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nerdyenby · 30 days

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DRS2 reactions (spoilers)

Ep 1

Ras at the shadow dojo???????? Who woulda thunk

New intro?!?!!!?!! Idk why I wasn’t expecting that, actually

The public including Pix with the missing ninja my beloved

Gosh, big Riyu will take some getting used to

Wait… is that a curious george reference??

I don’t know if I’ve heard someone outright say something isn’t good for their friend’s mental health in a cartoon before, it’s really refreshing

Casual Frohicky and Sora/Arin interactions my beloved <3

Omg Kai explaining Shang to Zane is such season one vibes

Lloyd having open and honest conversations with his students about both his and their wellbeing is so important to me

Ok, hear me out: au where baby Wu didn’t age back at an enhanced rate and gets lost at somepoint and Arin is teenage Wu

Dang it, Cinder’s kinda funny

Ep 2

I legit started happy stimming so hard at that opening shot, I’m really invested in Euphrasia’s story already and nothing’s even happened yet lol

Percival out here making the gen z solarpunk dream a reality!!!!

Lloyd calling it what it is — a panic attack — soothes something in me

Sora did really bad graffiti of cats when she was young, that’s adorable and kinda tells you everything you need to know about her

MY GIRL!!!!!!!

Euphrasia using a cane!!!! Hell yeah mobility aids!!!! (Even though it’ll probably be gone in two episodes lol)

I kid you not, I was 100% expecting Suetonius to say “resurrect… the Great Devourer” lmao

I love that the gang is (mostly) all together, but it’s a bit too many characters for a conversation, I get why they like to split them into groups

Nya grounding Lloyd :(( /pos

Kai boasting about a fight that he won a decade ago when Cinder probably doesn’t even know Ash is endlessly amusing to me

Ras is so dramatic I can’t really take him seriously

Damn, they’re letting characters get hurt, it’s kinda refreshing but it’s scary

Ep 3

Wait I didn’t see Euphrasia get captured :((

WHAT THE HELL?!???? /vpos

Strength, motion, energy, and life?!??!!??

AYOOOOOO?!?!????

Kai comforting Wyldfyre <333

We know this takes place after the mech shorts, so why hasn’t anyone mentioned Cole? He was also seen in public, so why did that conspiracy guy say he’s still missing?

Why do they keep leaving Zane behind?? He’s in his housewife era fr

Kai making sure Wyldfyre’s taken care of :((

This show is so unserious, I love it

I wasn’t feeling people calling Kai Wyldfyre’s dad after season one but…

No… Sora took Arin’s thing from him… she didn’t mean to, but he feels like he’s not special anymore :(

I’m going to pretend that was a believable amount of parts to make a mech that big

Kai getting moments with Arin and Sora my beloved

Kai’s “hey kid, nice of you to drop by” is giving the same energy as when Lloyd and Arin first met during the merge

THE WALLS ARE MOVING, REPEAT: THE WALLS ARE MOVING

These nightmare sequences are going so hard

Nya being the first one to realize it isn’t real when her nightmare is reality, I’m screaming

Riyu comforting Wyldfyre <333

Nya best sister award when

Ep 4

My boys!!!!!

THE found family of all time

IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO MY CHILDREN I WILL RIOT

Seeing Kai and Nya fight so smoothly together is so special after how much they and Lloyd were tripping over each other when they first reunited

Basketball?!??!!??!!!

Autistic Arin real and true

I love Bonzle so much

Geo is such a lil bastard actually /pos, makes more sense why he and Cole are a thing, knowing Cole’s taste in men

COLE!!!!!!

Cole will never stop being overpowered, it seems, he deserves it tbh

Censorship pog /hj

“Not funny, Wyldfyre” “Not joking, Sora” the sheer cousin vibes in this interaction are too much to handle

Lloyd PLEASE just mention being 1/4 dragon, it will almost certainly get Egalt on board, I am begging

Glacier reunion!!!!!!!

Ep 5

I wanted a more emotional reunion, but they’ve probably seen each other off screen (or I’m just forgetting a scene from the shorts)

Zane, why are you still carrying that doll like it’s your child??

Bonzle my beloved, she’s says that so deadpan I don’t actually have any questions

Wyldfyre my beloved

I would die for Bonzle

Cole and Geo holding hands 😭😭😭😭😭

Is Egalt the motion source dragon?? Probably not tbh but I’d believe it

Man’s spitting facts, flatearthers are going to lose their shit

“Little fire man” IM DYING OH MY GOD

Wait when does this take place? My first instinct is while the ninja were in the Never Realm but idk if we’ll actually find out

“Friends can become like family?” “Definitely” IM SOBBING ON THE FLOOR

Letting Arin be angry is so important

Cole shutting down Bonzle’s suicidal thoughts without hesitation “no, you are loved and needed. We will find a way to protect you” <333

The physical affection in DR is so dear to me

Human sacrifices???? In MY lego show?????

Ep 6

Wyldfyre struggling with her body’s limits is really relatable as a young disabled person

FOREHEAD TOUCH :((

Plot twist: where the other ninja are right now is Mysterium and they have that tua meme of two cars passing each other moment

Damn, that exchange hit hard as a former gifted kid. Sometimes having someone believe in you hurts. You’re not just letting yourself down, but them, too

Nya just fucking bodyslamming Kai, Egalt didn’t know what he was getting into pitting the world’s most competitive siblings against each other

“The Finders are like my family” *looks at Zane* “My other family” screaming, crying, sobbing on the floor

Oh no

Wait yeah, why are they thirsty if Zane can just make ice for them to chew on? At least Cole and Jiro, idk if Bonzle needs water

The nonbinary pirate!!!

Cole CANNOT escape the performing arts fr fr

Ep 7

Bonzle is giving transgender

That is the most Jay and Cole thing I’ve ever heard it, it’s so in character it almost feels out of character

Arin and Sora going through the exact same thing and trying and failing to not take it out on each other :( it’s ok tho, the real ones are the ones you can be snippy with and love regardless

Wyldfyre referring to the ninja as “Kai’s friends” honey, they’re your friends too, I promise

Anyone who calls Wyldfyre dumb can fuck off, she’s so perceptive and intelligent and is really good at connecting others when she truly wants to

Bonzle’s mom <33333

Bonzle’s smile when her mom compliments her name <3333

Who you calling stolen equipment bitch?????

Lil Kai and Nya!!!!!!

Nya’s so proud of him!!!!! I could cry

Kai being the first to achieve it because fire is an element under motion’s domain methinks

Oh you bigoted son of a bitch

Zane why are you considering it????? Honey

What the fuck did you do to Jiro??!?!!!

JAY?!?!!???

Ep 8

NOOOO 😭😭😭

There’s literally a nindroid agent right there????

The og musical cue playing when Jay comes back <3

Jay on his Euphrasia arc, this is highkey breaking my heart though

I’m counting this as a fakeout death and you can’t stop me

Are you kidding me???!!!? How many times is Jay going to be one room away from the ninja

Lloyd SHUT UP /aff

“And cursed!!” She says cheerfully, this lady is an icon

The subtitles keep calling Cole Kai, what is this, season one??

Ep 9

Aww, baby Ras (trying desperately to not care about him)

Oh ok, he’s making my job easier

Poor Wyldfyre :(

I love this trio so much, their banter is so good

Lloyd honey, fighting it is making it worse

Nya holding him through his panic attack :((

I was expecting Cole to deny that it was him, the earth is going through it

The disco toaster!!!!!

Heck yeah Riyu!!!

I love them so much it’s not even funny

“What’s your elemental power, imperviousness to sarcasm?” She just called him autistic in 13 languages (I’m autistic, dw guys)

“First time driving?” “Believe it or not, no” Bonzle and Arin my beloved

I’m a touch disappointed Wyldfyre’s perfectly fine now as someone with chronic pain, but I’m glad it was handled as well as it was and it’s a really important lesson for younger audiences that pushing your body while it’s in pain only makes it worse

The silent exchange of Cole suggesting Zane takes the parrot potion is endlessly funny but also sad considering it’s probably the closest well get to talking about the Falcon

Cole turning into a puppy who cheered?!???

“At least you’re adorable” “I’m always adorable” get a room /aff

Tournament of elements flashbacks

The workplace gossip omg, Cinder really out here beefing with a 16 year old

Don’t you even fucking dare

MY BABIESSSSSS

Ep 10

Arin mistaking Lloyd and Nya for his parents hurts :(

Oh no… I mean, it was obviously coming but it’s still very bad

WYLDFYRE POPPING OFF!!!!! THIS GIRL NEEDED HER ENRICHMENT

Let Euphrasia do stuff 2024

Wyldfyre jumping in front of Kai and protecting him

The basketball practice coming in handy lol

The fight cinematography in DR is fucking superb

KAI D: (he’ll be fine, I believe)

Nya!!!!!

BONZLE MVP!!!!

I was prepared for Rontu and Egalt to stay dead, the breath I let out when the stone cracked was unparalleled

Are we legit not getting Kai back????

Cole and Lloyd hug!!!!!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH

Oh no… that lie is going to hurt when it comes out

Kai and Bonzle!!!!

Not like Master Wu says, like Lloyd says ;-; /pos

#ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #dragons rising spoilers #caps #cw caps

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laryna6 · 3 years

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Hmm, Cha Hae-In... if she ran into Sung Jin-Woo at the sword school somehow and is ? that he smells good?

Sugar Mama Cha Hae-In + the Hunters’ Guild going ‘these two are adorable we are going to make this ship sail’

Also he’s adorable and her sword teacher tells her that he keeps getting injured but keeps going on hunts, people think he’s an idiot rich boy in it for the thrill but he doesn’t buy that, no defense and yet he gets wounded protecting their healer too.

Cha Hae-In using her vice guildmaster position to offer him a position on the resource gathering teams, and watching as he goes from shut down and dead inside to smiling and friendly and starting to actually talk to people. They’re like sure, he’s not the fastest/strongest worker, but he’s hard working and does his best and pays attention to instructions.

Meanwhile Sung Jin-Woo is ‘this job comes with medical insurance!’ and Jin-Ah is ‘I don’t have to worry about my brother dying anymore! The Hunter’s Guild would absolutely have like, whole guild social functions where you bring your family and Jin-Ah wanting to talk to Cha Hae-In and explaining the situation and being ‘thank you so much for saving the life of my last family.’

So Cha Hae-In is *manly tears* Such a wonderful big brother! So filial! So cute!

Sung Jin-Woo starts bringing her lunch to thank her and she’s ‘you don’t have to...’ (but it’s really good) ‘I am rich af let me pay you’ and Sung Jin-Woo is ‘sure’ because money.

... to skip ahead, shadow!Choi Jong-In continuing to do paperwork, corresponence and checking over payroll after death leaves him Not Impressed with Ashborn wanting to ditch Jin-Woo (especially after finding out Ashborn made Jin-Woo responsible for his army)

So like, the entire Hunter’s Guild is like, ‘Cha Hae-In has a boyfriend... but we already know him and he is a Good Kid not like, someone who wants to feel dominant over a powerful woman or any of that BS and oh hey this food is really good’ So Choi Jong-In goes ‘we’re going to have a cafeteria now and provide lunches for all the gate teams’ and puts Sung Jin-Woo in charge of it and people are like ‘this is why we call u a genius’

People are like ‘when are you going to ask him out’ and Cha Hae-In is ‘as vice guildmaster I’m his boss! I can’t hit on him!’ so Choi Jong-In is like ‘congratulations you own a restaurant in our guild building now with a lucrative contract with our guild’

Now it’s ‘i can’t hit on him at work! And he feels like he really owes me, I don’t want to make him feel like I was... expecting things’

They are like ah! She is such a good person for an s-rank! Ok, then they need Sung Jin-Woo to make a move! Plan 1: he seems to like watching her train even though he can’t follow a lot of her movements, so we’ll invite him along to watch a fight.

Next up is a double dungeon, but it appeared in a low rank dungeon and the measurements are still weak AF. So like, it’s a mission that the Hunter’s Guild can go on like, just to be sure! But almost certainly safe for an e-rank.

And then you have Choi Jong-In and Sung Jin-Woo scrambling to figure out the rules. Cha Hae-In carrying Sung Jin-Woo over her shoulder, someone else taking Choi Jong-In after he passes out burning up all his MP in the hopes of taking out the statue’s eye beams.

So they’re around the altar with their unconscious boss and the e-rank up on it in the center to be safest, and they’re staring down the statues and debating ‘do we send Cha Hae-In out the door to carry the guildmaster and Sung Jin-Woo to safety, or does that door scream obvious trap because the rule is ‘prove your faith’ and wouldn’t leaving the temple be abandoning your faith?

And Cha Hae-In and Sung Jin-Woo are ‘that would leave you guys without any s-ranks against a very high a boss if not worse.’ and it’s the hunter guild’s duty to close gates first. This gate was counting down when it was reported as a double dungeon, they cannot let this boss gate breach.

The flames count down and, hmm, should the architect react like a thwarted bully or improv some new bullshit to act like everything is within his calculations? So he goes ‘to prove your faith you must now offer a sacrifice’ but instead of obviously giving up the weakling to keep the others alive they’re like yeah, fuck no (’if the porter/guest gets hurt the whole guild has failed’)

So he grabs Jin-Woo and unleashes the statues on the humans with orders to make it hurt but not finish them off, and tells him ‘get on that altar and you’ll be able to leave here with them.’

And Jin-Woo knew he was willing to die for Jin-Ah and Mom, but they’re safe now and he owes that to Cha Hae-In and everyone at the Hunter Guild’s kindness. so he’s ‘ok’ and they are ‘nonono’

He wakes up at the hospital, told he’s the only survivor and he’s been asleep for a month, which... he knew the boss was a lying bastard, monsters don’t spare humans, but he couldn’t just not even TRY/do anything.

...WTF is this? He thought seeing that screen before was some kind of pre-death brain screwery. Jin-Ah and the Hunter’s Guild b-team start coming in and he’s ?? are you guys seeing this? THey are ‘what did that thing do to poor helpless e-rank good boy?!’

Choi Jong-In measures him as an A rank, but instead of being happy Sung Jin-Woo is going through status screens on job class an abilities and...

And then he pales.

And summons the dead.

The boss said ‘he’d go home with them.’ Effing literal words... They can’t speak, but they touch his shoulder to say it’s okay.

...He...

Sung Jin-Woo ends up rejoining the Hunter’s Guild after leveling to S because without any S ranks it would have lost a lot of prestige and ability to take more valuable gates and pay for all the salary, benefits and expensive protective armor.

Doing the JeJu op and since he’s OP, replacing the Draw Sword guild as emergency call-in guild for southeast asia due to like ‘why would we charge you fees A rank gates are where the money’s at if anything we should be paying you for finding them for us’

But if Min Byong-Gyu does die and get turned into a shadow but talks to Baek Yoon-Ho re ‘hey I’m being forced to adore that guy his power is really creepy get me out of here’ and Baek is concerned about Choi Jong-In too...

Sung Jin-Woo’s reaction to the idea his friends are being FORCED to care about him/not be mad he was a useless e-rank and couldn’t save them...

Ashborn seeing Sung Jin-Woo with comrades that ~died with him, like he resurrected his fallen soldiers after did... even more ‘like me’ so earlier decision to not possess.

Ms. Selner going ‘there is great darkness in you’ and he’s ‘can you tell me anything else?’

Hunter’s Guild Shadow Squad wanting to powerlevel for Cartenon temple rematch and then they get sealed instead of getting to attack that bastard? FFFFFFFFFF

instead of ‘get necromancer class’ it’s ‘unlock a prestige class’ so he does get Igris.

He wants to get stronger so he can stop this from happening again, and making sure gates got cleared and people were safe is what they wanted... right?

More examination of using his power on humans/to preserve human souls since like, he can’t get valid consent NOW.

...Chairman Yoo going ‘those lizards killed my son, stole his equips, and made me pay them for being ‘kind’ enough to carry his body out, but I can’t do sh*t because the older brother’s an s-rank,’ and bowing his head.

So Sung Jin-Woo shadowing Jin-Ho, who gets adopted into squad happily. That way he can ask him to confirm ‘those guys did murder you, yes?’

Hunter’s Guild is guild conference rep for Korea OFC, people from guild helping Jin-Woo study up on who everyone is and the contacts they’ve got/are working on. Hwang Dong-Su kidnaps someone else.

During Ashborn meeting Choi Jong-In showing up to SHAME Ashborn for planning to sleep forever (suicide ideation) bc as a leader he should be more responsible than to ditch someone else to take care of the org he’s responsible for. If Choi Jong-In is doing paperwork from behind the grave, this guy isn’t going to get to lie around when humanity desperately needs more combatants at this level/Jin-Woo shouldn’t have to die alone.

#solo leveling #this turned into #Hunter's Guild Sung Jin-Woo Protection Squad #becomes Hunter's Guild Shadow Squad #not shippy because first there's #power imbalance #one way and then the other

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alyssadeliv · 3 years

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The Forgotten One

First Previous

Chapter 11

She always knew she had a Father. When she was younger she used to ask her mother about him. She mostly told her half-truths. She knew his real name, and about his nightly activities. About his time with the League, and how he adopted some orphans along the way. She heard all about him. From Mother, Grandfather, and sometimes other members passing by. From a young age, she had him pictured in her mind.

But now, sitting in front of him, in his office, she felt silly for ever trying to imagine what he would be like. He didn’t compare to whatever her young mind had conjured at the time. He was tall, and he had a face that she could only explain as enigmatic. He wore a mask, that she knew. After years of perfection one of her own, she could only imagine what he had been thought to dissociate himself from the people around him.

The office was simple, but at the same time imposing. It had a desk, behind it was her father paying attention to every word that came out of her mouth, with a large bookcase by her left. All the wood was dark, giving the room a more serious look. To her right, the wall was entirely covered with windows, with its drapes open showing the beautiful big garden outside the Manor. Behind her father, there is a painting hanging. A family portrait. She recognizes everyone in the painting with ease. Bruce is seated, with Damian in his lap, while Jason, Richard, and Timothy are standing behind Father’s chair. It’s an exquisite piece and even though they all are wearing suits, it makes the whole room look homey.

“Why didn’t you come here, after you healed from the attack?” They had been talking for the past hour. Marianne spent most of that time telling him the circumstances of her upbringing.

“I couldn't. My Master thought it would be better to stay longer.” She explains while playing nervously with the hem of the shirt Damian had lent her this morning. He could feel the anxiety coming out of her but was impressed that she kept herself strong and didn’t avoid eye contact. “So we continued with my training, but after some time we discovered a destructive energy that could only come from someone misusing a Miraculous. So it was decided that we would stay and assess the situation.”

“And this person was the fashion designer you killed this week? Gabriel Agreste?” He had a disapproving face, typical of parents disciplining their children.

“Damian made me aware of your no-kill policy, but since this was an Order business I believe you do not have the power to dictate how I dealt with it. I respect that this is your city, but believe or not I was lenient in his punishment. If it was up to me, death wouldn’t have been enough to compensate for all the pain he caused to the citizens of Paris, but I must allow the Gods to decide his punishment, so death it was.” Her speech allows him time to think about the situation. By the end of it he agreed, it wasn’t his business.

“What happened is in the past. I need to know if I can trust you not to endanger the people of Gotham. Who are you loyal to?”

“I am loyal to myself. And Damian. Trust has to be earned so it is okay that I do not have yours. But trust this: I love Damian, and would rather die than hurt him” Bruce analises her for some time, trying to find any hint of dishonesty on her, but just like his youngest when cornered, her emotions were transparent in her face.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that you remind me so much of… well your mother” He confessed with a nostalgic expression. “When she first brought Damian to live with me I was so shocked. I must admit that my reaction wasn’t the best. He was so grown, that it was hard to get to know him. With the others it was easier, they-”

“They weren’t your blood” She supplies. He looks a little relieved that she understood what he was trying to explain. “But you loved them all the same.”

“I did this once, it was a terrible job. Just know that I’ll be trying my best to- well, accommodate you into this family.”

“That’s all I ask for.” She replies with a small smile.

Marianne looked so much like his mother at a young age. He remembers spending hours looking through family album photos when he was younger. Sure he could see traces of Talia in her, but the blue eyes and black hair were definitely a Wayne trait. It scared him. Did he have any other children out there that he knew nothing about? He lost so many years from his children's lives, it pained him to think about what type of childhood they received. Sure, both Damian and Marianne didn’t hide their upbringing, but anyone could see that there were things they weren’t comfortable sharing. He knew from his own time at the League that it wasn’t easy.

“When did you meet Jason?” He had heard from Dick just this morning that apparently there was something that Jason hadn’t told them about his time in the League.

“Mother ordered me to train him after he was resurrected, because of my powers I was the best candidate to help him control the madness inside of him.” She explains, but Bruce could see the faint blush on her cheeks.

“And you two…” He trailed off, not knowing how to phrase his question.

“Yes. And please let’s leave it at that.” She’s blushing more than she ever did before. The fact she’s talking about her love life in front of her newly acquired father makes the whole situation hilarious, and if she wasn't so mortified she would have laughed.

“There is one more thing I would like to discuss with you” Marianne begins, uncertain of how the man in front of her would react to her request. “If it was alright with you, could I please have a hug?”

Whatever Bruce thought she was going to ask, it definitely wasn't this. So he stays there in shock, totally still for more time than he realizes. Enough for doubt to appear in the girl in front of him. His daughter. His blood daughter. He had some experience with Cassandra, but he still wasn’t sure he hadn’t totally fucked up with her yet, so this whole new daughter scene was hard on him.

Before she can flee the room in shame of her request, Father rises from his chair with grace, hiding his anxiety behind his perfected mask. In two strikes he is at her side.

The hug feels nice. Not that she would ever confess but the physical touch was something she always missed. The only person that had no trouble with being smothered with her love was Damian, and then later Jason. So, this hug from her father was definitely something she needed.

When they are done Bruce takes one more lounging look at her before dismissing her. He truly needed some time to think of all that had happened in the last few days. It had been almost 4 days since the reveal of the parentage of the girls, so he still had a lot to process.

So now sitting with a glass of bourbon in one hand, and his cellphone in the other. He did the only thing he could think of. He called Seline.

“Hey… It’s me.”

Hello again everyone! A special thank you to everyone that has been supporting this story! I wasn't sure if I indeed wanted to write a PART 2 to this story, but after all your comments I decided to do so. I hope you all like this chapter, it's shorter than usual, but I still need to figure some stuff about the story, so please bear with me! Let me know what yall think of it!

Taglist: @macncheesemonster @jumpingjoy82 @silversaphire12 @jinx-jade @swiftie-miraculer13 @greatcatblaze @megaafangirl @ramos123 @theamityislife @maskedpainter @toodaloo-kangaroo @nyx-in-line @ketchupqueenboiiii @blackroserelina @lozzybowe @user00000003 @kashlyn @msshadows97 @ira-sairain @stackofrandomstuff @myazael @frieddonutsweets @asrainterstellar @our-preciousss @laurcad123 @nyaabinch @rverfades @thefangirlwholiterallydies @astoriaandromeda @unnamed2357 @little-lady-bird @imdaqueenie @meismu @dorkus-minimus @a4-machete @arty-shadow-morningstar @catthhay @sizzling-fairy-oil @poodapup @charme-de-malchan @jayjayspixiepop @fusser90 @adrestar @iloontjeboontje @buginetye @macncheesemonster @messymessyml @redbullgivescaswings @queer-illusion @moonlightstar64 @kking13 @lupagrimm @dorkus-minimus @roguishredaxion @meow-6296 @galla02006 @samiamack @readingalldaysleepingallnight @twsssmlmaa @ihatecomingupwithusernameswtf @alexizlazy @lady-bee-fechin @mizzy-pop @alcoholic-barney @ladyqnoirr @wingl3ss @vroomtaka

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inviciousx · 3 years

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nuclear winter of our discontent

Fractured strips of moonlight shone down from the caving ceiling as Ryat started mixing several ingredients into a metal bowl he'd stolen from an old diner he'd passed on the way out here. Locals in the wastes called this the Old North Church. He called it a resurrection ground. His mind drifted as he added a bit of purified water into the mixture and pulled out his blade. Slashing it across his hand, he let a few drops of blood fall before he could feel it start healing. The demon couldn't help but replay the last twenty-four hours in his head. It had been more excitement than the last two centuries combined. Latin fell from his lips as his gaze moved over the pile of old bones laid over the debris in the floor. God he hoped he'd dug the right grave. As flesh began to form over bone, he began to hold even the tiniest bit of hope that be wouldn't be alone anymore.

She was waking. Not from a dream, but from darkness. Like Jesus saw daylight again on the third day, light was pouring in from behind her closed eyelids. She remembered, before her eyes ever opened: that awful flash, heat searing her skin, only time enough left to drop to her knees and cling to the soft grass one last time. She stirred, grunting softly, and blinked up into the sky. She inhaled softly. What she was was nothing like the fiery destruction that had knocked her out. It was silver and peaceful, quiet.

Caroline pushed an elbow under herself and began to rise, beginning to look around. The darkness surrounding her seemed to pop as her eyes adjusted from the moonlight pooling around her. There were shapes an figures, perhaps, but she could make out nothing specific. She sat up completely, wincing loudly and clutching her side in pain. Had she been knocked back into something in the blast? "Hello?" she called hoarsely.

Red eyes watched her from where Ryat sat in a dilapidating pew. It was one of few that was still being held together, probably by all the dirt and grime that covered it. Her resurrection had taken longer than most, but he supposed that had something to do with the fact that she'd been dead for 200 years. He really wasn't sure how he was going to explain that yet, but he knew he had to. She was going to be punished into a brand new world, a terrifying world... Just like he had been. It seemed like he had just traded one hell for another. At least now he had something other than his own thoughts, even before he had brought her back. Sitting there frozen, a captive to the body he had once enslaved hadn't done him any favors. "Morning sunshine. It's about time you woke the hell up," he muttered, finally getting back to his feet to move closer to her, stepping into the moonlight. "You're very.... Very late to the party."

The light in the hunter’s eyes brightened with confused realization as the demon’s voice purred through the darkness and echoed subtly off the walls. A sharp creak of wood made her head swivel, and, through the light of the moon, she found two red eyes peered back at her. Her heart slammed in her chest. “Ryat. .” she breathed, but offered nothing else, shifting slightly in the pile of rubble. She watched dumb-struck as he emerged into the circle of light. There should have been a million thoughts running through her mind, but it was empty, save for watching his face looking down at hers. She could barely read his expression, but what else was new? His eyes were shadowed but the irises glowed. He looked different, somehow, but still very much the same. Her face winced as she tried to process what he meant. It all. . . felt like a dream. “What’s going on?” she asked softly

Stooping down next to her, he sat with her in the rubble. He was already dirty, grime and filth covering his clothes. Not to mention blood.... "What do you remember?" He questioned, choosing his words uncharacteristically carefully. "I mean the very last thing you remember, because I need to know where to start explaining, and I don't have much time." Being what he was, he was able to see through the veil of death. He knew the difference between when he was dead and when he was alive, and he knew what happened in between, but he doubted that she had that luxury. Or maybe it was a curse.... He wasn't sure. A while caused crimson hues to look back at the black dog that laid guarding the door. Another whimper had him getting to his feet. "Come on. We need to move. I'll explain, but we need to get to higher ground. He wouldn't take her all the way up to the steeple yet, but he would at least hide them in the stairwell for now. Sitting here felt like being a sitting duck.

The hunter's eyes searched his face wildly for a hint of why he was asking such questions. The last thing she remembered? The last thing she remembered was everything, everything exploding and vanishing and then the sudden lack of everything. The emptiest nothing that she could conceive, and could still feel in her bones, as if she was hollow. Her hand seized on his arm like a snake."Ryat..." Caroline repeated, anxiety growing in her voice and heat swelling to her face. The urgency in his voice and the measured tone was making every hair on her body stick up like a pin prick. Ryat used her grip on him to hoist her up, but she collapsed to her knee, finding the legs underneath her shaking and uncoordinated. "Help me. Please." she asked of him, and braced herself around his middle. The black dog circled around them, but always stayed behind, unnaturally bright eyes glaring at the back of the building--if it could be called that. Half up the stairs, encased in near-darkness, and almost suffocating in dust, Caroline pushed against the demon and let herself sink to a stair. Her legs burned as if she'd been marooned in the desert. The hunter breathed heavily, dropping her hand from him to lean forward, taken by the vertigo in her brain. She looked up to what she could see in front of her face--shocking red eyes and a half-shadowed face looking down at her. "The last thing I remember. . ." Her face contorted at the memory, too painful for even tears. Her gaze searched for the words in the dust particles floating around them. "The last thing I remember is the. . ." The hunter blinked faster, as if the emotions that had been stopped where her memories ended were picking up as she remembered ten seconds over and over again in her mind. The more she remembered, the more the monstrous sounds came back to her. "Oh, God. Oh, God." she whispered. She looked back at Ryat, pleading, reaching out to a hand she couldn't see in the dark. "What's happening? Why am I here?”

The fear and fragility coming from the normally quick witted hunter only added to the gravity of the situation. Even with his superior hearing, Ryat wasn't sure what was waiting for them outside. There were things in this hellacious landscape that put the creatures of nightmares to shame. The large Shepherd Dog sat at the bottom of the stairs, ears twitching with each sound, though he wasn't sounding an alarm again yet. He knew she remembered the end. Her reaction told him at least that much. "What you remember.... That's what a lot of people called the end of the world. As you can see that isn't exactly accurate...." He still picked and chose his words, knowing that the smallest thing could be like a detonator, and right now he didn't have the luxury of having the time to help stitch her back together. At least mentally. "It was damn close though....and that was 200 years ago. The world you knew, hell the world we both knew, is gone. There are things even you can't imagine. Whole damn world went to hell in a hand basket." The air here was too thick with dust and the smell of mold from the nuclear storms that passed settling into the interior of the building. Reaching into his pack once he slipped it off his shoulder, he found a stimpack. "I don't know how much this is gonna help, but it should do something," he stated evenly before injecting her with the medicine inside.

Caroline lower lip trembled fiercely as he spoke, but he brows were set in desperate refusal. His words were gathering like a holy flood at the levies, and she bit her lip, shaking her head. The end of the world. The end of the world. The end of the world. Pictures flashed in her mind as rapidly as film ticking through a camera. Home. People. Friends. Life. Gone. . . “Please stop.” she said quietly, squeezing his hand as it released hers to shuffle inside some backpack. The pinch in her arm barely registered past the screaming her in own head. Voices, like a hundred-strong choir was screaming through their murder in her ears. “Stop!” she screamed through it, bracing her hands on the edge of the step and kicking out sharply at his leg. Something connected and she scrambled up and away, spilling onto the landing and throwing herself towards the next set of stairs. It only look another flight to reach the top, which spilled out into a windowed perch with half the wall broken out. Caroline gasped and looked around wildly. A thin layer of snow was coating the rooftops in her sights, but it all blurred together. Steps were right behind her as she made for the roof.

A hiss of pain left the demon's lips even if it wouldn't last long. "You God damn bitch!" He growled, moving after her with speed only a creature such as himself could possess. Maybe the stimpack had been a bad idea.... He'd thought it would do good to help her feel better and give her some mobility. The dog let out a bark at the sudden outburst and Ryat took off after her trying to ignore the pain in his shin. Snow glittered on the roof as it came into his view and his arm shot out, grabbing her ankle as she tried to scramble to the sloped, rotting roof. From his place on the stairs, he roughly tugged her back, not giving a single shit if he caused a few bruises on the way down. "What the fuck?" He grit, red eyes seeming to look through her as he appraised her. "I didn't spend the last twenty four hours gathering the shit to bring you back to let you toss yourself off a god damn steeple!" His grip on her ankle released only to grab her by the arm and pull her up to her feet, but this time he held her steady.

Caroline yelped and slammed to the ground hard as her feet were wrenched from beneath her. Her vision turned into a dropped snowglobe for a brief moment as he torso landed on the raised ledge were a wall should've been, half of body on the roof, half still inside the tower. All she could manage was a strangled grunt of resistance as she was pulled back over the threshold, icy flakes stinging her face. She lost herself in a flurry of kicks and palm-thrusts into Ryat's shoulders, but it was a charade for all the good it did. The young woman gasped as she was forced to stand, and, wrangled in his unquestionable grip, she looked at him wildly. His dark, hidden face from before now reflected so much silver light it was like he was glowing. His raven hair was tussled from the skirmish and blew slightly in the wind whistling through the broken windows around them. Caroline breathed hard, small fogs of hot breath crystalizing between them. Her eyes were stricken, but clearer, as if the truth was easier to see in the moonlight. "You brought me back?" She paused, forgetting to breathe. "I. . died?" The last word was barely a breath.

@a-beast-in-repose

#ryat;#nuclear winter;

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

Death Cannot Take You

Summary: You died. You should have died, yet here you are having the audacity to still be walking.

A/n: This is semi abandoned old guard au. I made it for 3 reasons. 1) I love Old Guard. 2) I love writing resurrection scenes cus it makes my brain calm. 3) This is a poly that I am desperate for.

Warning: Violence, kidnapping, terrible explanations, and blatant disregard for patient care.

The world shook violently as it staggered into view— blotchy patches of fluorescent lights and rough textures. Drowning the heavy scrape of metal is a chorus of thumping and ringing in your ears. Your hands fly to the seat in front of you, cold metal pressed against hot skin as the train rattles on. It makes your stomach lurch, dredging out its contents.

Crumpled in your seat, you heave a ragged breath. You retch, the contents of your stomach burning in your esophagus. You screw your eyes shut unable to take another long gulp of air; it stung to breathe in the piss heavy air. You need to breathe. You need the oxygen. You need your mind in working order. Sucking in a greedy lungful, you cough it out, body rejecting it.

There was a heat.

A pulse.

A pistol.

A laugh.

You can remember the wetness of saliva and blood and tears on your face as the warmth bled out of your fingertips.

It was cold.

It was so cold.

Your heartbeat picks up. It’s getting harder to breathe. Your windpipe is closing. The world is getting smaller. The bones in your hands are rattling.

A cry pries itself out of your chest, tearing its way out of your mouth. They’re not stopping. They’re still laughing.

No.

Please god, no.

With another violent rattle, your consciousness slips.

You’re cold again. Shadows grasp at the corners of your vision. The world is blotchy— a patch of tangling threads.

The alley smells of piss and garbage. The smell is thick enough to make you choke. Your heart had stopped a while ago. No, your mind did. No, it was your heart you’re sure. No, no. It was his heart that stopped.

It’s cold. Someone is crying out for you. It’s your father. You’re scared. Your blue eyes are fading in color. You’ve faced death before— No, not you. He has. He’s faced death always with a smile but now with his heart at a complete stand still he’s sure this is it. He’s sure this is how he dies. It isn’t on the trapeze or because of some cookie plan made by a costumed nut case. Your— his heart stops.

He died.

So did he. There’s another man. He’s lying on the battlefield. The sky is so pretty. You can hear canonfire. There’s another man beside him. He’s dying too. Your fair hair is matted red. Your— his flesh is reknitting itself. It’s— The whole in his— your stomach is closing the whole in it. You’re gasping for breath. The alley doesn’t stink of piss and garbage; it smells like cotton fields and summer heat.

He died.

You died.

There’s a buzzing in the air— the thrum of electricity as it writhes in the wires. Bouncing your leg, you wait for the receptionist to call your name. Anxiety sings in your veins like a chorus of scraping metal.

You don’t remember what happened last night— not clearly.

It’s all a melting pot of images and voices and touches.

You cup your hand over your mouth, the stomach acid burning its way up your esophagus. Your tongue is tacky with dried saliva and the lingering taste of copper. They’re laughing. They’re all still laughing. The ringing in your ears won’t stop.

You fold. Legs curl up into your chest as you dip your head under. Eyes sliding shut, you let the darkness pool in your mind. The vague sounds in the emergency room coalescing into a discordant symphony. You let yourself dream again.

You lift your head up slowly, colors bleeding into view. The words don’t make sense.

“Kid, are you ok?”

You regard the large man with the open—mouthed confusion of a fish. He’s handsome in a rough sort of way— grisled with a full beard, cropped hair, and gunmetal blue eyes— eye. He’s got an eye patch. You swallow. Your lungs inflate as they inhale the sterile scent of the room. The smell of hand sanitizer is too thick. He’s tall. You crane your neck to look up at him. It hurts. He must easily be 6’3”, maybe even taller. His chest is broad and through the shirt, he’s wearing you can see the expanse of taut well—defined muscles. His lips are curved up at one side in a lopsided smirk. Your head is pounding. You shut your eyes, vigorously nodding your head. You know what he’s staring at. You know what his eyes— eye— are trained on.

You… You haven't changed. The crisp white shirt you’d worn to your job is dark and wrinkly with dried blood. You hate it. You hate how uncharacteristically messy you look; it makes you feel off—model, like something that is a cluttered version of you.

You curl up again. This time the ringing in your ears blocks out everything else. Your head dips back into the dark. It’s cold and stuffy and your ears were ringing when they—

Your eyes fly open and there’s a figure in front of you. You squint. The figure is smaller, less broad; a nursing assistant with kind eyes stands over you with a clipboard. You breathe. You turn your head to the man from before. He’s standing next to a man— younger, shorter. He looks dwarfed next to the other man but he’s average height and it would be funny if you had the energy. You’re far enough away that you can’t be sure of his features but it’s not hard to tell that he’s pretty. He’s got rich brown skin, black hair, and a gymnast’s poise. He’s familiar. Both of them are. They’re talking to the police. You freeze.

Are they here for you? Who are they?

“I need you to follow me back into the ER,” she says gently, grip firmly grasping your shoulder. You run your hand through your matted hair. Your hand comes back slick and sticky with sweat and dried blood. The oxygen in your lungs stutters. You feel another squeeze on your shoulder. You’re back. You’re not whole but you’re back.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, legs wobbling beneath you as you stand.

You follow her. It’s faint but you can feel someone follow you as you disappear into the hall with her.

The walk to the hall was peaceful. It was steadying. It’s the talk with the doctor that’s putting you on edge. He’s tapping his pen on the clipboard. Your mind writhes with every tap. Sighing, you rub your eyes and try to push the sensations away. “I— I’m so sorry. I’m just. It’s my mind. I just can’t—” you breathe “—I can talk. I’m sorry.” You wave vaguely.

“Alright tell me what happened.”

You swallow. Your trachea still feels splintered. “I—” breathe “—I was cornered. In an alley. Behind a butcher shop. I was trying to take a short cut—” he taps a pen against the board "— I was attacked." You finish, fingers tracing up the length of your throat. Attacked was too quick a word. Attacked was the kind of word you used for the quick in and out of a knife— the split second bite of a bullet. You weren’t attacked. You were— what happened to you felt like an eternity.

Shuffling, he looks you over. There's a prickle in the back of your neck. There's someone watching you. Your eyes flick. There's the young man. His eyes are a warm tropical blue. He waves at you. He looks uneasy. The man from before is trying not to pay attention. Your legs swing, almost clipping the doctor's clipboard. The doctor frowns at you but you shrug.

"You don't seem to have been injured."

You blink. "That's not possible," you say, hands shaking,"they had me for hours." No that wasn't true. At most they had you for an hour or maybe two but that didn’t matter not at the bite of the bullet, not at the slice of flesh, not at the impact of the bat.

"I need you to breathe," the doctor instructs, placing a hand on your back; it tenses. You go rigid. He pulls back muttering about x—rays and brain scans.

Catching his lab coat in a death grip, you beg: "Please don't leave me."

"Ma'am, you're perfectly safe here."

They will find you.

He thinks you're hysterical. You know that from the way he looks at you, like a caged animal. "We have security personnel if need be," he assures, none—too—gently prying his coat from your grip. "We'll close the curtain if that makes you feel safe and there are hospital gowns in the closet if you'd like to change."

You nod quietly.

You slowly peel off your shirt. The cool air stings. You suck in a breath. You think of the dream you had. That man's heart stopping. The press of lips. The bite of metal against skin. You look down at your skin— no bruises, no cuts, nothing.

You're scared.

You know these memories aren't fully yours.

You hear the door slide open. Your knee jerk reaction is to be embarrassed. You're in your underwear. Pulling on a gown, you're ready to snarl at the intruder. Your heart stops. It's the man from before.

"Did they take a blood sample from you yet?" He asks, closing the curtain behind him.

His gaze is unyielding as he makes slow predatory strides towards you. You flatten yourself against the wall. "No— I— what?"

"Good."

"What—" There's a sharp pain in the side of your head. There's blood trickling down the side of your head. Your vision is fading.

Falling forward, you grasp your blood tacky hands at his shirt. You feel weightless. You're on his shoulder.

"Who are you?"

"You'll find out."

The desert sand billows as a gust of wind blows through the dunes. You’re searching for someone. Your friend. His friend not yours. He’s somewhere. He’s being held prisoner. You’ve kept him waiting long enough.

You turn your head and the scene shifts.

There’s a sky full of lights above you, glittering. You can’t tell if they’re man made or not. You reach out to them. Your hands aren’t yours. You squint. Your hands are dark and calloused— covered in sawdust. There’s a terrible shape in your stomach. You’re scared but that’s not new. There’s always a little fear when you go on the trapeze.

You shift under the cover, limbs wrapped around a pillow. The smell of freshly roasted coffee is heavy in the air. You burrow your face more into the pillow. Mark can wake you up—

"And you thought kidnapping her was the solution?!"

You wince at the tone. Shuffling your limbs quitely out of the covers, you press yourself to the wall, peaking over the corner just a fraction— just enough to see two men arguing. The taller man with white hair facing the hall opening into the sleeping area.

“It was.”

“Slade, you can’t just go kidnapping people!” the younger man shouts, his face red while his arms waved all over the place. Slade, you assumed, stood impassively, but his arms were now crossed over his chest in a defensive manner.

“I just did.”

The younger man runs his hand over his face and through his hair, ruffling it in frustration. “She’s going to be terrified when she wakes up.”

You are. Your eyes flick to the window. You could escape. You're in a motel room you realize. If they’re distracted enough, you could make it out.

“Well, Kid, it looks like you’re right.”

“Of course, I am—”

You look up. The two men are looking in your direction. Should you go back to the bed and pretend to be asleep? Is there any point? Just make a run for it.

You sprint only to hit what feels like a brick wall. You stagger back but what feels like a metal band wraps around your waist. The next thing you know is that you feel weightless.

“Slade, put her down! You’re going to give her a heart attack.”

“Relax, kid, it’s not like it’s gonna kill her.” Your body is dropped unceremoniously on the bed. You bounce a couple of times before your body settles against the soft sheets. Scrambling back against the headboard, you look between the two men trying to decide what to do. You place a pillow in front of you as a shield. The pounding of your heart is loud in your ears that you don’t think you’ll be able to hear anything that comes out of your mouth.

“I’m broke,” you finally manage. You turn to the younger man. “My roommate is broke too.” He gives you a confused furrow in his brow. “We can’t afford ransom. You won’t get anything, so please just… just let me go. I won’t tell the police. I promise.” Folding your legs behind the pillow, you press yourself into the headboard further. The young man sighs and slumps. “We don’t want money.” You stiffen, keenly aware that save for the flimsy protection of the hospital gown, you’re only in your underwear. He seems to realize what you’d concluded.

Slade snorts. “Way to go, kid.”

“Yeah, thanks for the help, asshole.”

“I have done nothing wrong.”

“Ah, yes. Aside from kidnaping her you mean,” he snarls. You swallow loudly, trying to keep the bile down. The younger man turns to you, the impressive glare he was sporting slides way too easily into concern. His body rolls into a different shape; it’s the kind of posture you’ve used when comforting your younger sibling. He lowers himself on the bed slowly. He reaches out a hand. Carefully, he says “We won’t hurt you.”

And you want to believe him. You desperately want to believe him.

“Real convincing, Grayson.” Slade sneers as he watches your recoil from Grayson’s outstretched hand. Grayson levels another glare at Slade who simply huffs and shrugs.

“I haven’t done anything to you. Please let me go.” You croak.

Grayson looks at you helplessly. “(Y/n)... We can’t...”

“You died last night.” Slade says. Nothing in his tone suggests a question. It’s just a statement. No room for doubt.

You blink, nose scrunching. “I— I was mugged.” You cover your face with your hands. You’re pretty positive that you’d remember being murdered and you say as much. You got cornered by three to four gang members and they mugged you. That was it.

Your stomach rebels at the thought.

Grayson gives you that pitying look again. He pries your hands from your face, blue eyes bearing down at you with so much concern. His touch is so gentle that you almost cry. “Sweetheart, think about it.”

You shake your head trying to pull your hand away from him. He doesn’t let you. Your head is throbbing. You’re scared and confused and you’re starting to feel anger prickle under your skin. “I think I would know if I died, asshole,” you snarl and the shift in tone catches them both off guard.

Slade sighs. There’s a flash of metal and a gunshot. The pain radiates from the middle of your stomach; it’s sharp. Some small, shrill sound escapes you. You’re gasping as you look at him again. He’s looking at a watch. It looks expensive. It’s funny how even during death your mind finds a way to procrastinate.

“It’s taking a little while. Of all the inconveniences, why is it so slow the first few times?”Slade mutters in a voice that would sound right at home in a self checkout line. His shoe is tapping against the rug. You wonder if that’s expensive too.

“Why would you shoot her?” Grayson demands, shooting up from his spot on the bed. The loss of weight jostles the bed. You wince.

You look down. Something strange is happening. Your flesh like cloth is reknitting, leaving the seamless expanse of your stomach.

You look back up, eyes blown wide and frantic. You pat your stomach, hand coming away with a thin film of blood but the strange tingling you get when you’re expecting to feel something but you don’t. The bullet hole wasn’t there. It just wasn’t.

A sprawl of frantic horror lives down the line of your sternum. It was the kind of amorphous energy you get when something doesn’t make sense, when something just shouldn’t have happened— a sort of odd dislocation in the universe.

Grayson holds his hands up in a placating manner as he sits back down on the bed. He’s careful not to jostle you but you barely notice. You think his hands look familiar. Your— his calloused hands reach out to you. “You need to trust us.”

“You. Just. Shot. Me.”

“Correction, he shot you.”

Slade rolls his eye. “Ah yes, kid, very helpful.”

“It’s an important distinction.”

“Fine!” You point to Slade. “You shot me.” You point to Grayson. “You. Let. Him.”

“Sweetheart, I appreciate that you think I have any control over that brute,” Grayson says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, “but I have about as much control over that brute as I do over a storm. ”

Unamused, you throw a pillow at Grayson hard enough that he almost topples over the edge. You grab another pillow and Grayson raises the pillow you threw at him in defense. You can see the smile in his eyes; it makes the acid behind your teeth boil. All embarrassment and horror bleed out to give way to anger as you throw the pillow at him with the same ferocity as before. Slade snatches the pillow midair saving Grayson from having to deflect it. Grayson gives him a smile that looks like an insincere apology. Slade, like you, seems unconvinced and pushes your discarded pillow into Grayson’s fine—boned face. It does nothing to wipe the grin off his face but you feel a little better knowing you’re not the only one who has to endure him.

You fight the urge to laugh but not too hard. The chords of your muscles come loose and for the first time in what feels like an age, you feel tired. “I’m dead. I died. Then you shot me… And then you shot me. WHAT THE HELL?” You say, the accusation directionless. You were supposed to die on a smoking heap of trash, gutted and pathetic. Hands falling limply to your sides, you let your mind go through that a dozen times because, well, how does one process their own death and undeath? You shouldn't still be here.

"What’s happening to me?"

"She's acting far more reasonable than you did." Slade teases.

Grayson scowls at him, slapping him with the pillow. Slade just kind of grunts clearly less hurt than annoyed. Considering the solid wall of muscle the man is sporting, you wouldn’t be surprised if it would take nothing short of a brick to hurt him. "YOU SHOT ME IN THE HEAD THEN SHOT ME THROUGH THE STOMACH."

“I only shot you in the stomach because the bullet through your head didn’t get through your thick skull.”

You’re one missed heartbeat away from laughing. Your brows shoot up, limp limbs coming back to life as you curl in on yourself again. What have you gotten yourself into?

"Oh my god, I mean— Shit!" Slade snorts as Grayson flails. Grayson puts his hand in his face, groaning. “Sorry about that… Slade is terrible at explanations.”

Slade makes a noise in the back of his throat. It sounds like a laugh and twitch of his lip would suggest so but you're still second guessing yourself. "You're one to talk Mr. We Won't Hurt You." The air fills with Slade's amusement as Grayson’s cheeks flush. It's funny how easily pretty shifts to adorable.

You sigh raking your hand through your hair. It's been an exceptionally long day. "What’s happening to me?" You whine mostly to yourself. "I'm not a meta. I think I would know if I was something like that… Right?" You look up at Grayson who just gives you a complicated expression. "You know what's going on don't you?" You say, crawling closer to Grayson. He shifts a bit, keeping his eyes straight. Grayson blinks and runs his hand through his hair, collecting his scattered thoughts. He leans back, putting a bit of space between you as he speaks. "We got off on the wrong foot," he says extending a hand to you, "the name's Dick—”

“Are you sure?” and Slade laughs at your question. Grayson— Dick (is that really his name?) looks tired like he’s heard this question a million times. “Yes, I’m sure about my name.” You feel a little bad but not enough to actually say anything that even comes close to an apology. “Anyway,” Dick (?) continues,”the grumpy old man over there is Slade. We’re sort of in the same boat as you.”

The last line makes you pause. You think back to your dreams, the quick flashes of sensations. Oh. That was— Oh. Your stomach feels like lead. You watched them— Oh.

“I’m sorry.” you say, at a loss of what else to say. Death was an intimate thing. You guessed that only the dead or the previously dead would know that. You fold your hands on your lap as you sit back on your legs, a primm gesture that made you feel solid and a bit more like yourself than you had in hours.

Dick’s warm blue eyes are wide. He goes still for a moment taking in what you’d just said. His head shakes and he smiles at you, an expression that is weightless. It made you think of the trapeze. “It’s ok,” he assures you, warm hand on yours, “it’s not your fault… Anyway!” You use the very sarcastic brows you’ve been given to convey your concern about the neck snapping shift in tone. Dick looks at you sheepish, hand rubbing the back of his neck before deciding to soldier on. “We don’t know why but some individuals are brought back to life and are made immortal. We’ve— I’ve got a few working theories but—”

“Immortal.” You repeat, trying to make the concept make sense.

“We, now including you, don’t die, kid.” Slade deadpans.

“Thanks. I’ve read a dictionary.” You say, eyes flicking to your very much intact stomach. Dick laughs, the sound high and breezy. He tries to stifle it but even the hand cupped over his mouth couldn’t contain the sound. Slade’s long leg stretches to give Dick a not so light kick. This does nothing but increase the volume of his laughter. You look back up at them. “So, what does my latest existential crisis have to do with either of you?”

“Well for one,” Slade says, standing up, “we can’t have you running around with a millenia old secret without even attempting to teach you how to disappear first.” This is what gets your stomach to rebel. Bile is climbing up your throat. Dick, quick as a whip, holds a trash can out for you. You put your hand in front of you. You hold out your hand to stop him, not even sure if you had anything in your stomach aside from acid.

You had just started getting your life back together and then this. Shaking your head, you try to break the thought down into more manageable pieces before swallowing it. “Ok. ok. That makes sense. I guess.”

Dick pulls back still looking concerned. “You are taking this alarmingly well.”

You stare at him. Your stomach rolls again. "Do I have a choice?" You ask from behind your hand.

Slade huffs, "she's right, kid."

"Is he just gonna keep calling us kid or..."

"Considering he's got 700 years on the both of us?" Dick laughs like he didn't just hit you with a ton of bricks.

"Ah, so he's a museum piece. Got it." You deadpan and you're rewarded with another roll of laughter from Dick. Slade grunts but doesn't protest much more than that. You turn your focus to Dick. "So how old are you?"

"A lady never tells," Dick says, crows feet wrinkling at the corners of his eyes. You blow air between your lips. "Lemme guess, you're like 2000 years old."

Dick makes a noise; it sounds offended. You don't much care, finally feeling a smile creeping on to your face. It doesn't hurt when you do not like everything else right now. That fact would be almost uncomfortable if you weren't so weary.

Folding your knees against your chest, you squish your face against your arms. "No seriously, old man. How old are you?"

"You're persistent." Dick hums.

"I want to know if I can cite you for my thesis on ancient greek culture."

Dick shakes his head. "You're better off citing him."

"Sadly, he's right Grayson is just a mere 27 years old."

You blink. He's— He's around your age. You breathe. "Ok so I'm not alone. Great."

"You're not," Slade says, "he was much harder to deal with."

"Do I have to keep mentioning that you shot me twice?" Dick asks crossing his arm sover his chest.

"Are you ever going to stop bringing it up?"

"When it stops working."

"It ever started."

From their banter, they're familiar with each other. The tiredness from before ebbs back in. You feel alone. Out of habit, you bury your head against your knees. There is something comforting about the stillness.

A warm hand settles on your shoulder. You jolt up, knocking the back of your skull against the headboard. It makes a loud thunk against the wall. Dick winces, pulling his hand away from you. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine." You lied still seeing stars.

They look unconvinced. You don't quite care. "You look like you need a good meal."

"Or a hot shower," Slade suggests.

You think it over, hand on your stomach brain still looking for the bullet wound. Eyes flicking between both, you lick your lips before saying: "I'll take you up on that shower." Your eyes drift back down to your arms, concentrating on the small details, the imperfections you've gathered through the years. The thought that you won't be able to add more doesn't really register like it should.

Dick nods getting up to grab something. "I might need a couple of minutes in there," you say absently.

"Take all the time you need." Dick says handing you a towel and a fresh shirt. You accept them with a small nod, carefully peeling yourself away from the bed. Your eyes go into a tunnel vision, only focused on the door to the shower.

You stop, a hand gripping your wrist. The pressure is solid and reassuring. You turn back to see Dick, biting his cheek."It'll get better I promise."

You give Dick a crooked smile. "I'll probably feel a lot better when I'm not covered in blood."

"That always helps," Slade says flatly.

"You'd know."

"You really wanna scare her more right now?"

"It's just way too easy with you around."

"Please save the other world shattering revelations after my shower," You whine pulling the towel to your chest.

"Can't promise that." Slade says with a rumble that just radiates bastard.

You blow out a breath, raising a middle finger over your shoulder. It was a rude gesture you'd never normally even consider but it felt appropriate at this moment.

"Hope you don't mind pizza." Dick says already dialing the number.

You stop leaning against the door, face squished against the frame. "What kind?"

"Hnnnnn... I figure you would like ham and mushrooms."

With amusement, you note how Slade blanches quietly behind Dick. You quietly question both of their maturities. "how'd you figure oh wise ancient one?"

"Please don't ask him that."

"Why not? I'm curious to see how his mind works."

"You're going to regret that."

You cock your brow as Dick draws himself up. He reminds you of a pitcher winding up. "Because I'm a fun—guy, get it?"

Slade groans, hand on his face and for once he looks like an old man not like a terrifying wall of intimidation.

"You're right. I do regret it," you say, stifling a laugh,"anyway, if you'll excuse me, the shower is calling my name. You two love birds have fun."

Slade sits beside Dick, an arm wrapping around his waist. "You heard the lady. She told us to have fun," Slade rumbles into Dick's ear only loud enough for you to hear. You flush. Realization hitting you like a truck. The color of Dick's face mimicking yours as he shoves Slade's face away. That warm shower will now be a cold one, you think as you awkwardly shuffle into the bathroom.

Instead of a shower, you elected for a nice soak. You're too weary and rung out and you hadn't seen a decent bath tub in a few years so you took the chance. It's not like an infection from the tub could kill you, right?

You step out of the bathroom feeling refreshed if not a bit cold from your shirt. Dick's shirt was big but it stopped shy of your thighs. You couldn't really complain. You were just happy to get out of the blood soaked clothes.

You pad your way into the room and eyes are instantly on you. Slade quite blatantly stares at the curve of your ass as it peaks out from under your shirt. You think of scolding him but decide to leave that up to Dick who… is also staring at you… in the same area. He has the decency to look embarrassed when you catch him. Clearing his throat, Dick answers the knock on the door which just adds another set of eyes on you.

A poor pimple faced kid stands frozen at the door, slack jawed. His eyes dart around the room, frantically looking for a camera or something. You sigh. You too could see how this could be a lazy set up to a porn. You’re slightly flattered at the idea that you could be astronomically hot enough to be in a porn with either of these two but you’re more worried about the kid having to deal with a boner while he delivers pizzas. Dick, incredibly oblivious to the problem, seems to take his time looking for his wallet.

Slade, not oblivious to the problem, makes his way to the poor kid, looking as imposing as possible as he hands the kid a fifty. Whatever arousal the kid felt at the moment floods out of him along with any color in his face.

You snort plopping on to the bed and crossing your leg over the other and you watch as the men’s eyes widen as they trace the expanse of skin. This is the closest you will ever be to a bond girl.

Slade slams the door in the kids face, not even bothering with the change. Dick rolls his eyes with a crooked smile playing on his lips. “She hasn’t been with us for a day and you’re already acting possessive,” Dick laughs, patting Slade’s chest as he walks past.

Dick plops on the bed next to you. You press your cheek into his shoulder as he opens the box. The smell of greasy cheese and canned vegetables floods your nostrils in a concert of sweet, unhealthy goodness. Your stomach rumbles and your hand darts down to get a piece. Your hand jerks back as your skin tingles from the heat.

“Sorry, love, you can still feel pain.” Dick says, puckering his face as he blows the rising steam away. As if to be contrary, Slade grabs the largest slice and immediately takes a bite. You turn to Dick, raising a brow to ask. “Him? He’s just a weirdo.” Dick answers, grabbing his own slice. You roll your eyes grabbing your own slice.

Dick’s trying hard not to stare at your legs but ends up staring at your lips instead. “Do you have any spare pants?” You ask around a mouthful of pizza.

“I’ll get it,” Slade says before Dick can even stumble out a response, “clearly wonder boy hadn’t thought this through.”

You hum around another mouthful in agreement and Dick just looks at you betrayed. You uncross and recross your legs to prove your point.

Shifting away from Dick and swallowing the last bit of your pizza, you take the pants Slade offers you and you’re not at all surprised that it doesn’t fit right. “Any chance I can go back to my apartment? Even just for clothes?”

“Sadly no.”

“Should I ask?”

“Do you really feel like talking to cops right now, kid?”

“Yanno, you’re gonna have to distinguish between us at some point,” Dick huffs, opening a can of soda,”and she’s right we do need to get her new clothes.” He hands you a can. Not feeling parched, you just roll it in your palm feeling the need to indulge in the feeling on cool metal. You catch yourself before you tuck your legs against your chest again.

“I don’t see why you’re so hell bent on this, kid 1. You clearly like seeing her in your clothes.” Slade says, flatly the way you’d read out the summary of a particularly boring movie summary, probably based on a Nicholas Sparks novel.

“You think adding a number is enough effort to distinguish us?” Dick sneers, trying to distract from the flush of his cheeks.

“Would you prefer I call you ‘Sport’?”

“Dick, for both of our sake’s please accept being called Sport.”

“No!”

“How about ‘Chum’?”

Dick’s nose wrinkles at the name. You’re not sure if it’s the name itself, the way it rolls off of Slade’s tongue, or something to do with your dream. You don’t know Dick well enough to discern.

“Please don’t.” Dick tries politely and there’s a tinge of sadness in his tone. Slade seems to back off, easing into his chair.

You open your mouth wanting to pry but instead of asking the question on the tip of your tongue, you settle for asking for another slice. The air is full of questions but you’re not really sure which one to pluck out. Then again, you’ve got time. And really? Right now, that’s all you have.

Before you can dwell too much on that thought, Slade turns the TV on to drown out whatever Dick was saying. You’d tuned him out a little bit ago. It wasn’t really a matter of choice; it was more a matter of your brain going on power saving mode.

You blink sleepily, the voice of the anchor falling into a low hum in your mind. You’re pretty sure your name blips in between the static of words. There’s a dull recognition in the words ‘kidnapping’ and ‘suspects’ but it all seems so distant at the moment. No reaction registers upon realizing that they were probably talking about your kidnapping and really could anyone blame you when some cosmic fuckery just occurred and now your life has been turned on its head? ____________________________________________________________ Thanks for reading!

#dick grayson x reader #slade wilson x reader #Slade Wilson #dick grayson #slade wilson imagine #dick grayson imagine #crack au #poly

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castiel-kline · 3 years

Text

Rescue

(also on ao3)

Jack’s got a lot of new responsibilities to take care of, but first he has someone to save from the clutches of the Empty.

for @dadstielweek day 6: missing scene

The Empty felt much less daunting than the last time Jack had been here. It was still unsettling, of course, but he was prepared to face it now. He knew what he’d come for was well worth it.

The Shadow slithered up in front of him, coming together in a familiar shape. His mother’s face smiled at him, eyes dark in a way Kelly’s could never be. And he felt a pang, because he missed her like always. He hadn’t been to see her, not yet. But that was next on his list.

“Hey there, kiddo. Nice upgrade. You’re even more sparkly and insufferable than usual,” it began, tilting its head. “Don’t know why you think you have any right to be here, though, after what you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, trying to ignore the screams he could hear in the distance, muffled as if the throats they sprang from were stuffed with cotton. “I didn’t mean to wake everyone up. I can fix it, I promise.”

“But you want something in return, don’t you.” The Shadow’s tone was flat, a brow arched in disdain.

“We can make a deal. I know you like those.”

“Yeah, when there’s something in it that suits me. You don’t have anything that I want.”

“I can make sure that you go back to sleep for good,” Jack assured, stepping closer. “You’ll get your quiet, forever. The Empty’s been in disorder for too long.”

“Uh huh. Might want to check your motivation there, young Atlas. Dishonesty bites.”

Jack’s heart skipped a beat. He clenched a fist, taking in a deep breath. “I’m not lying.”

“Aren’t you?” The Shadow ran a hand across his shoulders and down his arm, nails biting at the skin of his hand where it grabbed him. “You don’t care about my order, or my sleep. You just want your dead papa bear to hold you and tell you it’s okay.”

He gulped. “Just give me Castiel, and I’ll help you put everyone back to sleep. I know you can’t do it yourself, or you would have already.”

The Shadow yanked its hand away, glare sharper than any knife. “Get out, kid. I won’t ask again.”

“No.” Jack squared his shoulders. “I’m not leaving until I have my father back.”

“Newsflash, sport- God doesn’t have power in my domain. Everything Chuck managed was because I let him. Now that you’ve been grandfathered in -ha!- you’re stuck. Can’t hurt me.”

“Actually, I can. I’ve always had power here, since the day I was born. Since just a few weeks after that, when I woke you up. But I don’t want us to be enemies. I’d prefer it if we could come to an agreement.”

They would be enemies if it had really hurt Cas, but they could at least try to be allies first. He pinched at his palm, watching the Shadow think it over. It came closer, face softening in a syrupy false sympathy. It placed a hand on Jack’s cheek just like his mother had when he’d met her, and he tried not to recoil too violently.

“Oh, you poor, dumb, child,” it said. In a blink the hand on his cheek had moved, cupping his chin and squeezing his face with enough force to snap his jaw if either of them moved the wrong way. “Poor, sweet little fool. Castiel’s mine, and you’re not taking him from me. I won him fair and square.”

Jack managed to pull its hand away from him, heaving in a breath before he spoke. “Cas doesn’t belong to you,” he said.

The Shadow laughed. “And I suppose that’s because he belongs to you instead?”

“No.” Jack shook his head. “No. He doesn’t belong to me. He doesn’t belong to anyone.”

“Hmm. That so? Do you think Dean Winchester would agree with you on that?” It winked at him, smirk warping his mother’s mouth.

“Cas doesn’t belong to Dean,” Jack asserted, refusing to have his focus broken. “He belongs to himself. And you’re going to bring him back, because he deserves to live his life. He deserves to make his own choices.”

The Shadow moved forward and bopped his nose, punctuating each word. “Selfish, selfish, selfish!”

Jack jerked his head away. “This isn’t selfish. I just-”

“You need him. And that makes this valiant little rescue mission of yours as self serving as a buffet.”

“All I need is to know that he’s alive, and that he’s safe,” Jack said, surprising himself with the truth of it. “And… if he doesn’t want to stay with me, I’ll let him go. Because… because that’s what you do when you love someone.”

For a moment he thought he’d gotten through to it, but then the Shadow turned away again, a finger tapping at its chin.

“Oh, but see- if I give you a freebie now, you’ll expect more later. And resurrections fray the threads of fate, you know. Very dangerous game. Or have you forgotten that what’s dead should stay dead?”

“I know. I know, and that’s how everything after this will be. Just, please… please bring him back.” His first day on the job and he was begging, betraying his desperation. Wonderful.

“What are you gonna do with all the other angels? The demons?” The Shadow was back to staring at him, but its tone was much less harsh. Tired. Maybe it was finally going to give in.

“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. “We might need some angels to restore Heaven since it’s failing, but… you can have a say in that. Before I put you back to sleep.”

“So, I get my sleep and you get Castiel?” Jack nodded, feeling like he had no more life than a popped balloon. The Shadow gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “Fine. But you’d best not wake me unless the universe is ending again, capische?”

“Thank you.” Jack didn’t feel like that was enough. That it could ever be enough. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever. Happy family time.” The Shadow snapped its fingers before sliding away, and the ground began bubbling a short distance from Jack. Castiel emerged from the depths of the Empty, dragged out by inky tendrils. He looked awful, and Jack would have been angrier if not for his agreement with the entity being one breath from crumbling.

Cas hacked up lungfuls of goo until he could breathe again, collapsing onto the ground when his vessel’s shaking arms couldn’t hold him any longer. Jack could see the entirety of Castiel’s true form for the first time- the broken wings and the hundreds of eyes, old as time. The animal heads and the quaking limbs, folded into a kind and wizened package. It was tragic, and it was beautiful. His vessel’s face was covered in tears, and Jack was struck by the fact that this was the first time he’d ever seen Cas cry.

He knelt down, swallowing hard, and placed a hand on Cas’ shoulder. He blinked the tears back from his own eyes.

“Hi, Cas,” he said, voice so soft he didn’t know if it had been heard.

“Jack.” Cas looked at him not with relief, but with panic. “What are you doing here? You have to leave. It’s not safe, the Empty-”

“It’s okay, Cas. I’m okay. And the entity- it’s not going to bother you anymore.”

Cas sat up, on Jack’s level now. He frowned, not understanding.

“You’re not dead again, are you?”

Jack smiled, a small ghost of a laugh escaping his lips. “No, I’m not. I have a lot to tell you, though.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he bit his lip to keep the tears in. Cas’ eyes searched his, a hand on Jack’s arm to hold them both steady. The moment realization hit, Castiel breathed out a soft “oh,” his eyes blowing wide.

“Jack, you’re… you’re the Lord.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I’m not anything special, and I’m not… I’m still just me.”

And Cas smiled, his eyes sad and yet the happiest Jack had seen since he’d made that godforsaken deal. Jack lost the battle with his emotions, feeling his face collapse into a mix of relief and sadness and fear and joy. Cas took him into his arms, both of them trembling but finding solace in the contact.

“You were always special, Jack,” Cas whispered. “And I am so, so proud of you.”

Jack shuddered, burying his face deeper into Castiel’s shoulder for just a moment before pulling back and looking him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to bring you back before, but I didn’t know how-”

“No, I’m sorry.” Cas gripped Jack’s shoulders, squeezing them before dropping his hands. As if to make sure Jack understood that he meant it. “I left at a very bad time, and I should have been there, to- to help with the fight-”

It was Jack’s turn to cut off the stream of apologies. “That’s not… I just really missed you.”

“Yeah, I missed you too.” Cas smiled, just a corner of his mouth ticking up. It was strange to see it on so many other mouths as well, but in a way the sight of his true form smiling too just made Jack feel all the warmer.

“I, um. I think I can fix these. Your wings.” Jack leaned forward, fingers brushing at the air where the wings hung mangled and twisted in another dimension, shimmering far outside of corporeal view. He pulled his arm back once he realized that Cas had stiffened. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up at all-

“Thank you.” The whisper caught Jack by surprise, but he nodded and sent out a gentle wave of grace to put Castiel’s wings back to the way they should be.

Cas stretched them, lines of tension that Jack had never noticed melting away.

“Thank you, Jack,” he said. He sounded almost reverent, and Jack… Jack didn’t want to be revered.

He stood, extending a hand to help Cas up with him.

“You’re welcome,” he said, trying for a smile. It faded with his next words as he glanced away, eyes toward what passed for downward in the Empty. “I’ve caused you enough pain. I’m glad I could finally take some of it away.”

“You didn’t bring me pain, Jack. You-” Cas shook his head. “You just brought me joy. And my death wasn’t your fault, either. I don’t want you carrying that burden.”

Jack bit his lip and nodded, wondering if he’d ever be able to believe that. He thought maybe, given enough time, he could get there. Eternity should be plenty of time to work on his self esteem, after all.

“Are you ready to go back to earth?” Jack clasped his hands in front of him, studying Cas carefully for his reaction.

He looked like he was on the verge of saying yes, but then he frowned, eyes narrowed as he looked at Jack. Something flickered over his face.

“You’re not coming.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. I can’t.” Jack shrugged. “I have too much to do. In all of those other universes, there’s so much damage that Chuck caused and I can fix. And before that, I want to see my mother. Maybe I can make Heaven better too, since it’s not really very.... heavenly.”

“No, it’s… it’s far from perfect.”

Jack sighed. “Yeah. And… I think this is where I’m supposed to be. I’ll miss Sam and Dean, but I shouldn’t be there to write their story like Chuck did. They deserve better than that.”

Cas nodded, taking it in. “Okay. I’ll stay with you.”

“What?” Jack felt his eyes go wide. He hadn’t wanted to say goodbye to Cas so soon after getting him back, of course, but he hadn’t dared do more than breathe a fleeting hope.

“I’ll stay with you. You said you wanted to fix Heaven. Don’t you think that’s my job, too?”

“No, no. I don’t want you to stay out of obligation. I want you to go and… and be happy,” Jack said, wringing his hands. Now that Cas could actually be happy, he should go and do it. Nothing else would make sense.

Cas sighed. Not a heavy sigh, but one of release. He looked up and around, breathing deeply, as if the words he was searching for lay in the nothing that surrounded them.

“I am happy,” he said at last. “I’m happy with you. Changing the afterlife -the world- for the better, side by side? It would be my privilege.”

Fresh tears sprang to Jack’s eyes, and he tried his best to keep them back.

“Are you sure? Sam, Dean-”

“I think-” Cas said, gently “-that there’s much I need to figure out regarding that. But I’ve… I’ve finally accepted myself, in spite of… well. A lot of things. And some time away to feel like myself before I face it sounds like it won’t be so bad at all. Besides- our family wouldn’t feel right without you there. We’d be missing a very important piece.”

Jack nodded. He knew Cas was being vague, probably because he wasn’t ready to talk about whatever it was that had happened in that dungeon. But Cas was looking out for himself, for once, and Jack was grateful. They could process everything together. They finally had the time.

“You’re really going to stay?”

Cas patted his shoulder. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Jack pitched forward into another hug, this one far less desperate than the last. This one was a promise- of safety, of teamwork, of trust. Of family.

After a while they pulled apart, standing together against the great expanse of nothing. They’d have to make a plan for finalizing the deal with the Empty, for renovating Heaven… they had a lot of work to do.

Cas tilted his head and looked into Jack’s eyes, catching on to the fact that Jack was deep in thought. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Jack smiled. No, he wasn’t alright. But he would be, and that was all that mattered. He had his father, and he had his mother to visit and universes to save. He was going to be good.

“I am now, Cas. I am now.”

#dadstielweek #spn fanfic #my fic #jack kline #castiel #the empty #dadstiel and nougat son #challenging y’all to find the two references to other shows that I snuck in here ;)#if you can I’ll be VERY impressed #kitkat writes

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songofclarity · 4 years

Text

The theory that Nie HuaiSang pushed Mo XuanYu to suicide, especially the theory that he killed Mo XuanYu as some kind of eye-for-an-eye revenge against Jin GuangYao for killing Nie MingJue, doesn't make any sense to me because Jin GuangYao never wanted Mo XuanYu alive to begin with. Jin GuangYao was afraid of Mo XuanYu before they even met. In fact, he was likely more afraid of Mo XuanYu than he had ever been afraid of Nie MingJue!

[Jin GuangYao,] “Do you think that I’m in a steady position, here at the LanlingJin Sect? Do you think that I can rise into power the moment Jin ZiXuan dies? Jin GuangShan would rather bring another illegitimate child back than want me to succeed him! You think that I should be afraid of nothing? Well I’m afraid of everything, even other people!” (Ch. 49, ERS)

So Nie HuaiSang getting rid of Mo XuanYu would have done Jin GuangYao a favor. I just can't fathom Nie HuaiSang doing Jin GuangYao's dirty work for him at any point in time after Nie MingJue’s death. After all, Jin GuangYao had done a fine job getting started destroying Mo XuanYu’s life without anyone else’s help.

However, before Mo XuanYu [could] achieve success in cultivation and inherit his father’s position, he was driven back.

On top of that, he was driven back shamefully.

Like adding frost to snow, aside from the event itself, when Mo XuanYu returned, he often behaved in a crazy manner, almost as if his life was scared out of him. (Ch. 2, ERS)

Jin GuangYao was already playing with the dangers of incest, but now he’s going to make it work for his benefit. Claiming Mo XuanYu was toying with incest was possibly the one and only thing Jin GuangShan could not have tolerated. Mo XuanYu could have had anyone he wanted! Jin GuangShan knows it best! But his own half-brother? Absolutely not. Mo XuanYu was so psychologically damaged by whatever happened to him that he can’t defend himself. And to the rest of the family, Jin GuangYao is nothing but the victim of Mo XuanYu’s perversion. Jin GuangYao becomes someone they defend from Mo XuanYu.

[Jin Chan, Jin Ling’s cousin], “Mo XuanYu, you still have the face to return?” (Ch. 47, ERS)

It’s a win-win for innocent A-Yao. But Mo XuanYu could always come back if he’s alive. Reputations can be repaired, especially if they were falsely damaged. Mo XuanYu dead? That would be much better, but it’s not a pressing matter once Jin GuangShan is dead and Jin GuangYao is Chief Cultivator.

But to Nie HuaiSang, Mo XuanYu is far more valuable alive. We only get a few hints of what Nie HuaiSang is thinking, and here’s one of them:

[Sisi,] “But after my savior heard about what happened to me, he decided not to let that pretentious, immoral man continue to fool the world.” (Ch. 85)

Mo XuanYu was just another one of Jin GuangYao’s victims. He was a witness to Jin GuangYao's crimes just like Sisi and Bicao. If Nie HuaiSang went to talk to Mo XuanYu as is commonly believed, the evidence points to him trying to get the dirt on Jin GuangYao. Sisi told Nie HuaiSang about the rape-murder of Jin GuangShan. Bicao revealed Jin GuangYao’s incestual relationship with Qin Su. Mo XuanYu, as well, can reveal Jin GuangYao's ties to practicing demonic cultivation.

This is important because the lack of this information drives part of the story. No one knew Jin GuangYao had a hand in demonic cultivation or the Stygian Tiger Seal until the end at Guanyin Temple. Because no one knew this, there were no other suspects except the Yiling Patriarch wrecking havoc at the Burial Mounds before the second siege, and the cultivation world moved just as Jin GaungYao wanted it to move. Jin GuangYao was able to continue pulling strings from the shadows with Su She.

Xue Yang might have been a slim follow-up after Mo XuanYu to pin Jin GuangYao’s connections down, but even Nie HuaiSang’s role with Yi City is tenuous at best. And then Lan WangJi both killed that evidence and Su She whisked it away via teleportation. Jin GuangYao had many crimes, but the malicious use of demonic cultivation he neatly evaded, just as he evaded having to admit to murdering Nie MingJue.

Again, Mo XuanYu was more more valuable to Nie HuaiSang alive than dead.

Let’s still go ahead with the idea that Nie HuaiSang went to Mo XuanYu to ask questions. What happened to Mo XuanYu at Koi Tower? What did Jin GuangYao do that drove Mo XuanYu insane? What demonic cultivation did Mo XuanYu learn from Jin GuangYao? Where is the entrance to Jin GuangYao's treasure room? How does one get into the treasure room?

Don’t forget that Nie HuaiSang is still looking for the rest of Nie MingJue's body at this point. All he has is an arm. Might Jin GuangYao be keeping Nie MingJue's body close to home? Is that why Nie HuaiSang can’t find him? And he’ll find out not much later that yes, he was partially correct. Nie HuaiSang’s reaction in the treasure room could very well be half and half. Half of him suspected as much, but it doesn't change how shocking or disgusting the reality of it is to the other half. The best lies are based on truth, and Nie HuaiSang showing a weak constitution when faced with horrible news and frightening encounters might not have been completely fake.

(Nie HuaiSang was afraid but he didn’t let fear stop him. It’s the one trait he shares with Jin GuangYao, although their means and ends are quite different.)

Nie MingJue’s head was likely in the treasure room when Mo XuanYu was reading Jin GuangYao’s demonic cultivation collection all those years ago. Mo XuanYu could have told Nie HuaiSang of this, except Mo XuanYu might not have been in his right mind to be telling anyone anything of value.

Worse case scenario here is that Nie HuaiSang, as a willing conversationalist about demonic cultivation, stirred Mo XuanYu up from whatever abused docility he'd succumbed to for years. Mo XuanYu was kept locked up and abused and treated like an animal. Now here is someone willing to talk to him like a real person. Just as Nie HuaiSang saved Sisi from her imprisonment, he could have very well have saved Mo XuanYu from his, but the results were wildly different.

Any hints or reveals that Nie HuaiSang is out for vengeance could stir such wishes in Mo XuanYu in turn, his own trauma provoked, his own need for justice inspired. Mo XuanYu moves forward with his revenge just as Nie HuaiSang is trying to move forward with his.

Perhaps Nie HuaiSang name drops Wei WuXian or perhaps he doesn’t, it doesn’t really matter. Mo XuanYu would already have known who is the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. Mo XuanYu already knows what evil spirit he needs to call upon for help. Demonic cultivation was likely the only thing he had left to make him feel empowered, and so Wei WuXian is the one who will take care to right all wrongs when no one else will.

Sadly, Jin GuangYao is not on the list of people Mo XuanYu wants revenge on -- because Jin GuangYao is already experienced at making himself look innocent. Mo XuanYu would have had no idea how wronged he was by his half-brother. So Mo XuanYu only wants the death of his immediate family. His immediate abusers.

But Mo XuanYu is missing something: knowing he needs to convey his wishes to Wei WuXian. Without it, Mo XuanYu’s sacrifice is in vain and the both of them die. Or that would have been their fate if Wei WuXian had not figured it out for himself in time.

We already know Jin GuangYao can put an extra piece into a cultivation technique, such as the Collection of Turmoil into Cleansing. It stands to reason that he is just as able to take a piece out of a cultivation technique.

After all, Mo XuanYu got the technique from him. The gap of this knowledge is thus a ticking time bomb just waiting for Mo XuanYu to give it a try and cut the wrong wire. Jin GuangYao also immediately knows and is quite happy to tell everyone the details of what Mo XuanYu did, despite finding out this is Wei WuXian in front of him barely thirty minutes ago and Mo XuanYu was banished years ago:

Jin GuangYao continued, “I’m sure that none of you know this, but back when XuanYu was still at Koi Tower, he had seen a copy of the YiLing Patriarch’s manuscript at my place. The manuscript recorded a dark technique that ‘sacrificed’ one’s body. With the price being the soul and the body, one could summon a powerful spirit to seek revenge in place of themself. Sect Leader Jiang wouldn’t be able to test it even if he hit him with a hundred more strikes. It’s because the person who used the technique sacrificed their body willingly. It doesn’t count as a possession at all!” [Ch. 50, ERS]

“I’m sure that none of you know this,” Jin GuangYao says, because this was all a plot of his own secret design. It benefits him now to reveal the truth of Mo XuanYu’s demise just as it doesn’t benefit him to ever reveal the truth of Nie MingJue.

But Mo XuanYu was as much a victim of Jin GuangYao as Nie MingJue. Jin GuangYao made sure they destroyed themselves on their own time rather than holding the blade himself.

Nie HuaiSang might not have been a holy avenger and mistakes were very likely made, but there is a lack of motive and evidence here that he ever wanted or sought Mo XuanYu’s death. Too much damage had already happened by the time Nie HuaiSang arrived on the scene. I can picture him throwing up his arms in despair and letting Nie MingJue’s arm go free onto this already crazy crime scene. Imagine the struggle the whole Lan Sect had had with the arm and now imagine Nie HuaiSang trying to manage it all on his own. He was not having a good time!

Mo Village was already a crime scene and now here was one more piece of evidence. The Lans knew inquiry whereas Nie HuaiSang did not. Let the Lans take the arm and find the rest of Nie MingJue for him. Let Nie HuaiSang continue to play innocent in front of Jin GuangYao. Let the arm claim more of Lan XiChen’s attention than Jin GuangYao.

But then Wei WuXian survived his resurrection trial and was taken in by Lan WangJi.

The next time Nie HuaiSang sees Mo XuanYu is at the Stone Castles, and by seeing Mo XuanYu, he knows immediately that the sacrifice worked.

But just because he knows and he saw doesn’t mean it was Nie HuaiSang’s doing, especially when Jin GuangYao’s bloody fingerprints were already encircling Mo XuanYu’s neck.

#nie huaisang #jin guangyao #mo xuanyu #nhs vs jgy #mdzs thoughts #thinking maybe nhs shouldn't be blindly accused of 1st degree murder #just for consideration lol #saying nhs killed mxy is so weird to me #nhs becoming jgy to defeat jgy feels uninspired #nhs is that meme where the man is like #do you think a depressed person could make this??#jgy was afraid and wanted power #nhs was afraid but he wanted justice #they are not the same person #you can tell how much i'm procrastinating irl #by how long these spur of the moment posts are lol

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katsidhe · 3 years

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15.20 Final Thoughts

Supernatural is over, and somehow, despite itself, it did the very best it could to please me. That was always going to be an impossible task. But truly, sincerely, that finale was as close to my desires as the show could ever bring itself to come, and so, so much closer than I ever dreamed it would dare.

I am so, so glad that no other regular characters were involved (Bobby aside, but he was brief). How better to encapsulate their own emptiness? How fundamentally fitting, than in the epilogue to their final battle, wherein the entire world beyond them was erased, the wider universe is merely set dressing for them to move through. And it was so quiet this way. This finale wasn’t overcrowded or rushed. It kept its own peace. And it preserved the tangible claustrophobia that 15.19 invoked: that tangled, lovely, solipsistic, toxic conviction that these are the only two people on earth that matter.

It’s unclear exactly how much time passed between 15.19 and 15.20. I like to think it’s been at least a year, given that they’ve settled into routine and that their grief seems less fresh. (Although yes, the concept of Dean dying on his very first hunt without a resurrection available is hilarious, I must confess.) Their calm domesticity, their peace, was lovely to watch (Sam kicking the laundry machine! Sam with wet hair! Sam running! Sam cooking, Sam looking a little less bulky than usual, and happy!) But man, it really is Dean’s world, isn’t it? Even the DOG, which really, really, really could reasonably have been primarily Sam’s, was Dean’s dog first and foremost. Then on Dean’s say-so, they get in Dean’s car to drive to a pie festival for Dean. Sam is perfectly content to go along with all of it.

As if we hadn’t gotten enough delightful fanservice, we also got one last scene of Sam threatening to torture someone to death. :) what a king.

I love that Dean died to an OSHA violation while fighting a random loose end from season 1 (which, by the way, I CALLED IT, I am so proud of myself). It’s perfectly mundane. I truly and deeply do not understand anyone complaining that Dean should have gone out in a way that’s more epic. He’s been there, done that, guys, and remember how miserable it was? Now there’s no cosmic safety net. Dean died in a broken down old barn, saving some kids. Moments like these are when Dean is at his best, at his most fundamentally sympathetic: when he’s not trying to control the shape of the universe or dictate righteousness or let his anger drive himself down into a destructive spiral. He’s just putting his money where his mouth is. He’s not making a broad moral statement. He’s simply putting his life on the line to defend someone who needs defending. It is not an unworthy end. It’s so much better than going out to, god forbid, God.

Did Dean earn a lifetime of peace? The concept of just desserts is fraught. But I also don’t think it’s something Dean wanted. He wanted to keep killing things in tetanus-infested barns until he died. He got what he wanted. And while the arc of his wants has adapted over the years, MOTW hunting is fulfilling for him.

Dean’s deathbed speech was, oh man. It got me good. Like many of the things I loved in this episode, it was quiet. No desperation, no revising history (or not too much, anyway). Just, “stay with me, please. I love you. Tell me it’s okay.”

The quiet of Sam’s grief, alone in the bunker. How still his face is, until for a little bit it crumples again, and then it comes back and goes still. He’s not trying to control his reactions or press back against his sorrow. There is no work to do, nothing to avenge, no one to find, nothing to defeat. He is alone, and the washes of visible grief simply come and go in waves that he doesn’t try to fight or force.

I need the gif of him flinching at the toaster. His startle reactions are my favorite thing. He’s alone underground, there is not a living soul for miles and miles, he’s just buried his brother, not for the first time, but this time, he knows, for the last. And the goddamn toaster goes off and he cannot control the way his heart leaps up into his throat and the way every one of his muscles tightens.

Sam grows old. Sam. Grows old. Sam grows old! SAM GROWS OLD.

Ohhh my God, Sam grows old. Without Dean! Without hunting! Without Cas! With people outside that claustrophobic world, beyond the four tight walls of SPN, beyond the people approved by Dean and by Fandom, who give him peace and love and fulfillment! SAM GOT OUT. Even with the truly terrible wig the image brings me to actual tears. I cannot believe SPN would allow him to have this. I cannot believe that the show let him be happy without Dean. I want to read the set of novelizations about Sam’s recovery.

Of course this was the only way for Sam to get unwound, and of course it had to happen offscreen in flashes. Thank god for the ambiguity. There’s so much potential there, years and years, we were simply told: and at some point Sam’s life gets better, at some point his mental health improves and he feels safe enough to start a family, with someone, and at some point he has a child, and he dies peacefully, he dies loved and with people who love him, and dammit I’m getting weepy again.

Sam quit hunting. Not in a sudden jolt. We see him leaving the bunker on another job. But when he leaves the bunker, he leaves for good. He has so much knowledge, but he does not preserve the Men of Letters. He does not honor their legacy of extermination and experimentation. Maybe he gives someone else the keys, for the books. Or maybe he’s digitized it all, and maybe it’s done.

Maybe his wife is Eileen, or maybe it’s Amelia, or maybe it’s Piper or Cara or maybe it’s someone new. Maybe it’s not even a woman. And maybe she’s a hunter, but I hope she isn’t, and when Sam tells her, haltingly, in fits and starts, the bare outline of the truth, she looks at him and she believes him. And she understands the shape of the trauma he carries, even if Sam can’t quite speak the details, and maybe Sam goes to therapy. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he wakes in pain and fear for many years, but over time, it dulls.

Sam’s son is still a young man when Sam is on his deathbed, probably in at least his eighties. Think about the mountain Sam had to climb to reach that point. How many years and years of work did it take before Sam felt safe enough to want a child? How long for him to gently conquer his terror at the legacy his blood might carry: Lucifer and Azazel are dead, he knows this, but how long before he lets himself believe it enough to permit the risk? And then he raises his child, not in fear and loneliness, but with love and support and care. And he makes sure his son is protected, that he knows to salt his thresholds and ward against demons, but his son will not suffer the way he suffered.

Maybe he untangles his thoughts about Dean, maybe he learns that to feel angry with his brother is not to betray him or to dishonor his memory, maybe he comes to a more complex understanding of their relationship. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he simply enshrines Dean, and Dean’s memory becomes ever more golden and untarnished, and the Impala becomes truly an altar. The details of how Sam carries Dean with him—the watch, the car, the absurdly large photos, his son’s name—perhaps these are played straight, and perhaps Sam never finds a more nuanced love. In the meta sense I think we are certainly meant to think this. We are meant to see Dean deified here, canonized into a saint. We are meant to view Sam’s fifty more years of life as worship, as a dedication and an offering.

This is the long shadow of the finale. These are the things untouched by necessity and by design: this is Dean’s apology in 15.18, this is Sam not wanting an apology, and not wanting to hear Dean offer one. This difficult work was always and inevitably going to be elided. But there is so much time, decades and decades, offscreen, for Sam to come to a quieter peace.

I think he can do it.

I think Sam can do anything.

I’m crying again.

I really didn’t think I would cry much about the finale. I thought I would cry at the concept of the show ending, but not at what the ending was. I didn’t think any details would actually affect me. But then Sam got old. I am truly and genuinely hung up on the canonical image of Sam finding peace. Good god. He had GLASSES. Help.

My chief complaint (aside from that absolutely awful Carry On cover, why oh why, they should have just played the original again), if I felt at all like complaining at the moment, would be how happy this ending is. But I can’t begrudge Sam that. I can’t even get too mad at the scene that I was SO SURE I would despise: that of Sam and Dean content in a Heaven that is now apparently Great, Actually (even though a prison dimension with an open floor plan is still a prison dimension, but hey, I guess we humans can’t leave earth either). Supernatural clearly wanted Sam and Dean to not be facing down an abyssally bleak afterlife, and I think I’d be complaining about the lack of bleakness a whole lot more if it didn’t have the (perhaps unintended??) side effect of giving Sam even more freedom from Dean than SPN already deigned to give him. Sam isn’t in a shared cell with Dean. He can be with his friends and his wife and his son.

One of the fundamental questions of SPN is, would Dean ever let Sam go? And it’s a question that the bulk of s13-15 has rendered moot with Sam’s growing passivity, and one that 15.20 neatly dodged. And I’m glad it did, because I wouldn’t have liked whatever 15.20 had to say on the matter. This deflection feels true to the spirit of what the show has become.

It was impossible for Sam to find peace while Dean was still alive. And on its own that kind of says everything, doesn’t it? And Sam is still forever denied the peace he truly longed for. Sam didn’t want death to force Dean’s hand. Sam wanted Dean to want to let him go. But the only way Sam and Dean could heal is apart. The potential of their relationship on earth becoming untangled is forever precluded, explictly. And yet Sam’s freedom is validated, Sam is allowed what he sought in season 1 and season 8, Sam is something beyond a hunter and Dean’s brother, and the show let him be, the show let him grow.

Supernatural said Sam Rights, and the world shook.

#spn spoilers #sam and dean #15.20 #final thoughts #sam and romance #sam and peace #just leave me here to die #I did not realize how relieved I'd be #I do not believe how much tension has left me #at the realization that I liked this ending #and of COURSE there are so many people complaining about sam's peace #but guess what!!!#this isn't season 8!#this time the show agrees with ME!#SAM HAS riGHTs!

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inkandpen22 · 3 years

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Beautiful Angel of Darkness (8/8)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: Mild fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

Part Summary: Y/N falls apart after Spike disappears again and can’t find the way back until something snaps Y/N out of it

A/N: FINAL PART!!! Woohoo the first end to one of my series! I hope you all enjoy :)

Masterlist

A week later...

Emptiness. All I feel is emptiness. For the last six months, I've been running toward finding my new purpose in this life. Then, one day Spike appears and knocks me off course. The walls and foundation I built grumbled into nothing. I am nothing. I feel nothing. In his absence, I'm nothing.

There's a knock on my front door for which I ignore.

"Y/N!" I hear Angel call from the other side of the door. "Y/N, answer the door."

For the last week, I've laid in my bed waiting for some absolution. I stare out my window from dusk until dawn, yet nothing happens. Upon my silence, Angel wiggles the nob to learn that it was unlocked the whole time. He storms into my apartment calling my name until he appears in the doorway to my bedroom.

"Y/N, no one has heard from you in days," he sighs as he approaches my bedside.

My eyes remain fixated on my window. I watch as the branches on the tree wave in the wind, leaves fall from it with each passing breeze. Taking a seat on the edge of my bed, Angel releases a deep sigh.

"Spike returned to Sunnydale," he tells me quietly.

"I know," I speak for the first time in days.

"He...um... " Angel stammers as he reaches into his coat pocket to reveal a piece of paper. "He stopped by the office before he left a few days ago. He wanted me to give you this. I was reluctant but Fred insisted."

Gently, he places the folded-up paper on the edge of my bed beside my hand. I don't react, instead, I remain as I am, as I've been for the last few days.

Angel brushes his hand over my cheek and rises from my bed. "I'm here if you need me," he assures quietly. He starts toward the door but stops in the archway. "He's not worth your pain, Y/N," he mutters over his shoulder. "I'll be back later to check on you."

Once I hear him enter the hall, I lift the piece of paper and begin to unfold. Soon, Spike's handwriting is revealed on the small parchment. It's evident it was a last-minute decision, being on an official Wolfman & Hart labeled paper.

My Love,

I leave Los Angeles without you with great despair, a sense of pain I haven't felt in centuries. You are my dark angel. I'm nothing without you. My soul belongs to you.

I will love you always and forever.

Yours,

Spike

Memories flash across my mind like seconds of light. My entire human life was superficial and ordinary. Then, I met Spike and I felt instantly that he was my dark angel sent to lead me through life. One, in particular, stands out to me, the moment I knew wholeheartedly that I was where I was meant to be.

“Okay, one more time,” he so kindly does it again.

I huff, growing slightly frustrated that I’m missing it and losing my streak.

An IL word, how hard can it be?

“Is it a phrase?” I question aggressively. It’s the one solution.

He hums, a mischievous smirk appearing on his lips.

To help me figure it out, I begin to name the letters out loud.

“I, L, O, V…” I stop saying them, but Spike continues writing out the letters.

Slowly, I turn onto my side and Spike’s hand slides to my waist. A faint smile remains on his lips as he brings his fingers to my temple and brushes my hair back. His eyes search my face with such admiration.

“I love you,” he reveals quietly between us.

A breathless laugh escapes my lips as I leap to wrap my arms around him. He falls onto the bed with laughter. I climb on top of him, utterly exploding with happiness.

“You love me?!” I question for positivity.

He snickers, amused by my reaction. “Don’t believe me?”

He sits up, resting against the headboard, and grips my waist. “Yes, Y/N, I love you! I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you!”

I cup his face, pressing my lips to his. I can’t help but smile against the kiss. I want to make this moment last forever. I break away, realizing I haven’t said it back yet.

“Oh! I love you too! I love you so much!” I rush out.

He smiles brightly, “I was hoping you would.”

His hand wraps around the back of my neck and he brings me in for a gentle kiss. I’ve fallen under his spell, he’s utterly immaculate. Every moment with him is magical. I want to make up for every minute we spent apart before we met. As long as Spike’s mine, nothing bad can ever happen to us.

We rest our foreheads against one another, starring at each other’s eyes.

“From now until forever,” he promises me.

“Forever,” I repeat the vow, meaning it wholeheartedly.

God, I love him so much. My entire world is him. He’s the sun, the moon, everything. I will love him for eternity.

As if resurrected and given a second chance, I rise from my bed and hurry to get dressed. I gather a bag of a few items that I can fit and rush down the hall to my living room. When I get out there, Angel is sitting in the armchair on the phone. When he sees me enter the room, he hangs up quickly.

"Y/N?" He first says with confusion, then with seriousness. "Y/N! Where are you going?" He urgently questions as he flies up from his position.

"Sunnydale." I grab my keys off the side table and march toward the door.

Angel follows me like a shadow to the door as I swing it open. "Are you crazy?!"

I chuckle wickedly and glance over my shoulder at the vampire. "Absolutely mad," I wink as I walk off.

_______________________________________

From atop the mausoleum, I watch as Spike returns from the Bronze. Even after almost a year, Spike hasn't changed his routine. I suppose I should be thankful since it made locating him much easier. He walks with a sense of gloom about him, instead of the usual confidence and lack of care. I smirk as I leap down from the roof onto the leaf-covered grass. Spike halts and whips his head around to investigate the sudden thud. I linger in the shadows and out of sight to his annoyance.

"Who's there?!" He barks and awaits a response as he spins around. When he doesn't receive one, he huffs. "Whoever it is, it's Halloween! Take the night!"

He starts to march off toward his tomb and I follow a few yards behind. It's sort of ironic now that I think about it. He must've done this when we first met. He hunted me like prey, lingering in the shadows. I felt his presence and now he feels mine. It's funny how the roles have reversed. He found me and now I must find me.

"I said back off!" Spike snaps as he stops dead in his tracks. "We don't hunt on Halloween!"

"That's a shame," I chuckle lightly as I hide. "Halloween was always my favorite..."

"Y/N?" Spike mutters to himself, unsure if it's real.

I emerge from behind a nearby tomb and approach him stealthily. His crystal eyes meet mine in awe.

"Here I am," I smirk.

"What are you doing here?" He questions quietly.

I circle him with a mischievous grin as he did when we first met. Our little game of cat and mouse continues, except this time I'm the big bad cat.

"Some blonde, problematic, North London vampire left me this note, would you happen to know anything about that?" I tease.

I stand behind him, gliding my fingertips across his back. He inhales sharply with a hiss at my touch. The reaction makes me giggle.

"Perhaps," he answers, his voice a tad shaky.

"I read it. Quite short, but there was something about it...The words made something snap inside my head. It was like I was dreaming and rose again," I describe the experience.

"Is that so?" He plays along and I can feel his body relax.

"It was like someone turned on a light." I pause to whisper in his ear, "a sweet cure."

"And now?" He presses, filled with curiosity.

I step to stand before him and I meet his beautiful eyes directly. They've haunted me for months and I finally have them starring into mine again.

"Nothing else matters," I tell him.

Hesitantly, he reaches up and caresses my cheek with furrowed brows. "You've come back to me?"

I nod, leaning into his touch.

"I've always loved you," he confesses breathlessly.

"I know... and I never stopped," I confess softly in return as my eyes fall shut to ponder the sensation of his hand.

"You and me forever?" He questions urgently as he cups my face.

I nod gently and bring my hand to cover his. "All time."

The edge of his lips curves upward to a light smirk as he leans down and brings them to meet mine. I'm electrified by the feeling and am reminded that my place in the world is with him. For all eternity.

________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @currently-obsesed-with-spike @mx-pibbles @shy-ginger-in-the-graveyard

#btvs fanfic #btvs imagine #btvs #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy summers #buffy #spike #spike fanfic #Spike x Buffy #spuffy

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joe-maristopher · 3 years

Text

«WandaVision»: 3. Wanda, dear, do we have a problem?

Boom! We have a mention of Pietro, Ultron, Shakespeare (ah, Vision's an ntellectual), neighbors with a slight horror in their eyes, unjustified speed of events, as well as the subtext "Wanda in her world is a king and the god". And yes, that awesome soap ads! The slogan is a reference to Wanda's newfound abilities, I think. I keep my eyes on Agnes and prepare an invitation for her to go to the evil characters' bench. You can't be sure of anything, but who knows, she is able use the situation for her own purposes and be a helper of Mephisto.

Let's talk about the kids and the speed of everything.

I've never been a fan of Billy and Tommy in the first place. I don't understand all the excitement associated with them, and I remember that everything ended after their appearence... badly. Besides. I've always wondered why Wanda rode into the magical wilds and didn't think/want to solve the problem any other way. Adoption, for example. Donor sperm. Something else. Why was it necessary to create such problems, taking pieces of Mefisto´s soul, and thereby laying a huge dynamite under her family?

Let's say, our Wanda goes with a different vector, without the insane desire of a crazy momma-wannabe, but the children are still demonic? Playing with Mephisto's shadow isn't for nothing, is it?

I can't help but notice that Wanda's pregnancy in the comics also appeared suddenly. I might have forgotten something, because I was laughing so hard while reading the pages, but it was like this, the quotes are not accurate.

Wanda: I WANT A REAL FAMILY WITH KIDS. WANTWANTWANT!

The magic poof!

And Wanda is on the eve of her confinement. I don't remember Vision's reaction...

Our Vision was as surprised as I was, because in normal life, it does not happen, even if you are a synthesoid (five points to Marvel for mentioning this term! Finally! We waited for the long time!). I felt like I was watching the Sims with their woohoo and three-day pregnancy. It was all very fast, and I couldn't even blink. I didn't like that part, honestly. Something is missing. I also don't like that Marvel didn't focus much on Wanda and Vision, and instead our characters existed for fast-paced development, plot tools for introducing the twins, and Geraldine-Monica's "deportation" beyond the bubble. In other words, long periods of time are reduced to the limit.

A small question. The child is already doing magic (and Wanda calmly allows)?

Creepy moment. Let's talk about Vision again.

I thought that my screen glitched or the cat walked on the keyboard, so I didn't notice... Wanda, we have a real problem... And a new question. In the opinion for the first two series, I posted a list of the questions and now it gonna be expanded. We're still walking in the fog.

So... Vision is an illusion? Highly likely! Who would give us a resurrected Vision, right? Marvel won't let us be happy, and neither will Wanda.-_-

But if Vision was an illusion, controlled, a Wanda's puppet, then why did he even begin to think about what was happening, to understand that something was happening? Why? And how many times has this actually happened, off-screen? Fic-writers, let's go! And I'm probably going with you.

I also remember Vision's face when their dinner went wrong. So what are you, Vision? And by the way, how much control do you have? The feelings are your own, aren't they? Yes, Marvel?! Don't mess with me here. Don't make the shippers angry, they're already traumatized by the comic book versions of Wanda and Vision.

A lyrical digression.

There is one more thing that I want to touch, connected with all above. A certain Twitter user previously guessed or knew the names by which Wanda and Vision will be in the series. Before the release of the series, I ask you to note. I'm talking about Illusion and Glamour. Back then no one took it seriously, but after the release of episodes, the account began to be studied almost under a microscope. There is a long history with the renaming of acc, creating new acc with the same info, it's not the point. The same acc wrote that what we see isn't Vision, but Wonder Man, who thinks he is Vision..

I have a confession. I can't stand Wonder Man and everything that goes with him, including his shenanigans with Wanda. I just hate this stuff. Who doesn't know: Wonder Man and Vision have a connection in the comics, Wonder Man's brainwaves formed the basis of Vision's, correct me if I am wrong. So, technically, they're kind of brothers. Difficult, you may say? It's comics, kids! In short, if it really turns out to be so — I will consider it a personal insult. I'm sorry, but I love Vision and I watch the show with him, not with someone else.

Also, in general, Marvel owed us one moment, and it's good if they remembered about it and give a serial explanation: for all the years of Endgame, you did not try to do anything with the Vision's body? Where is it? In what condition? Tony forgot and didn't remember Vision?

Screw it!

Okay, okay, I've calmed down. I return to the subject and stop burning with righteous anger.

Illusion or not, we know from the trailers that Vision will posibly receive an information about his death. I see how it can go: It turns out that Vision learns the truth, Wanda is not there to stop him, he decides to find out everything from Wanda, but the moment is not very good, because the agents of S. W. O. R. D doing their job, and Wanda is already in the berserk mode... And it ends badly.

Creepy moment. A sad moment. Give Wanda some cocoa and a warm blanket. Please.

That was full of pain. Wanda could try and run from her memories, or force herself to forget them, but they are coming back with suspicious questions from a stranger, with jewelry on someone's neck. Wanda's upset, the neighbors ara glitching (to Vision´s concern), and under the iceberg of family life with two newborns and a lullaby for them, there are the abyss, hiding... Creepy and painful.

I am kinda dissaponted with the 3rd episode, but still enjoyed some moments and still want to save Wanda from this darkness.

#wandavision #scarlet vision #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #vision #marvel #mcu #disney+#marvel comics #wonder man #paul bettany #elizabeth olsen

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verobatto · 4 years

Text

Destiel Chronicles

Vol. LXXIX

It was a love story from the very beginning.

All For You (Part II)

(12x09)

Hello everyone! I'm here again with another meta from this series.

This time I'm gonna talk about episode 9 from season 12 "First Blood".

The episode is a picture of Cas' fears and insecurities. We have a face to face with his depression. But also is a prelude to his dead.

I failed

When you rewatch the episode knowing Cas is going to die and go to the Empty, what officer Camp says to Dean in the maximum security jail takes another relevance, and we can spot s huge foreshadow of what the Empty will mean to Castiel.

CAMP: See, when I leave, that door closes, and it stays closed, and you stay in the dark. Now, maybe that doesn’t sound so bad. But after a month? A year? You spend enough time staring at these walls, just you and all that nothing, you’ll get so crazy to talk, to see someone real, you’ll tell me exactly what I need. You’ll tell me with a smile.

Taking the symbolism in all these words, is quite a forced meditation. You and the nothing. An introspection, the loneliness, this will be Cas in the Empty. Cas will face himself, by himself I mean his fears, his insecurities, his depression. That's why the Empty will take his own form. And that way the Empty will be helping Cas to face his own darkness. Camp is using the nothing, and darkness as a weapon to break man and make them talk, but the Empty will use it to break Castiel and put him back to sleep, with a huge difference, it won't brake Cas but will make him stronger.

We will have a first dialogue between Cas and Mary, in which Mary will make Cas responsible for loosing his sons. But Castiel will replied pointing at Mary's responsibility too, and the woman will end up saying, they're both guilty.

MARY: You left them.

CASTIEL: No, I… Dean told me to go. The woman--

MARY: The one you lost?

CASTIEL: I didn’t. I… I thought that she--

MARY: Stop making excuses.

Mary is that voice of guilty in Castiel's head, making him suffer and being more depressed. Like someone inside of him telling him all the things he did wrong, another foreshadow of the Empty facing him in the darkness.

MARY: Why… if they needed help, why didn’t they call me?

CASTIEL: You were out.

MARY: [sighs] How did we let this happen, Castiel?

Mary takes the responsibility too here. She recognizes her own mistakes too. Because is not just Cas'fault.

Another picture of Castiel's depression is how deep he felt he couldn't solve a case, and how coming back from the Empty will give him more strenghts and more confidence in himself to solve cases by himself.

But in the meantime, we have another sad picture of his depression...

CASTIEL: I saw it on the news and I thought, that’s the sort of thing Sam and Dean would investigate. They would roll into town, save the day, kill the monsters. But with them gone… I tried to work the case. I tried. But… I don’t know what I did wrong. I… I asked questions, but maybe they were the wrong people, or the wrong questions, and I just-- I never found it. Never found the monster. Never even got close. And three more women died before I left town. Before I ran away.

He's calling himself here a coward, by using the words 'running away', and he names his failures, pointing at how important are Dean and Sam to the world. Words he will repeat at the end of this episode after killing Billie.

MARY: So we go back. You and me.

CASTIEL: No, no. I'd only get in your way.

And now Castiel is calling himself useless.

From Longing in the dark to cosmic consequences

The scene with Dean in the jail that cuts to Cas sitting in the bunker, in the middle of the darkness, is a prelude too at what Cas in the Empty and Dean longing for him in real life will be, but in reverse. The longing.

Gif credit @blueredeye2

When Dean and Sam die and then resurrect, and then Dean calls Castiel. They pictured a phone ringing alone in the bunker. A failed first attempt, but then, Castiel picks up. This could be a foreshadow of how Dean will pray to Chuck and Cas to get him back, but it won't work at first... Helped with the lovers longing and some magic from a nephilim, it will work the second attempt.

The first person Dean calls after be or from the jail is CASTIEL, NOT MARY, BUT CASTIEL. This is very relevant because it's showing us that evidently, Dean was longing strongly for his angel.

And Cas not being able to find Dean and Sam shows us that my theory about how his grace lowers when he's depressed. There's an important connection between Castiel's feelings with his powers.

Now, let's check that phone call...

DEAN: Cas.

CASTIEL: Dean?

DEAN: Hey, buddy. Long time.

This denotes Dean missed him.

CASTIEL: What… What happened? Wh-- where are you?

DEAN: You wouldn’t believe me, and I have no clue. Uh…

Dean is hiding their deal with Billie, Sam didn't expect he would do that to Cas...

SAM: You didn’t tell him?

DEAN: No.

Dean only said they're running out of time. To make Cas to hurry.

The world needs you.

I laughed so hard because when those agents talked with Dean by phone, this line appeared...

DEAN: Well, what we have here is a failure to communicate.

Okay, foreshadow of Destiel misscomunication of the whole season 13/14 and 15! We should know it! 🤣

But also, notice how Dean is avoiding to talk with Sam about the deal, about who will go with Billie, of course because we know who will offer himself willingly to die for everyone: Dean.

So, to Dean, there's nothing to talk about.

Let's talk about the reunion. The reactions (oh yes, we are gonna talk about reactions a lot here) when Cas found them, Dean is like in awe to see him, and the one hugging him first is Sam. A beautiful hug and a beautiful scene. Dean didn't expect Cas to be there, that's the only explanation to his reaction. Then he goes for his hug, and Castiel's face always break my heart... That angel was very sad and depressed in this season. Damn.

Gif credit @spnsmile

Now, let's talk about the car, because Dean is the first born, and sorry for the little brothers here, but first born goes in the front seat with the father/mother driving hahahahaa. And yes, I'm a first born and I know very well my rights.

But Dean is in the back seat this time... Why? Because his angel is in the back seat, you know? And he is about to die? Yes, little detail. So there's this head canon out there, where people say Dean was about to confess something or to say goodbye to his angel and even that he held his hand over there... IDK, I like these ideas but... I will just keep the one I have clues for... Because Dean confessing his love will take a lot of work. We are still waiting for it, right?

Gif set credit @haloless 👇

But, I do believe, he was trying to talk about Billie and the deal, and we failed at doing it. That's why the longing stare, and Cas puzzled face saying "What's going on?" And Dean "Damn, I couldn't use my words, again."

And then we have Billie, and Mary trying to go with her, and then Cas kills the reaper.

And cosmic consequences, and Cas speech that conquered each Winchester's heart over there, but the reactions are different, so, let's check his speech...

DEAN: Cas, what have you done?

CASTIEL: What had to be done. You know this world-- this sad, doomed little world-- it needs you. It needs every last Winchester it can get, and I will not let you die. I won’t let any of you die. And I won’t let you sacrifice yourselves. You mean too much to me. To everything. Yeah, you made a deal. You made a stupid deal, and I broke it. You’re welcome.

Gif set credit @inacatastrophicmind 👇

Okay, Cas is too cute, but faces people's, FACES, Sam and Mary are very touched. But Dean??? Damn... Dean is so, so in love. Is like if we could read his mind, yelling : "YES CAS, YOU MEAN TO MUCH FOR ME TOO, MARRY ME RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW, LET'S MAKE A LITTLE NEPHILIM."

The thing is, again, we have different reactions, writers are showing us the difference between ROMANTIC LOVE (Dean) and FAMILY LOVE (Sam and Mary).

To Conclude:

This episode gave is a sad picture of Castiel's sadness and depression.

The foreshadow of the Empty, and how Cas will face himself, and will come back stronger from the darkness.

It also shows us the difference between family love and romantic love, and one interesting hint about what Destiel misscomunication will be.

Hope you liked this one, see you in the next meta!

Tagging @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weird-dorky-little-deana @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @authorsararayne @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @isthisdestiel @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @horsez2 @qanelyytha

@destielle @agusvedder @spnsmile @shippsblog @robot-feels @superlock-in-the-tardis @superduckbatrebel @2musiclover2 @nickelkit @anon-non2 @cea1996

If you want to be added or removed from this list, just let me know.

If you want to read the previous metas From this season, here you have the links:

Vol. LXXV, LXXVI, LXXVII and LXXVIII.

Buenos Aires, September 15th 2020 5:38 AM

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steebs-nerdy-corner · 4 years

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Weird Avatar Theory

So after the two Kyoshi novels have swirled around a bit in the old noggin, simmered next to the show and the comics, a bit of an out there theory came to me. Its not something groundbreaking, but it might be a new way to look at the Avatar most by now seem to view as the most milquetoast.

We learned from the novels that Avatars having travelling companions, like Aang did, is not only normal, but fairly traditional. Yangchen had them (two even laying down their lives for her), Kuruk had them, and of course Kyoshi had them. There was even a fair bit of prestige in being an Avatar’s companion: Kuruk’s companions earned fame and infamy throughout the world, and Kyoshi was excited to be an Avatar companion, even briefly, for the mistaken Avatar Yun.

On reflection, there seems to be only one Avatar who doesn’t have a list of travelling companions: Roku. He had bending teachers, we know, and we even hear that many of them become lifelong friends. Thing is, from his flashbacks they seem to be framed as static teachers rather than people who travelled with him across the world.

This might easily just be a case of retconning and oversight years after the series ended, but it got me to thinking... what if Roku was the first Avatar in memory to not have travelling companions? What could be the cause? And how might that have affected his views on the world?

If this was the case, I think the problem might have started with Kuruk. Those who’ve read the novels know there was a lot going on behind the scenes in Kuruk’s life, but in the public view he was seen as a bit of a shiftless Avatar. He had a band of incredible companions with him, powerful benders in their own right and shrewd political minds, yet he seemed to laze about in his 33 years of life, coasting off of Yangchen’s peace (we know this isn’t true but run with it). In the public eye, it probably looked like even though Kuruk was surrounded by companions any Avatar would be proud of, they did nothing to temper his excesses. These were his friends, his closest confidantes, and yet they could barely manage to drag him to important meetings and prop him up so he could pretend to care about what Fire Nation shipping lanes weren’t doing so well this year.

Then we come to Our Lady of Perpetual Asskicking, Kyoshi. An Avatar who mingled with daofei bandits, who swore the oaths to never make an honest living, who not only dragged an otherwise honorable Fire Nation soldier into the shadows, but even seemed to involve an airbender, someone most of the world seems to think as inherently sacred, into schemes of espionage and brutality. Now, you know and I know there’s way more to that story, but I’m more approaching this from what the public would see. We never got a good look at the public reactions to Kyoshi working with bandits, but I have to figure this would come to light sooner or later. She wasn’t exactly subtle about working with them in the first book and I can’t imagine she got more subtle when she contacted them about fighting Yun in the second. Whether it was word from the aftermath at the battle at the Avatar mansion, or sightings from the raid that resurrected the Yellow Neck bandits, or from the duel that scattered them, I figure at some point it would come to light that Kyoshi’s companions, even Rangi, were sworn bandits.

Finally, 200 something years later, we come to Roku, who gets to look back on the past two Avatars and see companions that were competent politicians and benders but poor motivators to the most powerful person on the planet, or were outright wanted criminals who were not above good old fashioned murder of rightful authorities. I wonder if, by that point, the Fire Sages had told him that the idea of travelling companions to the Avatar was a bit outdated. If they couldn’t motivate Kuruk and threatened to corrupt Kyoshi, what made them better than standard, static teachers in the Four Nations?

And so, all this holding true (and again I completely understand this could just be a big misreading of the situation), Roku would have went off on his Avatar training alone. He would have made his friends, of course, we know Gyatso, Sud, and presumably his waterbending teacher made the list, but I don’t think they would have formed as strong a bond with him as past Avatars would have with their travelling companions. There’s a special kind of bond when you’re really travelling with someone, after all: you’ve bickered, you’ve shared incredible experiences, you’ve shared incredible lows, you’ve seen each other at your most vulnerable, and you’ve been there for each other when the rest of the world is miles away. Roku never got that, if this is the case. He just had teachers and friends he left behind once he got the hang of his bending abilities.

The only constant would have been Sozin.

Even before Roku knew he was the Avatar, these two were damn near twin brothers. They shared a birthday, they trained together, lived together, probably ate together, maybe attended festivals together. We never really see mention of other Fire Nation acquaintances of Roku, and we know he was a shy boy from his interactions with Ta Min, so it may be that Sozin was Roku’s only friend. Even after leaving on his Avatar journey, Roku would likely be reminded of Sozin every time he looked in a mirror or down at a pond. Without the strong friendships a travelling companion would introduce, Sozin would well and truly be the most constant friendship Roku would have. We make jokes about Roku not killing a genocidal tyrant because they were besties, but after being a constant presence in Sozin’s life since becoming the Avatar, likely the only one until Ta Min, is it any wonder that he stayed his hand?

On top of that, I think this might have affected his opinions on the Four Nations. From the comics I think we get a good feeling that Roku saw the Four Nations as very distinct lines on a map. Earth Kingdom here, Fire Nation here, Water Tribes here, and Air Nomads here give or take a few. But we know from the books and from side materials that the world of Avatar just wasn’t that clean cut. People immigrated and emigrated, people mingled, people intermarried, it was a mixing world long before the era of Republic City. We even see this in Kyoshi’s story: she finds a highly skilled waterbending teacher in the Earth Kingdom and even duels one of the most infamous firebenders on the planet who had gained his infamy by leading Earth Kingdom daofei. Though certainly not ideal, I think Kyoshi had realized what Aang realized centuries later: people are people, and the Four Nations are really just that, lines on a map. Roku? I don’t think he ever got to experience that cultural mingling. He only ever saw the people of the Four Nations in the centers of their power, be it Agna Quel’a or the Southern Air Temple. I really wonder if that helped form his rigidity that we see Aang struggle with, the idea that cultures should never mix or mingle, that nations can’t work together. I wonder what decisions that might have led to in his life, if that might have shaped the world to be more isolated... Earth Kingdom here, Fire Nation here, everyone in their corners, no mixing. Perfect breeding ground for nationalism.

Or I could be completely wrong and this’ll all get amended in a future outpouring of content, one or the other.

#avatar the last airbender #avatar the legend of korra #shadow of kyoshi #rise of kyoshi #atla #lok #roku #kuruk #kyoshi #aang #korra #yangchen

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trixareforeveryoneaq · 4 years

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Tell the Wolves I’m Home

For the Daenerys Resurrection Week Event Day 5 (I don’t know if this event is still going on, but whatevs. I wrote this so here you go) Thanks @adecila for the moodboard

Can also be found here on ao3 if you desire to leave a comment.

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It was almost six years after he left the Wall with the Free Folk before Jon’s past caught up with him. He kept his distance with certain aspects of the Free Folk in regards to taking a woman or having told the explicit details to those who’d asked what had happened south of the Wall. The only one who knew everything was Tormund and even he didn’t know that Jon was now a kinslayer. For amongst the Free Folk, kinslayers were cursed. However, he still helped within the community and went hunting with them.

It was during one such hunt where the group noticed smoke rising heavily a distance from where they were and had decided to go see what was going on.

Upon arrival, the hunters in front of Jon stopped dead in their tracks with gasps of shock. Pushing them aside, Jon couldn’t help but have a similar reaction.

A weirwood tree burned so badly that only the husk of the trunk remained. But Jon’s eye caught on to what was attached to the burnt trunk. Everyone else did as well and turned from the tree to murmur to each other.

His heart beat wildly and his hands began to shake ever so slightly as he walked up to the partially burned crow that had been impaled to the ruined wood with a dagger. The shaking in his hands increased as he pulled the dagger out and realized that he knew it. He knew it well. Well enough to never be able to forget it.

The dagger he’d used to kill Dany.

It was so blatantly obvious that this message was meant solely for Jon, but he had no idea who left it or when they would come for him. At night, he found himself sitting on his furs, holding the dagger as memories he had tried to distance himself from came rushing back full force.

His answer came on the bleak, muted rays of the morning four days after the discovery. A familiar cry rang through the air that had Jon’s heart stopping and his eyes snapping up towards the sky, desperately searching for the source. Off in the distance to his left, he saw the brief outline of a black dragon before it disappeared into thick clouds, calling out again as it did so. He’d have convinced himself that it was only his imagination had it not been for the fact that everyone else had seen it too.

It continued on like this for almost a week. Jon would see quick glances of Drogon flying, always far enough away that the dragon couldn’t be bothered by the Free Folk but close enough that he could just see the red in his wings and clearly hear the echoes of his cries. He tried to quell the growing feeling of doom each day, but was unsuccessful. Especially when he unconsciously found himself trying to follow the dragon’s trail and would stumble upon the burned carcasses of crows on the ground as well as two more burned weirwood trees.

Jon knew his time with the Free Folk had to come to an end when Drogon started flying closer to where they were, looking around as he went as if searching for something… well, someone. That’s when the worried whispers and fearful looks towards him began. He knew they remembered when he flew on Rhaegal and that he would be the only reason that the dragon would have come here and stayed near for so many days.

On the night of the eighth day, he packed up his belongings, intending to search for Drogon. Or let the dragon find him. Whichever came first.

Upon making his way out of the camp, he pulled up to a stop when Tormund stepped in front of him, a pack on the tall man’s back.

“So I guess we’re goin’ to find that dragon of yours, eh?”

“He’s not my dragon and I can’t ask you to come with me,” Jon said, shaking his head in refusal at his friend.

Tormund clapped him on the shoulder with a sigh and a grim smile. “Ah, I’ve already followed your pretty crow face enough times to know that someone has to look out for you. ‘Cause you sure as fuck won’t.”

With a clenched jaw, Jon slowly breathed out through his nose. He didn’t want his friend involved in this. “You know we’ll probably die.”

The ginger man shrugged, unfazed as he turned towards the woods. “It won’t be the first time we went head first to our death. Who knows? Maybe we’ll come out of this one too.”

Jon looked at Ghost in resignation, knowing he couldn’t dissuade Tormund once his mind was made up. The direwolf’s red eyes stared back silently before he too trotted off on silent feet, leaving Jon no choice but to follow.

As they searched, they realized that no matter which direction the dragon went in the morning, he always flew back northeast. Jon had Ghost lead, using the direwolf’s superior smell to their advantage. It took five days, but they finally found where Drogon had made a temporary lair. An icy lake settled at the bottom of a few mountains where a large cave was carved out of one of them. There was a little forest on the far edge of the lake to their left.

From where they stood, Jon could clearly see how much more Drogon had grown as the dragon perched at the mouth of the cave. Where he’d been huge before, he was twice as large now, if not more.

“All right, we’ve seen the beast,” Tormund muttered to him. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

But Jon found himself unable to move as he continued to stare at the dragon. What was he doing all the way up here? Was he really here for Jon? Had he come back to Westeros and made his way up the realm, avenging his mother? If so, why now? Why wait this long? Or was he simply wandering the earth? Was he connected with whoever left the dagger? Had he...had he somehow found a new rider?

Jon was brought out of his confused musings when Drogon sniffed the air. His head suddenly turned to them, those red eyes staring right at him.

“Fuck,” Tormund breathed right before Drogon let out a roar that Jon felt in his bones and lifted into the air.

“Run!” Jon shouted to his friend.

Not needing to be told twice, they both took off towards the woods. It was a futile attempt. They were covered in shadow and then Drogon was in front of them, forcing them to halt in order to try to keep their balance as the ground shook with his landing. When Jon looked behind them, he saw that the dragon had used his tail to block them in, effectively trapping the pair. He could see Ghost staring at him from a distance, unable to do anything.

Turning back to face Drogon, he was met with an open mouth filled with black teeth the length of Longclaw. He could even see the glow of the fire building in the back of the dragon’s throat. Just as he accepted this was how it was going to end for him, a voice Jon thought he’d never hear again said, “Drogon, kelītīs.”

That huge maw snapped shut and the dragon turned his head to the side. A figure cloaked in black stepped out from behind his wing and into view. Jon felt faint as two small hands pushed away the hood to reveal the face of Daenerys Targaryen.

He stumbled back, barely registering the soft curse Tormund let out as he stared with wide eyed disbelief at the woman he’d loved; the queen he’d murdered before him. It had to be a dream or a hallucination. He had to have gone mad because she couldn’t be standing in front of him, here in the far reaches of the North.

But he knew it wasn’t. Because the Dany in his dreams had long flowing locks of silver all the way down her back that were intricately braided with little bells. This Dany’s hair hung in loose waves that ended at the top of her breasts with only a few strands tied back so it wasn’t in her face. The Dany in his dreams didn’t wear black lightweight leather armor that mimicked dragon scales with a sword hanging from one side, looking like the warrior queen, Visenya Targaryen, come again. The Dany in his dreams certainly never looked at him with such cold loathing.

“I knew you’d come, Jon,” she said. Her voice was like a bolt of lightning down his spine. She rested a small hand on her dragon. “You wouldn’t be able to resist following him, seeing why he was here. Especially not after the gift I left for you.”

Jon couldn’t form a response. He could only stand there and stare, breathing as if he’d run for miles. He let his eyes drink in all the details of her that time had made him forget. He was pretty sure he was looking at her as if he was a man dying of thirst and she was his salvation.

Unmoved, Dany simply arched a brow. “You seem surprised to see me again. I’m not sure why though.” Cocking her head, she gave him a mean smile that was completely foreign to see on her face. “Would you like to see the proof that it’s truly me?” she asked, her hand skimming just under her left breast. “We can compare our scars and reminisce how we were both stabbed by men who were supposed to be loyal to us only to be brought back to life by a red priestess.”

Jon sucked in a sharp breath in shock and couldn’t hide the hurt in his eyes. Dany’s smile turned into a full on grin that looked more like she was baring her teeth. When she started walking towards him, her cloak rustled and his eye caught on the handle of the same dagger he found in the weirwood hanging off her other hip. Seeing where his attention was just as she stopped in front of him, Dany looked down and pulled the dagger out, examining it as well.

“I was going to leave this one for you,” she told him as she began spinning and twirling it expertly with her fingers. “But strangely enough, I found myself unable to part with it. So I had a twin made and left that one for you instead. I thought you’d enjoy the sentiment of the gesture regardless of whether or not it was actually the original blade.”

She looked up at him and his heart stopped at having her so close to him. It stunned his entire being for a moment. And in that moment of being caught off guard by her nearness and her beauty, Jon wasn’t able to do anything when she suddenly wrapped her foot around his ankle and pulled forward while pushing down on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. Before he could react or fight her off, one hand grabbed his hair to pull his head back, meeting her violet eyes again. The other held the dagger to his throat.

“I’ve learned a few things since I was brought back,” she said with a smirk.

Tormund shouted out and made to move forward as if to help Jon, but was immediately halted by Drogon turning towards him and letting out a horrible roar. Throughout the entire exchange, Dany’s eyes never left Jon.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you, Tormund Giantsbane,” she warned calmly, finally turning her focus to him with a sardonic smile. “After all, you’re dealing with a dragon rider and according to you, only a king or a madman would ride a dragon. And since I’m obviously no king, by your logic, I am therefore the madman.” Violet eyes went back to Jon then. Her smile softened into a mockery of something gentle because her eyes still held that emptiness in them. She let go of his hair to trail her fingers lightly down his face. “And mad people...well, it’s best to treat us with caution. We can be so very unpredictable when provoked. Sometimes with catastrophic results, wouldn’t you agree, Jon?”

He flinched away at her words, how casually she called herself mad and the reminder of what she’d done, unable to look at her. She caught him by the chin though, refusing to let him move. “Oh, no. None of that now, Jon,” she reprimanded with that same tone. She jerked his head back up. Her eyes were colder than the harshest North wind and the fingers holding him dug into his skin to the point of pain. “Don’t hide from the monster you helped turn me into. Look at the fruit of what your actions bore. Accept it, as I had to.”

Jon’s throat ached with how tight it was from holding in all the emotions swirling in him and he felt that he would break any moment. Still, he didn’t look away from those eyes that were so similar yet so very different. They didn’t look anything like they had the last time he’d stared into them. They were as clear and still as water. There was none of the passion he remembered seeing. Even in the throne room, she’d gazed up at him with love. Now they were dead. Oddly enough, it was that fact that made him want to weep, but he held it in. After a while, he finally was able to ask, “are you here to kill me then?”

She smiled as if he’d said something completely ridiculous and could only laugh sympathetically at him. “Kill you? I’m not here to kill you, Jon Snow. No, I’m here to warn you. Because soon, I have a very strong feeling that others are going to come looking for you. My dear old Hand and your supposedly all seeing king brother for example. Maybe even your treacherous sister.”

Even though he stayed silent, she apparently could see the wariness in his eyes and explained, “they’re going to want you to stop me. After all, you’re already apparently cursed from killing me before, aren't you? My blood is already on your hands, so what’s the harm in dirtying them a second time? Better you than them.”

Swallowing that old familiar feeling of dread mingled with panic, he quietly asked, “stop you from doing what?”

“You’re so far removed from the rest of the world up here in your little idyllic winter wonderland, you've no idea how one can smell it in the air when arriving on these shores; how the earth here is practically quivering with it in anticipation. The deep breath before the plunge.”

“What? What is it?” he rasped.

“Revolution. Liberation,” she said with an indulgent smile that still didn’t reach those cold, cold eyes. Yet she still managed to stare at him so piercingly that he felt like the deepest parts of him were being stripped bare. “Fulfilling my oath to break the wheel and remake the world.”

The memory of her speech to her armies after she’d burned King’s Landing came to him and made him go cold all over.

“Dany, you–” The name was out before he could think and he paid for his mistake. His head was turned to the side by the force of her smack to his cheek. She grabbed his hair and yanked hard as she leaned down until only a few inches were left between them.

“Don’t you ever call me that again,” she snarled. And just like that, her eyes were suddenly filled with such rage that they practically glowed. The only consolation in being on the receiving end of her fury was that at least there was the life he remembered in them. It hadn’t completely disappeared.

The blade at his throat pressed in hard enough to pierce his skin. “You lost that right when you abandoned me in Winterfell; when you continuously refused to return the love I felt for you in the time I needed it the most; when you stabbed me in the heart.”

With a look of disgust, she let go of him and took a few steps back. Not looking away from him, Dany twirled the dagger in her hand before sheathing it. When he remained kneeling, she snapped, “get up. You look pathetic.”

Jon clenched his jaw but did as he was told. By the time he was on his feet, she had regained her cold, steely composure. The way she stood with her hands folded in front of her and her chin held high felt like a kick in the gut as a painful wave of nostalgia washed over him, forcing him to remember the queen she used to be.

“Even if you did wish to stop me, you can’t. It's too late. It’s already begun.” She looked out over the white expanse in front of them. “It’s taken years of convincing and whisperings of a better life. Years of organizing and planning while simultaneously continuing to free the remaining slave cities in Essos. But the common folk of Westeros are finally waking up and finding that they’re unsatisfied. They realize that they want more; that they can have more. Because I will give them more.”

“The Iron Throne is gone. ” he said, almost pleading with her.

She huffed a laugh, still eyeing the area around them. “I’m not doing this to be queen. I don’t need to be queen. That’s my point. Kings, queens, lords, ladies, they’re all unnecessary. Once I’ve given the people their liberation and the tools to use for their next step in governing themselves, I’m leaving. My old bear once told me that dragons plant no trees. Dragons make no homes. I forgot that. I listened to the young, lonely woman inside of me and tried to make the home I’d always yearned for. With you,” she said. She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “But we both know how that turned out.”

Ignoring each new slice of pain her constant jabs caused him, Jon asked, “what are you going to do to the nobles then? How will you handle them and their soldiers, Daenerys? The common folk don’t know how to fight against armies.”

Another joyless smile as she turned to face him fully and cocked her head. “Now why would I tell you that?” Jon’s lips thinned, knowing she was justified in not sharing her plans with him and feeling like a fool for thinking she might. “I’ll give you a boon though and say that they won't be alone. Plenty of those with power understand what I’m fighting to achieve and are willing to help me.” She gave a sly smile as she went on to say, “and also, Drogon presented a gift to me right after I was brought back that he came across during one of his travels to Valyria. And I’ve not wasted it. Would you like to see?”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned to Drogon who lifted his head and called out. Gooseflesh erupted across Jon’s skin when an answering call was heard, then another. Out of the large cave emerged two dragons. They took to the air and lazily made their way to where they stood. When they landed on either side of Drogon, the size difference was easily noticeable, but they were still extremely large. Probably the size of Rhaegal when Jon had ridden him.

Impossible, he thought. But of course it wasn’t impossible. Of course if anyone was going to bring dragons back into the world again, it would be the mother of dragons.

Dany walked up to the one whose scales looked like gold coins. Its horns and wings were a rich, dark blue color with a sheen that was reminiscent of a pearl. Dark gold eyes flickered from Dany to Jon.

“Mirax,” she said reverently, laying a hand on the dragon’s snout before walking to the other and repeating the gesture. This one a dark pine green with black horns and wings and silver eyes. “Morrelion.”

Looking at Jon, she dropped her hand. “Named after my two closest and most beloved advisors. Brought back to life just as my first children were.”

She then pulled out her sword and gave it a few expert swings. “You see, Jon. I learned from my mistake. I’m so much more prepared for Westeros this time. I can now fight just as easily with a sword as I can off the back of Drogon. I understand the loyalty you gained from fighting side by side with your men. The difference between us though is that while you’ve led armies, I command legions.”

For some reason, knowing that Dany had not only learned how to fight but had apparently been in battles made his heart hurt. A very small, irrational part of him hated that he wasn’t the one who taught her; that he hadn’t been there, fighting by her side.

When the blade caught the light, his eyes widened a little as he saw what it looked to be made of. She flashed him a smug smirk as she kept it aloft, confirming his thought. “Yes, Valyrian steel. Another gift from someone who felt I was finally deserving of it.”

Resheathing it, she said, “so I’ll handle the lords and ladies and everyone who opposes me the same way I handled the great masters. They can live in my new world or die in their old one.”

Jon stiffened. Her purple eyes caught the motion and her smile turned deadly. “Are you thinking of your beloved siblings? The family you constantly chose over me? Never fear, dear nephew, if they die, it won’t be at my hands. I simply plan to be there to enjoy their downfall. Along with your old friend Samwell Tarly and my dear Hand.”

She began stalking towards him, like a cat toying with her prey. “Your continued loyalty to them is ever so interesting though. What was it you Starks were always posturing? The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives?” Stopping, she held out her arms and looked around. “Well? Where’s your pack, Jon Snow? Where’s your family?” With a scoff, she let her arms fall. “I’ll tell you where. They’re enjoying the spoils of our downfall. Your so called family used you as their puppet and threw you away once they got what they wanted and you were of no more use to them. The same as you all did to me.”

His fists clenched so hard, he could feel his nails biting into his skin. Again, she saw it. “The truth is a harsh mistress to lie with, isn’t she, Jon?”

“I never used you. I followed you. I pledged myself to you.”

“That’s right. Do you remember your vow to me right before you stabbed me in the heart? I was your queen, now and always. I wonder if that still holds true,” she mused, stepping towards him again. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as she leaned in and loudly whispered, “shall we test to see if your family’s saying holds true as well? Does the lone wolf really die?”

“Stop it,” he snapped. He hated the words coming from her mouth. He hated that the woman he’d loved had become so cold and cruel. He hated that he was the reason why she was.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Dany’s lips slowly curled up. “As my nephew, the rightful king commands,” she mocked, dipping into a curtsy.

“I’m not the bloody king of Westeros,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I never was and I never wanted that damned throne.”

Her smile fell as she straightened. “No,” she disagreed, “you were a king, Aegon. Now, you’re a queenslayer, an oathbreaker, a kinslayer. Now, you’re nothing.”

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Jon closed his eyes. “Say whatever you want to say. Hurt me however you want. I deserve it. I hate myself for what I did. But I had to do it, Daenerys.” He opened his eyes to meet hers, his voice rising as he went on. “You were out of control and you didn’t even care that you’d just murdered thousands of innocent people!”

“And you didn’t even try to help me! Even before King’s Landing!” she yelled back. “You didn’t talk to me, you didn’t defend me, you didn’t do anything! You stood there while your sister, oh excuse me, cousin, openly disrespected me! I lost my armies to save your people and you couldn’t even tell them to be at least a little grateful! No, you just sat there and smiled like a gods damned fool and the puppet you were. I was drowning and not only did you not try to pull me out, you pushed me under and let the waves consume me.”

Taking a steadying breath, she composed herself. “But you made me realize that I can never depend too much on anyone in this world. Even my shadow leaves me when I’m in darkness.”

Jon’s eyes fell closed a second time as he absorbed the truth of her words. “I’m sorry, Daenerys,” he said brokenly. “You’ve no idea how much.”

“We’re all sorry for something, Jon Snow. I would know that better than anyone,” she finally said in a cool voice, making him look at her. “But words are wind. Action is what’s needed to make up for the wrongs we've done to others. It’s why I’ve returned to this forsaken land. I’m here to pay the debt I owe.” Her lip curled. “So don’t stand there and insult me with your paltry excuse of remorse.”

“It’s not an excuse,” he argued. “I hated it. Even though I was told it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do, it didn’t feel right. Not then, not now.”

He could tell that she refused to listen to what he had to say. When she stepped away, he matched her by stepping forward.

“If you can’t believe anything else I’ve said, at least believe that I loved you. So much,” he told her, desperation in his voice as he begged with his eyes for her to believe him.

Dany looked at him with something akin to stern pity. “I’m sure you thought yourself to be in love with me.”

Anger flared up in him at the way she so easily dismissed him. When he grabbed her shoulders and her face went blank. “Damn it, Daenerys! I know my own feelings! You were the love of my life!”

Once again, they got trapped in each other’s eyes in a silent battle of wills. Even though her expression didn’t change, he felt the air around her soften. Ever so slowly, she lifted her hands to cup his cheeks, her eyes never leaving his. The heat of her skin; the gentleness of her touch as she rubbed her thumb across his skin was what finally broke Jon. The ache in his throat he’d been holding back the entire time loosened enough that the smallest sob broke through before he could stop it. He turned to nuzzle into her palm as his own hands went to her neck to pull her closer. The smell of smoke, snow, and Daenerys filled his nostrils and made him want to bury his face in her neck.

“If that were true,” she whispered, her hot breath fanning his lips, “you wouldn’t have pulled away from me when you found out that you’re a Targaryen. You would have stayed. Because it wouldn’t have mattered...in the end.”

He shook his head, trying to find the words that would make her understand the turmoil he’d felt back then; wishing that she believed him and hating that she didn’t.

“I loved you,” she said quietly, “more than anyone else I had ever loved before. So much that I gave you everything I had.” She pulled back, letting him see her sorrow and hurt as her next words sliced through him worse than anything else she’d said. “And you repaid that love by showing me that once again, I wasn’t enough.”

She dropped her hands from his face and stepped away, taking all the warmth with her and leaving him with nothing but regret. The rawness of her words and openness he saw in her gaze made Jon’s face crumble under the weight of it all. His chest clenched so hard, he didn’t know how he was still standing. Before he could say anything though, she blinked and her face quickly became hard as stone. “But as I’ve said, I learned my lesson. I don’t want you or anyone else to believe that the love I once held for you is why I spared you. The reason I have not and will not kill you is because I want you to live with the knowledge that I’m not only alive, I’m thriving.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I want it to choke you.”

With that, she headed to Drogon and climbed onto his back. Once settled, she looked down at him imperiously and said, “The time of the wolves is over. Dragons put them on their thrones and it will be dragons that tear them down. Stay here or don’t. It makes no difference to me. But if you do stand against me, Jon Snow, I will show you as much mercy as you showed me. Except I won’t tell you pretty words and kiss your lips as I do.”

Then Drogon was pushing off into the air, with the other two following, flying towards a place and future Jon didn’t know. He couldn’t tear his eyes away even when Tormund came to stand next to him. With each flap of those wings that took her farther away, the part of his heart that still belonged to her broke anew.

It was only when they were mere specks that Tormund let out a whistling breath and asked, “what in the fucking hells are you gonna do now?”

And well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Because he had absolutely no idea.

#daenerys resurrection week #day 5 au #daenerys targaryen #jon snow

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todragonsart · 4 years

Text

The taste of wine - Chapter 1 - Siege-O-Ween Oct 29th

Prompt: “I suppose, my secret’s out”

I welcome everybody back! It’s been such a long-long-long time, since I actually enjoyed writing something. I mean, times like that happen to any kind of writer or artist, and I’m just so happy to be out of it. This was so much fun, and why would we stop at just 6000 words? Come on!

Okay, honestly, I wanted to stop. I wanted to write a shorter one, but it kept going and going and going and now I’m planning like... 4 more chapters and a prologue :’) DoN’t HuRt Me PlEaSe <3

As always, I can’t thank @r6shippingdelivery and @freedert95 enough for helping me with the beta-reading. You two are absolutely life-and-sanity-saving and I love you both very much.

Oh and also, this is for @dualrainbow‘s Halloween event, so thank you guys too, for resurrecting me from the dead!

I hope you enjoy!!

“I want you to help me die.”

Mike turned towards the man standing on his right, eyes wide with shock. He let his gaze wander, just for a second, on the other. His tall, proud posture, his handsome face, basking in the dim candle light, his gentle, green eyes now looking at him full with hope, expecting help. How could a so-called monster look this innocent, the soldier couldn’t fathom. Why would he want to die? And more importantly, why would he want to be killed by somebody like Mike?

In his wondering, he almost missed the way the other’s lips pulled into a small smile. “You won’t help me, will you?”

Lifting his chin a bit, Mike looked the other in the eyes and he couldn’t help, but think ‘what a waste’, but shook his head anyway. “I will.”

The man seemed caught off guard- almost surprised for a second, but his smile widened as hope filled him even more.

Mike shook his head, looking away. What a waste.

But how did he get into this situation in the first place?

The Boogie-man. Zombies. Ghosts. Mummies. Werewolves. Monsters . Mike Baker had never really understood them. He understood the concept, and the literature, but he didn’t understand the need. It was just the need to be scared. Or even more, the need to force the fear of darkness into the shape of something understandable. Because that is what all these so-called supernatural monsters were, weren’t they? Just images made by scared children on a moonless night. A howl? A wolf! A growl? A zombie! A mug falling down? Definitely the leftovers of a dead person. Not the wind. Obviously not the wind.

Mike never said that he didn’t believe that something was hiding in the dark, far from it - being a soldier, facing new threats every other day made him learn that in fact there was always something around the corner, ready to attack. But nonetheless, he was sceptical of the supernatural.

Living in this world for 54 years he never met any kind of supernatural monster that could have been killed with only silver, salt or fire. In fact the only monsters he met were people. People acted way worse then any animal or entity ever could, hurting others and themselves, acting selfish and rude, being agressive and stupid. Obviously not every person, but he was facing terrorists, he believed he had seen the worst of worsts. He had seen men murdering innocent people, he had seen organizations turn children into mindless soldiers and he had seen mothers killing their loved ones and then themselves for the ‘greater good’. He had seen a lot. Like a lot . But he had never met any kind of supernatural monster, so yeah.

He had every right to be sceptical, and ironical, because he did not understand the fear of the unknown and darkness like a normal person did. Howls? There was no werewolf able to sound as a friend dying from an open wound. A growl? The unhappy sound of a terrorist being cuffed. A mug falling down? The reaction to a newly found biochemical weapon. No monsters, just people. Bad-people.

He started to feel bad for the monsters in books, tv shows and poems at one point. All that screaming, shouting and wanting to capture or kill them… Why were they the ones being chased? That was the other question. Why were the monsters always bad? Why would a werewolf or zombie or mummy or anything attack the human beings, like they did in the stories? To hunt them, taste their blood and eat them and their brains? Oh come on.

The fact that sharks don’t even like the taste of human meat must mean something!

But it could be the blood... All animals had blood, why would a vampire attack that one human being, when they could hunt a calm cow, or something. Much less screaming, much less effort, much easier target.

And don’t even start with the brain bullshit. Why would anything try to eat the brain?! The people mindlessly attacking others for being a little bit different than they are were empty anyway!

And also, why would a demon or spirit or whatever the fuck attack humans after their life? What if they are stuck and just need help? What if they just want to be friends?!

He believed in ghosts, tho, he did. But not the… ‘the white sheet with two holes for the eyes on it’ kind, obviously. He believed the ghosts of the past. The screaming in his nightmares about the wars, the eyeless people standing behind him in the mirror, the feeling of his mother’s gentle hand on his shoulder.

Ghosts.

But not the hollywood ghosts scaring innocent people. His own ghosts. Some of them were bad, some of them were good, even soothing. Mementos of his childhood, his first love, his daughter. Good ghosts, who never wanted to hurt him, in fact most of the time, they helped him in their own way.

And after all… everything started with a ghost.

The ghost of his father.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

When he first noticed the familiar figure, he was in the middle of buying baked beans in the supermarket. He was all alone, thinking about calling Penelope after dinner, to ask where would his grandson want to go this year for a little Trick-or-treating during Halloween, minding his own business with the cans, when he noticed a tall, dark figure just outside the shop’s front window.

He didn’t even notice it first, but when he felt the unmistakable feeling of being watched, he looked up, right at the dark figure. The long coat, the old hat, the wide shoulders; he caught himself thinking, Dad…? But his father died at least thirty years ago, so yeah. It was kinda suspicious.

He looked around, trying to find out if anybody could see the figure, and as he looked back, the window was empty.

Strange.

But the ghost of his father had never been a bad omen. Maybe he should visit his grave. Or perhaps it was a reminder that he forgot to put on his watch this morning, the one that once belonged to his father.

Shrugging, he went back to pick the beans and that was it.

Or so he thought.

Because, not long after this, he noticed the figure again. He was just arriving to his boat after a disgustingly long day of work, ready to open a beer and crash on his couch, when he saw the familiar silhouette from his peripheral vision. He turned his head, but as the last time, the figure was gone.

Mike lifted an eyebrow. It was his father’s birthday coming up soon. Heh. Motherfucker never missed a chance to make people wish him happy birthday after all.

Shrugging it off again, he entered the boat, and did as he planned with his beer and couch.

But obviously, it happened again. The tall figure standing patiently, just looking at him from afar when he arrived home, bought his supplies, walked down the streets. The well known shadow never moving, never looking like it was alive, never changing.

He once even noticed the figure standing at the docks, as if waiting for him to get home. It was strange and the feeling of being watched never seemed to disappear.

The last straw was when he noticed the shadow during the night he was with his daughter and grandson, Trick or treating, having fun. He almost missed it again, the silhouette standing in a dark alleyway just the other side of the road. As he saw the shadow there, Mike got furious all of a sudden. Hanging around, waiting for him was one thing, but bugging him during family times? A real jerk move.

As he noticed, he immediately stopped in his track and turned towards the figure, stepping down the pathway. His gaze was fixed on the figure that looked like its usual, frozen self, but as it noticed his attempt of getting closer, it did the strangest thing: it moved.

It wasn’t a scared wince or anything a normal human would do when they were discovered doing something bad, it was just a surprised lift of shoulders and a slight tilt of hat, but it was something . And as Mike took one more step forward, the figure did the same thing backward. And that was when the good omen of his father turned into a human monster, because who else would follow him around every night just standing still and watching. He had a stalker. One of the most disgusting kind of monsters.

His instincts kicking in, he reached for his gun, but the second he touched it an ear-rippingly loud car honk pushed him out of his state of mind. He was standing in the middle of the road and a very angry driver just honked at him again.

Looking at the man behind the wheel, Mike sniffed and let his gun slip back into its holster. He glanced back at the figure, but that motherfucker was gone. Of fucking course.

Great.

Not caring for the loud honking at all, he turned back and stepped on the pathway again.

A stalker.

Glancing back at the other side of the road, he lifted his chin, looking around.

A ghost? A stalker? A monster, maybe. A human one, who was apparently afraid of him.

It didn’t matter. It was time to end their relationship.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Except the figure disappeared.

Not in the term a ghost would, because Mike still felt like he was being watched, but he didn’t see the silhouette again. It pissed him off, but he was smarter than giving up. Instead, he turned to his team.

He asked Marius - one of the best tinkerers the world has ever seen in his opinion - to install a few cameras around his boat, so that he can monitor every movement from within his home, and Marius - although a little bit weirded out - delivered. Mike was satisfied, he finally got a chance to get ahead of the mysterious staker, now all he needed to was to be patient and he never had a problem with that.

He waited for three weeks without seeing the shadow again, but on the fourth Friday, he finally caught it on record. Since the cameras were recording live, and he spent his nights sitting in front of them, he just caught a glimpse of the figure’s coat. It was fucking four in the morning, and he was doozing off before, but the second he saw the movement, he got on his feet and reaching for his gun, he rushed to the exit of his boat, all tiredness forgotten.

The adrenaline was rushing in his ears as he burst out of the door, gun in hand. It took him just half a second to find the figure in the darkness, then he was already charging towards it, running like he never ran before.

“Stop right there!” he shouted and again, he caught the figure off guard; it winced from the sudden sound in the otherwise peaceful night. It looked around, trying to find a place to hide, clearly trying to escape, but the old soldier was fast. The moment the figure turned away in an attempt to run, it made a mistake and Mike caught it’s arm in his iron grip. The force of him tugging at the figure efficiently knocked it’s hat off just to reveal a patch of sweaty, ginger hair. He lifted an eyebrow, tugging at the arm again, trying to get a better look, but the figure just seemed to have more than enough of this abuse.

Knowing all too well that trying to slip from Mike’s grip was a useless motion, it instead planted its feet and turning on its heels it kicked the soldier on his side, efficiently knocking the air out of his lungs. Wheezing, Mike immediately let go of the arm, gasping for air. Growling swears he looked at the figure, but it was on the run already, making distance between the two of them.

Spitting, Mike got himself together, and rushed after the figure. He had been waiting for this fight since Halloween and he wasn’t going to let that motherfucker run away once more. The figure was fast, but Mike was angry, and it made him more dangerous and reckless. He had no problem keeping up with the pace, in fact, he was catching up to the shadow step by step. He was ready to finish this.

In their chase, Mike kind of forgot to look where he was going, but it didn’t really matter. The only thing in front of his eyes was the prize of finally catching this motherfucking stalker, the changing of landscape around them didn’t matter at all-

Until it did.

Mike had no idea how, but they ended up in the more abandoned corner of Hereford. There were mostly suburban areas or empty factories on this side of the town. How did they even get here!? He looked around in concern, taking deep breaths. He had no idea, he only started to notice everything around him just now.

He still had the figure right in front of him, but their distance started to grow as his legs got tired of the running. The adrenaline in his blood slowly faded away, and with that, his energy did too.

He soon noticed himself gasping for air, his sight getting a bit blurry, slowing down, which was- not a problem namely because the figure was heading towards the last building in the line, which turned out to be a… a church? Really? A church.

Before he could ridicule the shadow in his head, he saw it run straight up the front stairs of the building, and the next thing reaching his mind was the loud band of the door being shut.

Taking big gulps of air, Mike let himself collapse on the ground, eyes fixed on the building. This might have been the strangest night of his entire life, and it was far from over. Giving himself a few minutes, he just sat there, watching the building, kind of waiting for the figure to escape again, but there was no movement around the church. Odd.

He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and stretched as he stood up. Twisting, he popped his spine and with a low groan he approached the church. He couldn’t see any movement around the door, but as he stepped on the first stair, he noticed how a light had been lit in the window of the church tower. So, there was somebody home.

He pulled his gun out - just in case - and stepped to the door, slowly pushing it in; it wasn’t even properly closed. Holding his weapon as steady as possible, Mike stepped in. It was pitch black. Grimacing, he fished his small flashlight out of his pocket, turning it on. The narthex was empty, only a few old benches left, waiting since god-knows how long, for people who never came.

Mike looked around and noticed a smaller entrance door. Stepping there, he glanced inside the nave and seeing no movement, he entered. Looking around, he lowered his gun a little. Rows of benches, hand-made pillars, a few old, wooden sculptures of Saints here and there, with their additional little plaques of info. Mike hummed, directing his flashlight at each of them. There was nothing unusual, really just a worn down little church. He didn’t even know that there was a church in this part of the town and he has been living here for a good 10 years now.

Getting deeper into the building, he started to measure the space in his head, trying to find the stairs into the attic. It was a small church so it was not many places where they could hide the way up. His hard guess was behind the main altar, so he made his way there, making sure he was as silent as possible.

As he arrived into the crossing, he stopped to take a quick look into both of the transept sides, that was when he noticed it. It wasn’t a big thing to notice, but it was strange on its own. On one side he saw an old Virgin Mary, the other held an equally old St. Joseph. Squinting, he glanced back at the other sculptures in the nave. All of them were old, but otherwise clean. The benches were left to rot, but every statue was in the best shape, not a single part missing or paint being spotty.

“What the fuck?” Mike heard himself whisper, but glanced in the direction of the main altar. The Jesus there was in the best shape possible. Mike shook his head, and stepped up to the main altar. He glanced at the sculpture, tilting his head a little. “Listen, if he is just a strange fan of mine I won’t hurt him, but otherwise… I can’t promise you anything. Don’t come after me later, okay?” with a smirk, he shook his head. Always an atheist.

Behind the altar, he noticed a small door, hidden from even the front rows. Getting more and more relaxed in this very strange situation, he lowered his gun completely as he entered the small door and there he found it. The stairs to the attic! According to the soft lights at the top of the stairs, he found what he was looking for.

He switched off his flashlight and started to climb still as silent as possible. He was about… 99,9% sure the stalker knew about him, but still. This time, he wanted to be the one hiding in the dark.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

He was around half of the stair when he heard some kind of a rustling under his boots. He froze in the middle of his movement - not wanting to be heard -, and looked down in a slight panic. Squinting, he leant down; a plastic bag? Okay, what now?!

He gently stepped off the bag and lifted it up in the weak light of the staircase. Mike’s eyes rounded as he recognized the object in his hand. It was a very strong bag with rows and rows of writing printed on it, informing the handler about the date, the place and the type of blood. 0-. Mike closed his eyes and opened them again, hoping that the plastic bag would… maybe miraculously turn into fairy dust and butterflies, but the plastic bag remained. Normally he was okay to see this bag, it was a useful little object, you know, saving lives here and there, but- this one was empty. Why the fuck was it emtpy, it was clearly used before. He glanced up at the top of the stairs. Okay what the fuck.

Taking a gulp of air, he stuffed the bag in his pocket and continued his way up. As he got to the last few steps, he first noticed a door on top of the stairs, and it being slightly open, he heard a soft sound. Stopping yet again, he tried to concentrate, and soon could make out the sound of fabric rustling and gentle tones of a piano.

Getting more and more confused, he finished his journey up, lifted his gun in front of himself, and without knocking or giving any warning, he burst into the attic, just to be greeted by a pair of green eyes fixed on him. He lifted his eyebrows. He has seen this look somewhere, but he couldn’t, for the love of god, tell where.

The eyes belonged to a - very - handsome face of a young man. He had elegant and sharp features, with a bit of arrogance hidden in his posture. He was without a doubt attractive, but Mike couldn’t care, because the young man had locks of ginger hair on his head, and who had that as well? His dear stalker. So he pointed the gun at the other, who was annoyingly calm.

“It took you long enough to get up the stairs. Might be the age,” said the stranger, with an amused little smirk. He looked away, down to the table and reaching out he poked on the phone laying on the surface. The soft piano stopped. “I started to get worried.”

Anger building in him, Mike gritted his teeth. “Who are you? Why are you following me? What do you want? What the fuck is this?!”

The stranger smiled at that, looking back at him, never noticing the gun. “My name is Olivier Flament. I have been following you, because I need to ask you a favour. I would like to ask for your help in an important matter. As for what… I believe this is my home.”

Struck by the strange honesty of the other Mike blinked a few, lowering his gun just a tiny bit. “What matter? Why were you following me?”

“I told you, I need your hel-”

Mike cut in. “Why were you following me everywhere for almost three months?”

The man fell silent, he glanced at the table. He almost seemed… shy?

“Spit it out!” Mike grumbled, making the other look up. His posture might have been calm, but his eyes were like the sea before the storm.

“I didn’t know how to approach you, see my lifesty-”

“So you decided to follow me, even with my family and when I try to catch you, you run? Almost not suspicious.”

Olivier looked at him for a few long seconds, trying to figure him out. It has been harder than he planned so far, and if he didn’t play it cool, he would get into a deep problem. “Look, I didn’t mean to scare you, but-”

“Oh you didn’t scare me.” Mike lifted his gun, pointing straight to the other’s head. “You made me angry. ”

The young man turned his head down, now looking guilty. “I didn’t mean to. I would never hurt you or your family, I swear to God. I need your help. Please, just listen-!”

Mike watched him, standing there, one hand on the table, leaning there a bit, trying to move away from him. He noticed something… inhuman in this man, something otherworldly. The posture, the face, the eyes… It was so strange. Not unpleasant, far from it, just odd.

The soldier lowered his gun a little, and took the plastic bag out of his pocket, throwing it in front of the other. “What is this crap?”

Looking down, Olivier hummed. “That’s my favourite. I probably had the same type back in the Dark Ages, and now I find it delicious.”

Mike’s grip on the gun tightened. “Quit the jokes, mate!”

The young man didn’t answer, he just glanced to the left. Following his eyes, Mike looked away, just to see a little fridge. It had an open cooler bag in front of it, what had about 10-15 similar blood packs in it. He looked at the man again, grimacing in disgust. “You are sick.”

The other shook his head. “I am really not. Don’t think that I enjoy drinking human blood in particular. It is not a very exciting diet after 800 years, but it does what it needs to, and still better than starving, or hunting and hurting the innocent.”

Mike glanced at the bags again, and then back at the man standing in front of him. “If you tell me, you are a fucking vampire, I will vomit.”

The sides of Olivier’s mouth pulled up into a gentle smile, and crossing his arms in front of him, he nodded. “I suppose… my secret’s out.”

“You are joking!” Mike blinked.

Olivier shook his head with that amused little smile. “No. And you didn’t vomit. Surprising.”

The soldier shook his head. “You are crazy!”

“Says the man who chased another through a town, gun held high, ready to murder.”

With an unamused grimace Mike rolled his eyes. “You should be happy that I’m just holding my gun and not using it.”

“Not to sound too smart, but that wouldn’t do too much harm on my body. See, this is the problem. As far as I know, I’m pretty undestroyable.”

Mike lifted an eyebrow. “Huh?”

Olivier nodded. “If you would like, I can show you,” before finishing, he already reached for a letter opener on his table. It looked sharp, and he held it out for Mike to see, then without a heartbeat, he pressed the edge into his own palm.

For reasons unknown, Mike immediately reached out, to catch his hands before he could hurt himself, but confusion hit him even more, when there was not a single drop of blood coming out of the wound. In fact, the raw flesh - or at least what was supposed to be the raw flesh - did not look the way it was supposed to look like. It was not red and healthy, but grey and… there wasn’t any blood. Not a single drop.

Mike slapped his palm across his mouth, and shutting his eyes, he took two steps back, turning his face away. There was no blood, there was no smell, there was nothing . Nothing human. What the fuck. Now he felt like vomiting. He looked up at Olivier. “What the fuck is… What!?”

The man looked at him and humming, he put down the letter opener. He picked up a piece of fabric, wrapped it around his hand. It didn’t really serve any purpose other than hiding the disturbing wound from Mike out of pure sympathy. It wasn’t an easy thing to see. “You seemed very confident in yourself just a second ago.”

“Fuck.” With a huge sigh, Mike held back his dinner, and taking a deep breath he adjusted his posture. “Okay. Okay. Let’s pretend, for a second, that I believe you. What do you really want? What kind of help do you need from me ? Do you want to eat me, or something? That is why am I here?”

Hearing this, Olivier suddenly seemed annoyed. “If you would just calm down a little, I would tell you everything!”

“Get on with it!” Mike shouted suddenly, with his gun held up again.

The man- or vampire- or what the fuck stood there, mouth slightly open, eyes helpless. He bit his bottom lip and turned his head down again, lifting both his hands in a soothing motion. “Please... “ he glanced up at him again, almost scared. “I know exactly how this sounds, alright? But I… I don’t want to cause harm to you, I swear. I wanted to introduce myself to you, but I have spent the last… forty-something years of my life being in- being alone, and I had no idea how to approach you! This is the truth, I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you, you are not my type! I do not even enjoy hunting humans, all that screaming and blood and waste…” Olivier shook his head slowly, looking Mike in the eyes. “I swear. I don’t want to eat you, I don’t want to harm you, I’m more than happy with those bags. I genuinely need your help!”

With jaws clenched, Mike watched his every move, considering his options. He slowly lowered his gun, and side-eyeing the vampire, he turned around to observe the surroundings. It was a way of getting used to the situation, and also it was a test of the other. He wanted to see how Olivier reacts to him in his own home, if it could even be called that. With a frown, he looked around.

The attic was spacious, with a few smaller windows built into the roof. It was divided into two, a smaller room, which reminded him of an office, that was where they were standing. It had a heavy, old table - Olivier waiting patiently beside that - pushed under a window, close to the wall, an equally old leather chair, a few cabinets with papers, candles, smaller and bigger containers, a small, locked chest, and other unusual stuff piled on them and the fridge with the fantastic blood bags in it.

The other half of the attic was just behind Olivier. Not knowing what to expect, Mike looked around. He didn’t see a bed or a coffin or anything where somebody would be able to rest comfortably, but he had a hard guess that Oliver - if he was truly what he said to be - didn’t really need sleep. However he saw an old couch and two nice armchairs in front of a- a- a bookshelf. Well. A bookshelf was a very, very weak expression. It wasn’t just one bookshelf, he saw at least three or four of them, and each one was stacked with books. And not just the shelves, no, there were books everywhere. Everywhere. It looked like a motherfucking library over there. Piles of books behind the couch, around the armchairs, stuffed into the window slots, put on the beams and around the columns. It was so messy, yet amazing, Mike couldn’t help but let an amused little snort out.

He looked back at Olivier, who was still standing next to the table, waiting for him, without a single movement. He didn’t take a breath, he didn’t blink. Sniffing, Mike lowered his gun completely. “A vampire?”

Olivier nodded.

“How old are you?”

“As far as I remember, I have been turned-” he hummed. “ around AD 750-850.”

Mike lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘around’?”

Olivier cleared his throat, looked away as if he was embarrassed. “We didn’t really have birth certificates back then and my memory is kind of blurry from a 1200 years of perspective, don’t judge me.”

Mike hummed. “Is this your real name?”

“I have been called many names over the years, I don’t know if you have noticed, but it’s sort of suspicious if somebody uses a name for 1200 years, but don’t worry. For those who I wish to get close to myself I am Olivier Flament, yes.”

“Why are you talking like this…? I’m a simple man.”

“Then you might know that old habits die hard.”

Not being able to hold back, Mike smirked at that. “Touché.”

Olivier nodded gently. “Would you like to ask anything else?”

“Who turned you? Are there more of you?”

Looking away, Olivier started to fidget with the phone - actually an iPhone - on his table. “I don’t really know who turned me and I don’t know about the others. To be honest, I don’t wish to have any connection with them anymore. I have had enough, especially since the so-called “Dracula” figure ruined our reputation in popular culture.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Mike almost burst out laughing. “You are- you are hurt by the movies?”

“Since they tell false facts, obviously yes.”

“Why don’t you correct them, then?”

Now it was Olivier’s turn to lift his eyebrow. “And how do you expect me to do that? March over, knock on the silver gates of Hollywood and say ‘Excuse me, we do not actually sparkle under the sunlight, says me, an actual vampire!’ or what? I’m not a fool. As soon as I tell the humans what I am, there would be one of these two options: one, they would want me to turn them into vampires as well, for the fun of living forever, or the second, they would panic as the herd of animals they are and chase me until they either catch or kill me. Not like they would succeed in any of these options, but it’s easier for me to just lay back in silence and busy myself with the old knowledge of the early ages.”

Mike, taken aback, just shut up for a few seconds, lifting his palms in a protective gesture, but it was for the looks only. He somehow did not feel the need to protect himself anymore, in fact, Oivier reacting so seriously to a simple joke put him at ease. He liked it here, and he found himself being interested in the other. It was still a far-fetched idea, and he was still 60% sure that he will wake up on the ground in his boat, with a few empty bottles of whiskey around him, but this wasn’t so bad after all. The vampire seemed almost nice, and he was never really down to judge at the first glance, so why not wait and hear him out?

Noticing his own rambling, Olivier fake-cleared his throat again and turned down his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I assume you have been saving this up since a very long time.”

“Indeed.”

With a small, amused smile Mike shrugged. “It’s okay. But if you don’t want to tell people what you are, why tell me?”

“I have heard about you before, and I trust that you won’t tell my secret to anybody. I believe you could help me with my problem. I know it is very hard for you to understand my reasons and drive, but I put my trust into you.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. “What do you need my help for?”

“I want you to help me die.”

In his wandering, he almost missed the way the other’s lips pulled into a small smile. “You won’t help me, will you?”

Lifting his chin a bit, Mike looked the other in the eyes and he couldn’t help, but think ‘what a waste’, but shook his head anyway. “I don’t enjoy murdering people, but if you have a good enough reason I will. But you have lots and lots of explaining to do before we get to it.”

The man seemed caught off guard- almost surprised for a second, but his smile widened as hope filled him even more.

Mike shook his head, looking away. What a waste. He didn’t like the idea of killing the other. He kind of started to like him in a very twisted way, but he understood why somebody would want to die after 1200 years of living in the dark.

Olivier stepped closer to him, offering his hand gently, a smile as bright as the sun.

Mike glanced away with a low sigh. “What have I gotten myself into? Mike Baker, by the way.”

“I know!” with a soft laugh, the vampire shook his hand. “I told you, I have heard about you. And as for what… Let’s just sit down, and let me tell you my story first, okay?”

Stepping back a little, Mike looked him in the eyes. After a long pause, he nodded. “Okay. You can start with how you know me.”

Olivier nodded, and stepped into the other part of the attic, gesturing towards one of the armchairs. “Have a seat.”

Mike put his gun on the big table and followed Olivier into the ‘living-room’. He looked around a bit, observing the piles of books here and there and with an amused smirk, he sat down. The armchair creaked under his weight and he frowned. “How long since you invited anybody here?”

Olivier looked at him, sitting down on the couch. “This is a fairly new place for me, truth to be told, I have only lived here for about ten years. But in the term of having interaction with humans and other vampires… It’s been just about thirty years or so. I prefer being alone.”

Nodding, Mike kicked off his shoes and put his legs on top of a strong pile of books. Olivier rolled his eyes with a smile, but he didn’t say anything. “So,” Mike began. “Why me?”

Fidgeting with his fingers, the vampire looked away, and then back at Mike. “I knew your grandfather, and also your dad.”

Let me know what you think!! <3

#dragonwrites #dragontries #dualrainbow #siege-o-ween 2020 #r6s #rainbowsixsiege #fanfic #fanfiction #r6s Thatcher #r6s Lion #r6s Bandit #r6s Jäger

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letgraysonsheart · 4 years

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The green is shimmering in front of him, almost mesmerizing. There's a dripping sound, from somewhere in the dark cave, steadily drip, drip, dripping with the same tact as the beat of his heart.

There’s no sound from the man lying beneath him. Dick’s head lolls limp as Tim drags him closer towards the pit. The league has to know they're there, there is no way they don’t. He has no idea why they haven’t showed up yet.

Maybe Talia wants to see how it plays out. Maybe Raas wants to see if he has the guts to do it- if he’s willing to follow through on this hail mary.

Bruce is probably on his way across the world as they speak, even if Tim’s sure he’s covered all his tracks. The Bat always figures it out. Tim hopes Bruce hasn’t brought Jason with him, and the can of worms that that situation would bring up. Damian shouldn’t come either, considering his weird and unexplainable close relationship to Dick, and surprising devotion to keeping Dick's wish about staying dead.

Tim’s the only one willing to do this.

There’s been enough death. It’s never finite for the bats anyway, he tells himself, it’s almost a law of nature by now. A bat never dies, not permanently. Tim’s prepared to follow through on that, even if he has to do it by own hands.

He doesn’t want to lose more family this way.

They’re by the shore now, he finds himself standing on weird black sand disappearing into the green waters. There’s no rise and fall of Dick’s chest, but he hasn’t started to decompose yet - thank god. He still looks like Dick, like he’s just in a deep sleep, face relaxed and free of worry.

Footsteps echos through the cave, coming up behind him. The swish of a cape, familiar but also not.

“Are you now sure of this, Detective?” Raas asks from behind him. Tim doesn’t turn around and tries to keep calm as he stares over the murky waters. He can’t see anyone else, can’t hear anyone else, but maybe they’re just hiding in the shadows.

Maybe he isn’t as alone in the cave as he first thought.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” he replies, turning around to face Raas. The man looks older than usual, due for a bath himself soon perhaps. His eyes are still vibrant green though, just like the last time Tim met him, under very different circumstances.

“How is my grandson?” The old man asks, leaning against his staff, almost casually. It’s a funny picture and a strange change in the conversation topic.

“Distant,” Tim answers truthfully, “and angry. Sworn on revenge.”

“A lot like his father, isn’t he?” Raas quirks an eyebrow up at him.

Tim just nods; he doesn’t know what to say.

Batman can arrive any second, and he might have said rage-filled Robin with him. That won’t be pretty.

“So,” Raas steps closer, and Tim moves to stand in front of Dick, blocking him from view. Raas' face turns into a weird funny smile like there is something overly interesting about all of this. Perhaps it is. Tim can't see what.

“Are you going to throw him in?”

Tim freezes, for a second, and lets himself imagine what will happen if he does. Flashes of rage and heartbreak, tears and bruises. He quickly shakes it off, opening and closing his palms in a self-soothing manner and taking a breath to calm himself,

“Is it safe for me to wade in with him?” he questions Raas. Their knowledge about the Pit in surprisingly scarce, there are few of the green waters left and Jason has never been particularly happy talking about what he knows. The League has always kept their cards close to their chests too, no matter how much Bruce has tried to find their papers on the stuff.

Raas looks at him, and for a second Tim thinks the older man isn’t going to answer.

“Father, please stop with this ridiculous game,” a new voice joins in. Talia. The woman is walking, her heels clicking against the stone floor of the cave and he knows it’s only because she wants them too. She's heading straight towards them.

“Now, now, I’m only humoring our uninvited guest,” Raas says, rumbling voice filling the cave. Tim bites his lip as Raas looks at him, an eyebrow quirked. Uninvited, yes, he had blown a hole in a wall just to get in.

“Truly, I have problems seeing why you are allowing this. Nightwing has been a thorn in our side for a long time,” Talia says as she comes to a stop, standing by her father’s side. She is a lot taller than the old man plus imposing and scary in a whole different way.

Tim wonders if her animosity towards Nightwing has anything to do with his older brother’s close relationship with Robin, leftover from Dick’s run as Batman.

“Why shouldn’t we let the boy resurrect his brother? I’m sure Damian would appreciate it too,” Raas argues, which Talia scoffs at. She probably has a better idea of what Damian thinks about all of this than the boy's grandfather, who never seems to care about anything besides his own agenda. Tim knows Damian’s thoughts too and has to refrain from visibly cringing at the thought.

Damian is for sure steaming somewhere, cursing Tim in every language he knows. It's surprisingly many.

“Are you sure Mr. Grayson would?” Talia asks, and Tim isn’t sure if the question is directed at him or at Raas.

Her eyes meet Tim’s, hers a fiery glow so different from Raas’ green, before she adds, “And what about Bruce?”

Her use of their civilian names is eerie, sending goosebumps up Tim’s spine even if he tries his best to hide it. It sounds wrong and unnatural, when they’re the villains that they are and Tim is in full suit-up, he’d even forced a Nightwing-suit and domino mask on Dick before he left Gotham with the body.

“I’m sure the Bat would be glad to see his son again and as of Mr. Grayson - well, he’s dead. I’m sure he has no opinion as of right now,” Raas contemplates, and looks towards his daughter, for the first time showing a hint of irritation. “Who are you really trying to argue with here? Me, or the junior bat?” he questions her with a voice more sharp when neither Tim nor Talia answers to his first words.

Talia quickly back’s up, taking a step further away from her father, having heard the same underlying threat as Tim apparently.

“Whoever it works on,” she says, nonchalant, “Even if he’s dead now, I’m quite sure the famous first Robin would have quite a lot to say about being resurrected.”

Talia’s a good actor, Tim notes, not showing any sign of being scared of her father as she continues arguing, besides the little first reaction.

And she’s right. Dick will have a lot of words, most of them probably negative, about being woken from the dead.

Tim doesn’t care.

He wants his big brother back.

Raas opens his mouth as if he is about to say something but then stills for a second. Something changes over his face as he looks over at Tim again.

“Well, young detective, it seems we are becoming short of time. The Batman seems to have infiltrated the first level, so I suggest you make a decision quickly.”

Bruce is here already. Crap. How Raas even knows is a mystery to Tim, he’s never been able to see a comm-unit on neither the Demon’s head nor his daughter.

“I can inform you that the water is safe, just don’t inhale too much,” Raas continues, voice rushed, stepping closer to him. To Dick.

Talia stares, mouth pulled tight, waiting for the end game. For Tim’s decision.

Is he ready to face the consequences of the choice he is taking right now? The reactions he will be met with?

There hasn’t been a funeral, there is no gravestone and not everyone even knows. It’s not completely real, not yet.

He takes a deep breath. Yes, he knows what he’s going to do.

Smoothly he turns, feeling his cape fluttering behind him, as he bends down. He hefts Dick up, arms holding under his brother's shoulders. He has to remind himself that Dick can’t feel anything as the limp body scrapes against the rough black sand and stones mixed up in it.

He can’t help but hold his breath as he steps backwards into the waters, feeling the water around his boot clad feet.

Nothing happens.

He drags Dick further out, the water quickly deepening. Soon he’s standing to his middle in it, everything around him glowing green. He can barely see Raas and Talia still standing at the shore, they don’t seem to have moved.

“It’s now or never,” Raas says, his voice somehow reaching Tim without yelling. There’s the sound of fighting, closing in, the tell-tale explosion sound of the specially made batarangs.

Okay.

He’s doing it. It’s happening.

Tim pushes Dick’s limp and broken body under, something in him screaming about how Dick will drown - how wrong it is to hold someone he loves underwater. But Dick’s dead, this won't kill him more. You can’t drown if you’re not breathing, the logical part of his brain says.

He stands there, completely still, only using his muscles to stand and to keep Dick’s body under.

For a breath, nothing happens. Tim feels the panic start to take hold. What, why - This was supposed to -

Something moves in the water.

Twitching.

A pale veiny hand grabs around Tim’s wrist.

It’s done.

#no beta we die like mne #whats this? idk #a moment of inspiration i guess #Tims gonna resurrect his brother or so help me!!!!#tim doesnt do well with dead friends and family #its the trauma #open ending #lets be real thats the only endings i know how to write #so #yey tim centric!!#i have no idea how to write talia and raas but here it goes #vaguely inspired by some other post i saw bt cant find #hm #my writing #tim drake #dick grayson #fanfiction #tim and dick

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