stumbled beneath the force of his assault when therewas a loud crack and he gasped as he was knocked sideways and off his feet intothe wall, his ribs were singing. He blearily glared up at a tall middle easternman with hazel eyes.

“Let me finish it!” the American snarled as he came at him,he tried to lunge for the blond but he couldn’t breathe!

“That is enough,” the man who had broken up the fight spoke.

“Yes,” he heard Talia said. “Take him to the healers, I willdeal with him.”

Firm hands hoisted him up and he shoved her off him as hestumbled on his own, there was a blood thirsty fury in him demanding he killthem all, but suddenly the world went black as he felt a sharp prick on hisneck before he collapsed.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Groggily he opened his eyes in his quarters as he winced,moving to sit up he saw Talia sitting at the edge of his bed glaring at him.

“You lost control,” she snapped.

“I was winning!” he growled. Suddenly there was a sharpstinging in his check as a loud smack filled his room. He looked up at her andglared.

“Losing control of the Pit to gain a victory is not winning,it is Suicide!” she snapped. “And you will learn control your you will be putdown.”

“Really? After all the trouble you went through to bring meto life again,” he sneered.

“You are nothing if you cannot control it! It will drownyou, and consume you! Get control!” she hissed before she stormed out and hefell back on his bed. Well… FUCK.

~~~*~*~*~~~

It was hours later when he was wandering the halls, lookingfor an escape, his hood up, his knuckles wrapped, the bruises from today werehealing on their own, and the world had a slightly green tint to his mind. Or atleast he thought it did.

He looked over his shoulder when a sound had his eartwitching, and he shoved his hands in his pockets as he ran a fingerreassuringly over the blade. A startled gasp escaped him as he tripped oversomething that he hadn’t remembered being in his path before he went crashingto the ground and there was an ungodly scream piercing the air. Covering hisears he begged for it to stop as there was this heated rage beneath his skinwhich had him wanting to howl in agony. Slowly pulling himself to his knees hesnatched the thing which was screaming to calm it and himself down.

“Shhh…” he cooed in the small ear as he ran his fingersthrough thick black hair and he felt the tiny form relaxing. “I got you,nothing bad will ever happen to you,” he promised as he pleaded with the kid tostop crying.

At those words the crying ceased, and he peered at the kidin his arms, he looked familiar and severe with those wide, icy blue-emeraldgreen (in no way hazel would be the appropriate way to describe these eyes).The toddler patted his cheek and smiled.

“Hafid!” Hands snatched the kid away from him and a sharpkick had his world going black as he slumped back against the wall.

“Stay away from that monster, he is beneath you!” was thelast thing he heard.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Present Day…

“Miss O’Mara says I’m the smartest in the class!” Terrygrinned as he sat on the passenger’s seat.

“Is that so?” Jason mused. He’d been stuck on kid duty forhis visit, so that meant taking Terry and Damian to school, as Helena was sickshe wasn’t going in today, and Matt was too young for school right now. Damian gloweredin the back seat, the kid being the classic moody teen; Jason was finding thatfunny as fuck.

“Yeah! I even get to go to the zoo! Daddy said so! I did sogood!”

“No shit, you’re a regular genius Terry,” Jason ruffled thekid’s hair.

“Yeah! Oh, did you and Rae make up yet!?”

“Queen and I aren’t fighting,” Jason sighed tiredly.

“Then why she dating this Jeri guy?” Terry demanded.

“Because Jason is a moron!” Damian muttered sourly.

“Because she and I were never together, and she is free todate whomever she pleases,” Jason countered.

“Jay big idiot,” Terry said twisting around to tell Damian that,and Jason groaned at Damian’s superior smirk. For the love of God someone getit through these people’s heads that a guy and girl could be friends!

“He is.”

“See, I smart, if I was big I’d marry Rae Rae!” Terrydecided.

“Oh, would you now jailbait?” Jason mused dryly.

“Yeah! She pretty, she smart, she fun, she cool, Raeperfect! Why aren’t you married!?” Terry demanded.

“Because maybe that’s my business and not yours, duck!” Jasongrinned maliciously at Terry, Damian rolled his eyes. Finally! Silence, he thought as he pulled up to the school and gotout to let Terry and Damian out. Terry clambered out, hugged his waist and ran forthe school and his friends.

“Terry is right, you are an imbecile,” Damian said gettingout of the car.

“Talk to me when you actually get a date,” Jason warned hislittle brother.

“You have been an imbecile for years about this! Now she’sdating a Wilson!” Damian grumbled.

“Hey, shorty, did you ever to stop to think that maybe sheand I don’t want to date and are happy being friends?” Jason asked coldly. Hisyounger brother rolled his eyes and stalked off which had Jason prayingdesperately for patience. He sucked at the good big brother act.

Driving home he got out of the Audi as he walked to thekitchen. The Raven and him thing was fine as it was, and Joseph Wilson treatedRaven like a Queen as far as he knew (and since he had stalked them on dates hewould know!). And if Joseph Wilson broke Raven’s heart then he, Harley, Ivy,and Victor would all be lined up to kick Joe’s ass into the grave. However,Terry, Helena, Mar'i, Lian, and even Matt thinking that he was dating ormarried to Raven wasn’t helping! Lian had kicked Joseph’s shins the other daywhen Joe had shown up to talk to him about getting Raven a gift.

He looked up when Bruce walked in, a crying Matt on hisshoulder.

“Terry and the Demon Spawn are at school,” Jason said as hewalked to the fridge and pulled out orange juice for Matt.

“Duke is coming home for the weekend,” Bruce said tiredly.

“He must be liking Princeton,” Jason said, he kept the envyout of his voice. That was a lifetime ago, and shit happened.

“The funny thing is the dean thought you were her studentthere once, Jason Peters,” Bruce said.

“Do I look like I could get into Princeton?” Jason grinned roguishlyand made a sippy-cup of juice for Matt who looked ready to cry with his unhappiness.

“Jason,” Bruce started.

“Could you get the Duck, and the Demon Spawn to STOPthinking I’m married to Raven, please?” Jason said changing the topic. He hearda set of footsteps coming, and pour another sippy-cup of juice for Helena.

“And what brought that on?” Bruce asked, his amusement clearand Jason glared at his dad as he caught the riot of curls that was HelenaWayne and hoisted her up to his hip.

“Because Terry asked if Raven and I were done fighting and Idon’t remember Rae or I being in a fight,” Jason sighed. “Besides, she’sallowed to date,” he pointed out.

“I don’t think I should get in the middle of this,” Brucesaid.

“Why the fuck not!?” Jason sputtered. Bruce got in themiddle of everything else! Why not an actual problem like this!?

“Because, Terry is right, as is Damian,” Bruce said.

“There is nothing between Raven and me,” Jason defended.There wasn’t! she was the best friend he’d had for years now.

“I saw the aftermath Jason,” Bruce said tiredly.

“Doesn’t prove anything,” he stated haughtily.

“Jason…” Bruce sighed.

“We Are Not Dating, Nor Will We Be Dating!” He growled. Hewasn’t fucking up everything he had with Raven for this to go sideways. Andbesides, if she knew everything about him she’d run as far and as fast away asshe could. They all would.

“Jason, don’t live to regret never acting,” Bruce said.

“You’re just saying that because you danced around marryingSelina for thirty years,” Jason sneered.

“Yes. That’s part of it,” Bruce said. “The other reason is Idon’t want you to be like me, and I don’t want you to have regrets!”

“Regret what? Not fucking up my best relationship because Idon’t act on a possible, unconfirmed attraction to her, or acting on it andfucking it up beyond repair; because I’m King of Fuck Ups B,” Jason snapped. Hedidn’t want to fuck up Raven and his thing.

“Jason,” Bruce sighed.

“Talk to the kids, please!” He said tiredly. Someone get them to stop this, someone get thefamily to stop shoving something that wasn’t there on him. He wasn’t fucking uphis friendship with Raven when she was literally the best damn thing he had inhis life.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“Oh, I’m not regretting this, I’d rather have a friend thana lover,” he assured Bruce. He just didn’t want to lose his best friend.

~~~*~*~*~~~

He watched them from afar, he watched them carefully as heassessed his options.

The League was destroyed.

His father dead.

His revenge squandered.

His leader dead.

And it was all because of Shabh, he would enact his revenge.He would finally show who was better, and he would rebuild the League ofAssassins with it’s true purpose.

But first he’d have to draw Shabh from the shadows…

He watched the pretty little woman on Jericho’s arm as shetalked levelly to the blond. The streets were tranquil.

He’d seen the woman before, with Shabh, and he had seenShabh’s great care for the woman. He could use that to get a ghost to come outto play.

He could finally show who was better! And the world wouldknow, once he had beheaded the infamous Red Hood for them to see. They wouldall see. He was not second best, he was the best.

#bluboothalassophile #spoilers #hopes for a bastard spoilers #fanfic #one shot #jason todd #terry mcginnis #damian wayne #bruce wayne #helena wayne #matt mcginnis #raven #joseph wilson #jerirae #jayrae

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hold-my-hair-back · 7 years

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I love your writing I'm so glad I found ur blog!! Any chance you can write a fic with Dean with a really burpy stomach bug and Castiel looking after him? xx

I know I haven’t posted a story in forever but life got chaotic. Anyway, here’s a request fill while I work on an OC story. OCs usually take longer for me to write for some reason so I’m gonna quickly put this fanfic out haha. Much love to the Anon who sent it.

Takes place around season 5 . So… Spoilers up to that point.

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After being back from forty years of relentless, excruciating torture in Hell which impacted Dean drastically on a physical and mental level, being benched during a hunt by his little brother was almost humiliating. Especially considering the fact that it due to a stomach bug of all things and the hunt was nothing more than just a spirit – something that should be a walk in the park for someone who went through literal Hell, but, no. Sam had to go and give Dean his sad puppy-dog eyes and give the whole ‘You were dead for four months, I can’t lose you again’ speech, treating Dean’s stomach flu like it was stomach cancer instead. Despite how stupid Dean thought it was, he agreed, knowing Sam and Bobby were more than capable of ganking a spirit on their own.

He wouldn’t just sit around Bobby’s house, though. That was where he crossed the line. Dean had agreed to sit back and relax for a couple of days while this thing worked its way through his system, but there was no way that was happening. After just two hours of flipping through his ‘Busty Asian Beauties’ magazine, he was restless. Neither of them got sick very often, so their first aid kit was fresh out of Tums and Emetrol. Not to mention, for once in his life he needed something that wasn’t alcoholic to put in his stomach. The fridge was stocked with beer, but his stomach turned just at the sight of it. So, Dean grabbed Baby’s keys and headed out the door to the nearest gas station.

It was a little before noon when Dean arrived at the small store. The symptoms of the stomach flu had begun last night and hadn’t let up since. He had woken up nauseous without any warning, his mouth already filled with bile. He had sprinted to Bobby’s kitchen sink as the only functioning toilet was all the way upstairs. Getting sick that moment hadn’t been the only time throughout the night, either. Dean knew this stomach bug was kicking his ass and sitting out of the hunt was for the best. It still didn’t help with the humiliation. Especially as he sat in the parking lot of the gas station, head resting on the Impala’s steering wheel as he debated whether or not he would be able to make it in and out without having to puke in a public bathroom.

A familiar whoosh sound made Dean jump and without lifting his head off the wheel or opening his eyes, he sighed heavily. “Dammit, Cas,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “What have I said about just popping up without warning?”

“My apologies,” Castiel replied, but to Dean, it sounded frustratingly insincere. Then again, this was Cas, and his sincere voice probably sounded the exact same. Dean lifted his head and looked over at the angel and sighed again. Castiel’s blue eyes were full of sincerity and Dean knew getting angry over something that the angel couldn’t really help would be futile.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said softly, wincing as his stomach churned and gurgled again. Dean let out a soft grunt as he wrapped one arm around his bloated middle, the other supporting his head. “What do you need, Cas?”’

Castiel did that thing he always did when he couldn’t quite understand something. His head cocked to the side and his blue eyes narrowed with confusion. “Is something the matter?” he asked Dean.

Not being able to help himself, Dean scoffed. “Nah. Just my stomach being ripped apart while still inside me.” A flash of alarm went through Castiel’s features, and Dean quickly corrected himself, remembering his angel friend took everything literally. “Not really. It’s just the stomach flu, I’ll live. I just came here to get some ginger ale or somethin’. My stomach is a friggin’ mess right now.”

“Ale?” Castiel asked with a frown, watching Dean closely. “You think….alcohol will alleviate the distress in your stomach?”

“Ginger ale ain’t alcoholic,” Dean responded with a sigh. “It’s–” Dean cut himself off mid-sentence as he released some of the air that bubbled up his throat. Dean grimaced as the burp left an unpleasantly acidic taste in his mouth and he made a mental note to brush his teeth once he was back at Bobby’s.

“What was that?” Castiel asked curiously, and much to Dean’s frustration, the angel cocked his head to the side again.

“I ain’t gonna explain burping to you, Cas,” Dean said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Is it normal?”

Dean felt his irritation grow. The arm around his stomach tightened and he held his breath, both to fight the nausea and to stop himself from snapping at Castiel. “Yes, especially when your stomach is trying out for the friggin’ gymnastic Olympic team.” Dean burped again and squeezed his eyes shut as he exhaled slowly. “I also don’t have anything left in me, so my stomach’s trying to – urp – bring up something it doesn’t have.” Castiel didn’t say anything and Dean found the silence helpful as he tried to settle his stomach by gently rubbing it. However, when a loud, painful gurgle sounded from his belly, Dean knew what was about to happen. As horrifying as this was, Dean knew it would only be a matter of time before stuff began to come out of the other end. “I need a bathroom,” he panted to Castiel before hurrying out of the car and into the gas station.

The bathroom was about as disgusting as possible, but thankfully it was a single so no one else would come in as he relieved his bowels. He sat down on the toilet and let nature take its course, trembling with each wave. Dean groaned and wrapped both arms around his stomach as it continuously churned painfully. An acidic belch brought up a mouthful of bile onto the floor and Dean spat onto the ground. “Please, God,” he moaned to himself as he looked at the mess he made on the floor. Despite emptying itself from both ends, Dean felt his entire middle sift under his palm. “Please. This is awful…”

The same familiar sound as before came and Dean felt his irritation peak. If there was ever a wrong time for Castiel to suddenly appear by his side without permission, this was it. Dean looked up at Castiel and shook his head in disbelief. “You’re gonna just fly in on me in the bathroom now?” he demanded. “Get the hell outta here, man. I’m… busy.”

Castiel looked confused for the millionth time since he popped into Dean’s car less than a half hour ago. “You prayed,” he pointed out. “I came.”

“I didn’t-” Dean cut himself off as he realized he had technically asked for God. Damn it. “Well, whatever, Cas. I’m gonna tell you right now that if I ever decide to pray to the man upstairs and not directly to you, it’s not gonna be over diarrhea. Now get out!” Dean was starting to feel violated and embarrassed as Castiel just stared at him while he was sitting on the toilet. Luckily, Castiel was gone instantly, leaving Dean alone to clean up his mess.

When he got back out to the car ten minutes later, Castiel was sitting in the passenger seat. Dean climbed into the driver’s side and looked over at him with narrowed, green eyes, reading to tell him to leave when he saw Castiel was holding a bag in his lap. “What’s that for?” he asked, his curiosity trumping over his anger.

Castiel reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of ginger ale and some Emetrol. “I asked the kind lady for some help for a friend who was suffering terribly in the bathroom.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude-”

“I hope it helps,” Castiel continued. “You know, I have met many souls in Heaven and illness is a massive killer.” Castiel looked out the window and Dean could have sworn he saw the angel bite his lip, not even long enough to last a second. Suddenly, he understood.

“Hey,” Dean said gently, nudging his friend’s shoulder. “I ain’t gonna die because of an upset stomach, okay? Look at me, Cas.” When blue eyes met his, Dean continued. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I know you aren’t exactly sure how to deal with all of this crap. I just want you to know that you’re doing a good job and I appreciate it.” Dean reached over and grabbed the bottle of ginger ale as Castiel nodded. Dean knew this was partially on him because he didn’t often enough express gratitude toward Castiel. That would have to be something he worked on one day after he kicked this bug and was back on his feet.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said sincerely, looking over at him with a small smile. “I appreciate hearing that.”

Dean shrugged and took a few drinks of the ginger ale, belching loudly as he set the bottle back down. “I’m gonna drive back to Bobby’s, You wanna keep me company?” When Castiel nodded, Dean felt a small smile appear on his face. “Thanks, buddy.”

The drive home felt too long in Dean’s opinion. Especially since his stomach was twisting the entire time and he kept having to swallow thickly after each burp to prevent something else from coming back up. Thankfully, nothing had, but the moment Dean stopped the car in front of Bobby’s house, he knew he didn’t have any longer. He rushed out of the driver’s side and slapped a hand over his mouth as he sprinted inside. Once again, he didn’t have time to make it upstairs so he made a run for the kitchen sink where he began to burp miserably.

“Are you going to be alright?” Castiel asked from behind him and Dean nodded as he burped up a mouthful of the ginger ale he had consumed. “My stomach’s killing me,” he moaned, placing his hand on his bloated middle. “But I think I’m done puking for now.”

“Good,” Castiel said. “Perhaps you should lay down. I can’t heal you from this ailment, but I can still make you sleep.”

Dean spat into the sink one last time before wiping his mouth with a paper towel. He hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether or not he wanted Castiel to basically knock him out. However, when his stomach moaned again and another queasy burp escaped from his mouth, Dean nodded. “Yeah, alright, Cas.”

Castiel nodded and helped Dean over to the couch in the living room. Dean gently eased himself down across the cushions, moaning as the movement made his stomach churn. However, the bad feeling was temporarily pushed away by the good feeling that came with Castiel gently laying a blanket over his trembling body. “Thanks,” Dean said softly, closing his eyes.

“You’re welcome,” Castiel answered. “Now, just relax, Dean. You’re going to feel extremely tired in just a moment.”

“I’m already tired,” Dean pointed out, but when he felt Castiel’s hand on his forehead, he went silent. Castiel’s touch spread a soothing warmth throughout his entire body and Dean felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. Sleep came easily, and for the first time since Hell, it was dreamless too.

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So, it’s 2 am here. I’m sorry if this isn’t very good. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

#Emetophilia #Vomiting #Puking #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Sick Dean #My writing #diarrhea #not really scat tho #Unless you want it to be #You do you #Supernatural

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