#it makes it seem like the eggs not that big of a threat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

Note

Hey sorry if this isn't your sorta thing but could I request a dragon that collects humans with special magic powers falling for reader?

I love this idea! Sorry it took me so long to get to this ^_^'

Dragon (Felix) x female reader

Word Count: 3k

W: yandere dragon behavior , some threats of violence, sfw fluff

Felix had dedicated his life to hunting the most miraculous humans, the most beautiful, the most powerful, the strongest, and the most magically inclined. He was fascinated with what made them tick. Humans shouldn’t naturally have magic. In his personal opinion, it was a bit of an abomination actually. Humans were meant to be servile, toiling around in the dirt with no wings or fins or fangs to protect them. That they should be dominated seemed to simply be the nature of things and he had no intention of fussing with that.

No, really, what he had was morbid curiosity and perhaps nothing else to do. Dragons' lives were very long and they had few natural enemies. Felix was a scholar at heart and something drew him to collecting. Over the years he’d captured and tamed hundreds of powerful, talented humans. Some cooperated with his experiments and lived in relative luxury in his castle; others had far too much pride, in his opinion, and had to be locked away for everyone’s safety.

Each one was more miraculous than the next. One man could draw fire from his hands like a fire fairy, but tests revealed he had no fire fairy blood in him. Another person could screech so loud they could break glass. Their vocal chords were fascinating to study. It seemed to be a totally natural phenomenon.

Still, after years and years of collecting he hadn’t found…perhaps the human he was looking for? Something still drew him to scouring the planet looking for…something. So naturally, he was quite surprised when he found you simpering and sniffling in a corner of his castle with tears on your face. You were just a maid. You had no special magic, you weren’t exceptionally beautiful, and your biggest talent was that you could make a boiled egg better than any of the other kitchen staff. It came out perfect every time with your technique, but that was it.

“Why are you crying little one?” he asked, perhaps because he was bored. Otherwise he would have probably walked right past you. He’d never noticed you before, though you’d worked in the kitchen peeling potatoes and boiling eggs for a few years. He’d had your famous boiled egg for breakfast every day for a long time without even knowing who cooked it.

You lived in a small cottage near the castle and came to work in the kitchen every day from sunrise until everyone had their last meal. Then you hurried home to the safety and comfort of your old hay mattress.

Our eyes filled with terror when you realised the master of the castle was talking to you and you quickly righted yourself, trying to rub the soup one of his talented humans had dumped on your head off of your face.

“I-it’s n-nothing my lord,” you stammered, trying to slip past his huge form.

He was just scraping nine feet tall, not including the silver horns emerging from his head. You tried not to let your eyes linger on the glittering scales that clung just above his cheekbones and along his jaw or his silver eyes.

“Stop right there,” he said, grabbing your shoulder with his big hand and swinging you back around to face him, “answer honestly when your master asks you a question.”

You blushed, unsure what to say. You didn’t want to tattle on Mira, the talented human who’d waited too long to eat her soup and threw a tantrum when it was cold hours after you’d delivered it. She was far more important and interesting than you, despite her temper. She could lift objects with her mind. You could boil an egg. You were not the same.

“I need to get Miss Mira more soup,” you decided to say, ignoring the glob of meat that wetly slid out of your hair and smacked on the floor with a splat.

“I-I’ll clean that up, right away,” you assured him, bending to wipe up the mess you were making with your apron.

The dragon frowned looking you up and down and tapping his chin. There was something about you that he liked. He wasn’t exactly sure what. You certainly weren’t remarkable and you looked a mess covered in red soup with bits of vegetables and meat in your hair. Regardless, he was curious about you.

“Do you have running water at home?” he asked.

You blinked and looked up at him for a moment, before catching yourself and looking back down to the soupy footprints you were trying to mop up.

“Erm…no my lord, only the castle and the merchant’s manors have piped water,” you explained.

You were not looking forward to hauling bucket after bucket of cold water to your bath to wash all of the food out of your hair when you got home. Only the rich could afford the metal pipes and enchantments that would bring warm water indoors.

He grunted down at you.

“Come with me,” he said simply, turning on his heels and marching down the hall.

You didn’t know what else to do, he was your boss, so you shuffled after him.

“My lord, perhaps I should get another maid to help you,” you said apprehensively as he led you into his personal quarters and bathroom. You hovered uncomfortably at the door, wondering what he wanted you to clean while covered in soup. You were making an even bigger mess wandering around the castle dripping wet.

“Don’t move an inch,” he said over his shoulder as he started the tap.

You started to tremble, unsure what was going on. This was highly unusual, working in the kitchen you hardly ever saw the master. Nothing good could come of him bringing you to his personal quarters. You had no romantic illusions about some noble lord taking an interest in you. You’d seen maid after maid chewed up by the male talents Lord Felix had in the castle. They went through them and then tossed them away like toys, leaving them penniless, without a job, and heartbroken. All you wanted to do was come to work, do your work, and go home without being molested or covered in soup.

You watched him pour a sweet smelling soap into the water that reminded you of the scent of peaches and made lots of bubbles.

“Go ahead and undress,” he said, as he sprinkled some kind of salt as well.

“No, my lord,” you said with fleeting confidence.

You were an employee, not a toy.

He turned to you and his eyebrows went up. He was handsome and very large, all things that were attractive to you, but you had some shame.

“No?” he repeated, scoffing.

“I don’t feel comfortable…” you said, your confidence waning.

“You’d rather spend the day covered in stew?” he asked.

You plucked a thread at your dress.

“No, my lord, but…”

He snickered at you as he crossed the room, looming over you and yanking the wool dress you were wearing over your head before you had a chance to fight him.

“How do you plan on stopping me?” he teased you as he pulled the chaste white panties you were wearing off and removing the bra you had on.

He wasn’t rough with you, but he also didn’t hide his strength, pinning you easily with one hand while the other worked on removing your clothes.

“My lord!” you sputtered, “this isn’t fair!”

He shrugged as he picked you up like you were just a kitten and carried you over to the bath water.

“It really isn’t,” he agreed as he gently set you in it, “but such is the way of the world.”

To your dismay he unceremoniously dumped a pitcher of warm clean water on your head so instead of fighting him you were busy wiping water out of your eyes.

“That’s better isn’t it?” he asked drizzling a swirl of shampoo in your hair.

This was probably the first time in your life you’d been fully immersed in warm water except maybe when you were an infant and the sensation was hard to pass up. It was warmer than you could ever get your water at home with just hot rocks heated in the fireplace and your skin felt smooth and soft from the salts he’d added.

If you wanted to argue, you didn’t have a chance, because he was quickly scrubbing his large, strong fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp.

“Mmmm,” you hummed reflexively and he smiled, gathering a comb up to run it through your hair and remove all of the bits of vegetable matter.

“So have I softened you up enough to tell me what happened?” he asked, as you let your eyes shut, leaning back against the smooth back of the tub.

You tender bits were all covered in piles of bubbles, which eased your shyness.

“Miss Mira just has a bit of a temper,” you mumbled in total bliss, the gentle scrape of the blunt comb on your skull relaxing and soothing years of built up tension, “nothing to be concerned with, my lord.”

He chuckled at how a simple bath relaxed you and loosened your tongue, reminding himself to deal with Mira later. He didn’t tolerate badly behaved humans under his care, especially now that he’d taken an interest in you. No one would be dumping any food on you again under his watch. When he’d gotten you satisfactorily clean he pulled you from the tub and wrapped you in a fluffy towel, ringing the bell for another maid. When she arrived her eyes widened as she saw the condition you were in, shooting you a questioning look when Felix wasn’t looking. You shot back at her with a shrug and a pleading look indicating you had no idea what was going on either and begging her to do something, though neither of you had any idea what she could possibly do to save you.

“Bring…” he glanced down at you to get your name but you kept your mouth shut tight.

Frightened of angering the lord and to your dismay the other maid gave him your name quickly. He smiled.

“Bring (Y/N) another dress, something pretty,” he said.

“Yes, my lord,” she replied, tossing you an apologetic glance before she disappeared.

“Now,” he mused, looking back at you with his finger tapping his chin, “there’s something about you…”

He lifted a lock of your hair, before smoothing his clawed fingers over the column of your neck.

“You seem to be a normal human,” he murmured, “but I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of you…even for a moment, they are always drawn back to you…do you know why that is (Y/N)?”

You quickly shook your head because you really had no idea. He picked you up and you stiffened in his arms as he carried you to his laboratory. Terrified, you tried to fight him when your eyes grazed over the bottled body parts he had lining his shelves. Of course it was hopeless, he was far too big and strong.

“Don’t be so worried, little one,” he chuckled, “I have no intention of dissecting you. I’m only going to run a few tests.”

He set you on his work table before producing what looked like a doctor’s kit. While you shivered in terror, odd drops of water dripping from your hair down your neck, he took some of your blood and tapped various pressure points with some kind of tool to stimulate your reflexes.

You watched him hum and wrinkle his brow as he tried to sort out what made you so special, examining your blood sample under a microscope only to find your cells were perfectly average human cells.

“I assure you, my lord, I’m just a normal human. There really is nothing unique about me,” you said when you’d calmed down enough to catch your breath.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he informed you curtly and you shrank back.

There was a knock at the door and the maid appeared with a dress in your size. He took the dress, waving her away and carefully pulled it over your head, letting you slide your arms through the sleeves. To your surprise he very adeptly braided your hair and secured it with a pin.

“Follow me,” he said, pulling you down off of the high counter you were sitting on, onto the floor.

He took you to the male’s quarters and with a shout gathered all of the male special humans from whatever they were occupying themselves with.

“What do you think of this human?” he asked them, pointing to you.

Most of them looked bored, while a few looked a bit interested.

“She’s just a pretty girl,” one of them said.

“Not that pretty,” another commented.

“Yeah, she’s not really my type,” someone else said.

“I think she’s pretty, in a sort of farm girl type of way…” someone piped in.

“Hmm,” Felix said, pushing you behind him and considering the data he’d collected.

For some reason, he didn’t like these males looking at you, assessing your attributes, even though that’s what he’d asked them to do.

He led you back to his laboratory more confused than before. The males of the castle seemed to think you were a normal human. You didn’t have any sort of excessive seductive powers. So why did his heart flutter when his eyes met yours? Why were his hands sweating like he was just a schoolboy? While the other men seemed relatively ambivalent, when he looked at you, your skin seemed to glow and your smile made him want to press his lips against yours.

“My lord, don’t you think I should get back to work?” you asked, hoping his curiosity was satisfied and he would let you go.

“No,” he said, “you’re not to leave my side. I’m adding you to my collection.”

You gasped. You did not want to be one of your master’s collection. You were a maid, an employee, not a doll! You didn’t know what else to do, so you ran…or at least tried to run, but you only got a few steps before he hauled you back to him.

He pulled you up to his eye level and glared at you with his reptilian, golden eyes.

“Do NOT do that again,” he snarled, curls of smoke leaking from his nose.

The idea of you running away from him was infuriating. You were his. He was sure of it.

“I don’t know what it is about you, but you will not get away from me. Try to run again and I will remove your legs,” he snapped.

You nodded your head quickly, trembling in his arms.

Pleased that you understood, he led you to the other side of the castle to find Mira.

“Oh, hello Master Felix,” she cooed when he entered her room, batting her eyelashes at him, “I’m so pleased you’ve come to see me.”

Her eyes focused on you in your fine dress and she frowned.

“What’s she doing here, bringing me more cold soup?”

Felix snorted and a small flame burst from his nose.

“I’ve found a new use for your talents, Mira,” he informed her, “from now on you will work in the laundry washing linens…I think your skills can be useful to the other maids.”

He rang the bell in her room and a different maid appeared, her eyes popping at your dress. You gave her another confused shrug, before she had to turn her attention to your Master.

“Bring Mira a maid’s uniform,” he spat and she hurried away.

“You can’t be serious!” Mira shouted, various items in her room levitating around her, “I’m not a maid! I’m special!”

“(Y/N) is special,” he said, glancing down at you, then back up at her, “you are nothing more than a biological anomaly that apparently needs to be put to more productive use.”

While Mira shot daggers at you with her eyes, you tried to return her look with the most contrite, sympathetic face possible, but that didn’t stop the shower of hair brushes, hair pins, and makeup that came sailing in your direction with murderous intent.

With a wave of his hand the sundry items dropped to the floor with a clatter, just before they reached you.

“Try that again and you’ll be dissected and pickled,” Felix growled.

Mira blanched and the maid returned with one of the plain wool dresses you used to wear.

“Change and report to the laundry, the other maids will tell you what to do…if I see your face out of the laundry again there will be consequences,” he hissed, scooping you up like you were a treasure and carrying you from the room.

You blinked up at Felix, feeling bad for Mira. You were an employee, you had the ability to go home, but Mira was a captive…and now a servant.

“My lord,” you gasped, “are you sure you’re not being too harsh? I’m really nothing special…”

His eyes sparkled and he chuckled at you.

“That’s where you are wrong, my darling,” he said, “I think you are the human I’ve been looking for.”

“Looking for?” you murmured.

“Since I started this project of collecting humans I could never find the one that would sate my hunger for searching…but with you in my arms…I seem to have lost the desire to collect them at all…I would rather spend my time studying you.”

You blinked at him and swallowed thickly.

“I am not a doll…or a biological anomaly or whatever you said,” you pouted, using your last bit of pluck.

He turned your face to him and his golden eyes searched yours.

“That you are not,” he admitted with a smile that revealed his sharp teeth, “but you are still mine and I have no intention of letting you go. From now on you will be my companion.”

You blanched. His companion? You weren’t sure you liked the sound of that, but there was nothing to be done about it if you wanted to keep your legs attached to your body.

“Now,” he said with a sigh, smoothing his fingers over your soft cheek, “let’s have a nice day, shall we? No more silly attempts to escape and no more bowls of soup on your head, hmm?”

Your heart fluttered a bit, you were unsure if it was from fear or interest, but you accepted his words with a nod as he carried you off to the garden to enjoy the sunshine and your new life.

#dragon yandere #dragon fluff #dragon x reader #yandere x reader #yandere fluff #yandere male #yandere #monster x reader #monster fluff #x reader #fluff

1K notes · View notes

mrsnancywheeler · 4 months

Text

the lakes (7) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

previous / next

midnight rain

2.7k words

warnings: angst, fluff, manipulation of someone's feelings, self-doubt, reader being sure she'll die, mental illness, allusions to violence/death, banter, this ones kind of short and sweet before the interviews and games start, terms of endearment, no use of Y/N, UNEDITED, reader likes peaches

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“They've been evaluating every moment in training, but this is the big moment. Show them much you've improved, how far you've come. Since you've decided not to ally with the Careers and haven't been falling under the radar, you both need to prove how much of a threat you are as a group." This was life-saving information for your Games persona, but Finnick's honey voice filled your senses.

“As an individual threat they'd want to target you sooner, but as a group you're more of a challenge.” Ondine took a drink of the shimmery blue liquid in her glass, it looked so unnatural and the sour yet sweet smell filled your nostrils from far away.

"So let's hope your District 7 friends get the memo.” Finnick’s snide remark infuriated Conway who was always being irked by his advice.

“They will, they're impressive." He said it so shortly the tension between them would be obvious to anyone.

“Hopefully the gamemakers agree." Finnick was ever smiling, taking a bite of a peach. He grabbed another one and as if he forgot himself tried offering it to you.

“No I'm okay, thanks." You shook your head and your eyes bore what you up was a very stern, what the hell to him. Maybe it would seem normal to most people, but everything seemed too risky.

“Suit yourself." Finnick tilted his head and offered it to Conway as well. He seemed unbothered, but you could tell he got the message. You looked at the fruit, your favorite. Hopefully it seemed like Finnick was just being kind to the both of you and Conway didn't recall that peaches happened to be your choice of fruit. It did make your heart flutter a little though, knowing that Finnick did.

Conway shook his head curtly. You began tapping your foot anxiously, everything was too awkward. Taking a sip of water to try and quench the dryness in your throat.

“You really both should eat, in a couple of days there could be nothing." Ondine advised, and Finnick’s hand was suddenly offering the peach back to you. His smile was so knowing and you took a second before accepting it.

“Thank you." You muttered before taking a bite, it was delicious and eating something made your anxieties less prevalent. The way Conway was looking at you made you feel like you had to defend this decision, “Their right, we need to preserve our strength and it's breakfast, the most important meal of the day." You tried to keep your tone light, airy, and carefree to cover for the internal gnawing at being found out. Messing with your hair as you averted your eyes from his to take another bite.

"Right.” Conway said gruffly and moved his head in disbelief before he started taking bites of the eggs on his plate. Suddenly you were scared, he was upset, you hadn't taken his side even if it was simply being defiant about allies and eating something else. Regardless of your tactics you still had free will and you hated being malleable to whatever he thought just so he would think you loved him, but when you didn't would that be another tick that would make him kill you quicker in the arena.

No, you were talented, well liked. He couldn't kill you without your allies turning against him too if he did it too early on. At least that's what you were trying to tell yourself as you foot kept tapping, robotically taking bites of the fruit. Glancing up for a moment, your eyes met Finnick’s, he was mouthing something at you. Probably you are okay but your mind was too preoccupied to grasp in the moment to analyze. He tilted his head downwards and tapped his fingers on the table. Shit, you thought as you instantly stopped your foot from its continual tapping. That would be an easy tell, for Conway to know you were upset now, which was a threat, and in the arena.

Conway had been looking between you too and seen the whole interaction, at least that's what you assumed when he began talking. “Hey, are you okay?" His voice oozed with genuine care that angered you further, how could he say that, but also put you in this position? No, you put yourself in this position.

“Just nervous about today, you know, making an impression." You tried to cover for yourself. His hand grabbed yours, it was just as cold as yours.

"Don't be, you're going to do great.” Conway tried to assure you, brown eyes trying to be comforting, but they weren't when your own were on pins and needles trying to sell a version of yourself that wasn't true.

You forced your muscles to relax at his touch, "Thank you.”

"We should be on our way.” Finnick abruptly interrupted the moment, chair squeaking on the floor. Ondine nodded in agreement as she stood and Conway reluctantly let go of your hand as you both followed. Leaving the peach on the table as you walked out behind Conway.

Soon enough you were both sitting in the cold, metallic room waiting for your names to be called. Thankfully you weren't from a lower numbered district so the anxious waiting didn't have to last for long. Mostly though, Conway’s hand was sitting on you knew and you were painfully aware of it, trying not to act bothered. It was uncomfortable, but you had to put yourself at ease, even putting your hand on top of his. Then your name echoed through the room, it almost brought some sick kind of relief knowing you wouldn't have to keep faking the chemistry for a few moments.

His hand squeezed your leg before he released it and you stood up, “You've got this." He encouraged you, smiling so sweetly a rational girl would be swimming in joy for it.

“You too." You smiled back before walking out of the room. Into the predatory eyes of the gamemakers. They hadn't been there long enough to be bored yet, so their attention was still laser-focused when you entered.

Charm, you still needed the charm. You hoped your aura was radiating the confidence you were pretending to have as you smiled up at the group observing you. “The floor is yours to show any talent of your choice." A voice rang out. You nodded, eyes searching for where the knives and targets would be.

Breathing heavily as you approached them, willing your body to do what it always has not to freeze up or slip. Thankfully it listened as you picked up one of the knives, lightly tossing it in the air before catching it. Reassuring you that your instincts knew exactly what they were doing as you began throwing them into the targets. Brain focused on extreme precision, this could make or break you, force you to rely on an outgoing persona rather than being a double threat. Before you knew it each knife was gone from where they previously lay.

“Thank you." Another voice pierced through the air as you turned to face the raised area where they all sat, drinking their various beverages.

“Thank you." You emphasized before making your exit, hoping a few words and your talents with knife throwing was enough. Doubting that it was as you exited to the hall where Finnick and Ondine would be waiting.

“How'd you do?" Finnick’s voice led you straight towards their direction.

You shrugged,"I don't know if it was enough.”

"So you did great.” He clicked his tongue at your self-doubt before stepping closer. “I'm sorry about earlier, I wasn't thinking." He whispered, you didn't care anymore not when his presence made the butterflies in your stomach explode.

“It's fine, I'm not sure he's buying it anyways." You leaned up against the wall, exhausted from the constant mind games and how on edge you were.

“He is." Finnick tried to assure you, “He'll probably allude to it during the interviews, which we'll start preparing for, and the sponsors will eat it up.”

"Okay, I trust you.” You whispered and you could have sworn you saw his heart breaking, no matter how hard you played of course your death was most likely inevitable.

Then Conway was done and you were all headed back to your floor, to impatiently await results. Laying on the couch, his arm draped around you. Oh how you longed for it to be Finnick's instead, who was sitting nearby, arms lazily resting on the top of it.

You held your breath as your face appeared on the screen, Conway hand tried to soothingly rub your shoulder. “With a score of 10." You exhaled gratefully.

“Told you!" Conway said excitedly, he was like a puppy dog. You couldn't help but move your eyes to Finnick who looked so proud of you it made you want to crawl into his arms right then. “From District 4, Conway Angler with a score of 10.”

"Good job!” You cheered on, hugging him. Before he had pulled you in for a kiss, your heart screamed to pull away, but your brain refused to until he did. His face was ecstatic when he finally removed his lips from yours, which were cold. It was jarring for two pairs of cold lips to try and mesh together. Soon enough it was announced that both of your district 7 allies had scored just as well, Birch with an 11 and Marlowe a 10.

“Good." Ondine sighed in relief, “Takes away the individual targets that could be on your backs."

By then you forced yourself to be snuggled into Conway's side, which would have been relaxing if you couldn't feel Finnick's eyes burning into you. A heat you craved. Thankfully the time to head to bed had soon approached.

“You both need rest, we'll prepare for your interview plans tomorrow, separately." Finnick announced, you noticed the look Ondine shot at him as if he'd gone over he head.

“Why separately?" Conway inquired as he got up from the comfy couch cushions.

“Even if you're marketed as a team, you need individual strategies." Finnick crossed his arms, “Just looking out for you both."

“Sure." Conway said, voice full of distrust. “I'll walk you to your room?" He offered as you stood up. Voice hopeful, a ploy to be let in. It would be so helpful, but you didn't want to be on edge when it was time to rest, to be worried you would mumble Finnick's name in your sleep.

“I'm alright, thank you." His eyes fell even if he didn't try to seem off put by this refusal. “I'm exhausted, not going to be much talking out of me.”

"Well that's alright, I don't mind.” Conway tried to reason, still hopeful for something, anything.

"Just get some sleep.” Ondine advised and you silently thanked her as Conway gave a small eye roll.

"Yeah, whatever, goodnight.” His smile was small and quick. So you grabbed his arm to give him a small peck on the cheek.

"Goodnight.” You looked at him slyly, smiling and could see the light in his eyes returning as he beamed. He stalked off to his room and you took small steps until he was around the corner and you were whipping around, seeing Ondine was gone too.

“Are you really exhausted?" Finnick asked, standing.

“Just emotionally."

“Do you need anything?" He asked, stepping forward. His eyes were desperate to help even if you could sense a twinge of jealousy in them that you felt guilty for.

“To be with you." Your smile was finally real, natural and it felt refreshing.

“Oh, come here, sweet girl."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"I'm sure she'll come around, Finnick, once she realizes you're genuinely kind on top of that insufferable ego.” You were sitting in between his legs as you laid on the couch, head on his stomach. Head rising with every breath he took, the sound of his heartbeat helping you relax. He was so effortlessly comforting.

Finnick scoffed, “I'm so good to you and saying stuff like that is how you repay me." He tutted as his fingers messed with strands of your hair.

“No one said married life was easy.” You sighed. Subconsciously your fingers danced on his leg, you could lay like this forever.

“Well I know that, I'm married to you, angel." He chuckled and you swatted his leg.

“Rude!" Tilting your head so he would be sure to see the glare you were sending his way and the pout adorning your face.

“No one said married life was easy." He repeated, smirking down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Don't worry, I love how difficult you can be when you're not being a perfect, caring angel."

You crossed your arms, huffing playfully, "I'm not difficult.”

He nodded, "And I'm not Finnick Odair.”

“You're the difficult one." You insisted with a shake of your head.

“Oh I am?" He smiled, fingertips brushing the side of your face.

“Mh-hmm."

“Well how so, my love, I wouldn't want to be difficult for you.”

"Number one, you're an ass, two,you're full of yourself, three, your bossy, and four, you keep telling your poor wife how difficult she is and it's only been a few days.” You removed yourself from where you slotted between his legs to face him and lay on his chest instead. Laying your chin down so you could look right back in his sea-green eyes.

"Good thing that my poor wife has been difficult long before we married, so it didn't hit me recently and I was well prepared.” You sighed dramatically at his insistence, laying your head down sideways to stare at the couch cushion.

“I'm not difficult." You reiterated, the warmth of his chest was like a blanket and it tired you even if you had to stay awake longer.

“Whatever you say, angel." The television in front of you started blaring, assaulting your ears as you turned your head towards it. Ceaser Flickerman appeared to announce the tribute scores that you couldn't care less about, you knew these people and the sponsors already knew you. Before you knew it it was your name once again, hitting you with intense deja vu of when you'd last been on the couch, in another boy’s arms, waiting for the same words. At least this boy, your Finnick, you could trust, there was no constant turning in your stomach about being found out.

“With a score of 10." Even more deja vu, Finnick's fingers traced up your spine.

“That's my girl." He whispered and if you could you would've sunk deeper into his chest, let yourself be consumed by him until you were one.

“District 4, Finnick Odair, with a score of 11."

"That's my husband!” You cheered quietly, wanting to just rest right here.

When Peeta and Katniss’ 12’s were announced Finnick shook his head,"They're trying to put targets on their backs.” He muttered bitterly as the broadcast ended. “We have to make sure they're with us, less likely to be attacked as a group early on in the games.” Thinking about the rapidly approaching date where you'd be back in the arena, protecting Katniss, trying to end it all, and waiting to die made your heart stop. It was cruel that you couldn't just be one with Finnick forever, that you'd probably die in the arena.

He felt the change in the rhythm of your heart, “It's gonna be okay, angel, we're gonna stick together and get out of this. Trust me."

“I do trust you." You whispered. It was yourself who you didn't trust. “I just wish I didn't have to savor every moment of peace with you before we’re back."

“You don't have to savor it, we're going to get out of there together." Finnick's honey voice was so reassuring even if your brain said not to listen. Someone had to die and you'd rather it be you, it didn't seem possible to live in a world without Finnick. But you nodded anyways, he didn't need to know about your internal monologue and then dedicate his time trying to convince you that wouldn't happen. You knew in your soul there was no way you were getting out of these games with him, no matter how badly you wanted to.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

taglist: @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @avoxrising @artsyaquarium @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @secretsicanthideanymore @darlingsoulbeautfulthoughts @thatonegayloser616 @kybermp3 @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @ravensinthedaylight @innercreationflower @uhnanix @aesthetic0cherryblossom @yourdailymemedelivery

thank you for reading! this one's kind of calm before I start tearing into those interviews and the games begin because I needed some softness. thank you all sm for the support you've showed me, it's really helped encourage me to keep writing! if you enjoyed feedback is always appreciated, likes, comments, reblogs and my inbox is always open for questions or thoughts which I love because I think about this all the time. love you all 💋

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #thg #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #thg finnick #finnick x you

280 notes · View notes

not-terezi-pyrope · 3 months

Note

Ok. It's pretty clear you are more welcoming of AI, and it does have enough merits to not be given a knee jerk reaction outright.

And how the current anti-ai stealing programs could be misused.

But isn't so much of the models built on stolen art? That is one of the big thing keeping me from freely enjoying it.

The stolen art is a thing that needs to be addressed.

Though i agree that the ways that such addressing are being done in are not ideal. Counterproductive even.

I could make a quip here and be like "stolen art??? But the art is all still there, and it looks fine to me!" And that would be a salient point about the silliness of digital theft as a concept, but I know that wouldn't actually address your point because what you're actually talking about is art appropriation by generative AI models.

But the thing is that generative AI models don't really do that, either. They train on publicly posted images and derive a sort of metadata - more specifically, they build a feature space mapping out different visual concepts together with text that refers to them. This is then used at the generative stage in order to produce new images based on the denoising predictions of that abstract feature model. No output is created that hasn't gone through that multi-stage level of abstraction from the training data, and none of the original training images are directly used at all.

Due to various flaws in the process, you can sometimes get a model to output images extremely similar to particular training images, and it is also possible to get a model to pastiche a particular artist's work or style, but this is something that humans can also do and is a problem with the individual image that has been created, rather than the process in general.

Training an AI model is pretty clearly fair use, because you're not even really re-using the training images - you're deriving metadata that describes them, and using them to build new images. This is far more comparable to the process by which human artists learn concepts than the weird sort of "theft collage" that people seem to be convinced is going on. In many cases, the much larger training corpus of generative AI models means that an output will be far more abstracted from any identifiable source data (source data in fact is usually not identifiable) than a human being drawing from a reference, something we all agree is perfectly fine!

The only difference is that the AI process is happening in a computer with tangible data, and is therefore quantifiable. This seems to convince people that it is in some way more ontologically derivative than any other artistic process, because computers are assumed to be copying whereas the human brain can impart its own mystical juju of originality.

I'm a materialist and think this is very silly. The valid concerns around AI are to do with how society is unprepared for increased automation, but that's an entirely different conversation from the art theft one, and the latter actively distracts from the former. The complete refusal from some people to even engage with AI's existence out of disgust also makes it harder to solve the real problem around its implementation.

This sucks, because for a lot of people it's not really about copyright or intellectual property anyway. It's about that automation threat, and a sort of human condition anxiety about being supplanted and replaced by automation. That's a whole mess of emotions and genuine labour concerns that we need to work through and break down and resolve, but reactionary egg-throwing at all things related to machine learning is counterproductive to that, as is reading out legal mantras paraphrasing megacorps looking to expand copyright law to over shit like "art style".

I've spoken about this more elsewhere if you look at my blog's AI tag.

#not-terezi-speaks #asks #anonymous #ai

157 notes · View notes

pathetichimbos · 6 months

Text

First Meeting - Part Five

((part four here)) ((part six here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

tagslist: @goodiesinthecloset21 @shykoolade @strawb3rry-gal @ktssstuff @theclownbaby0 @leah-halliwell92 @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @aleracrovn

---

You’ve run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

Luda Mae didn't say much else after your confrontation, only directing you on where they kept the empty egg cartons once you were done drying the eggs and which fridge to put them in.

She tasks you with helping with dinner, leaving you in charge of cutting the vegetables she needs for the beef stew she was planning to make later in the day.

Okra, onions, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, celery... This stew was packed full of everything, a big and filling meal, a recurring theme you could already see playing out in this house.

The Hewitts clearly didn't lack in food, making enough for everyone and more, their fridges stockpiled with everything any person could need, from fresh fruits and vegetables to drawers full of home packaged meats.

Luda Mae begins preparing lunch as you chop the vegetables, the radio filling the silence between the two of you as you think of something to say, trying to find a way to fix the awkwardness you had created.

Before you get the chance, however, Luda Mae breaks the silence herself, "Go fetch Monty and Thomas for lunch."

"Right." You drop the last of the now chopped vegetables into a large bowl with the rest of them, "...Where are they?"

"Monty'll be on the front porch, with that damn yappin' mutt of his. Tommy'll be in the basement, straight down the hall."

"Ok, where do you want me to put these?" You grab the bowl off the counter.

"Put 'em in the fridge for now."

"Yes ma'am." You do as you're told, going to the front porch first.

You push the screen doors open with a sqeual, the two wooden doors already wide open to help air flow through the house.

You step onto the porch, swinging your head right to the empty swing, then left to see Monty at the other end of the porch, sleeping dog curled up in his lap.

"Hello?" You ask, as he doesn't seem to react to your presence at all.

No response.

You step closer, and the faint sounds of snoring make it apparent he's fallen asleep. You take another step, reaching a hand out to touch the back of his wheelchair in an attempt to wake him.

But, instead of waking him, you wake his dog, who jumps up as soon as your hand touches the chair, barking ferociously at you.

You jump back, pulling your hand away as Monty wakes up with a jolt, looking around confused.

"What the-- Roxanne, shut up!" He hollers at the dog before spotting you, already grumpy at being woken up, "What the hell are you doin' here?"

"I, uh... I'm supposed to tell you lunch's ready?" You take a step back, unsure of what else to tell him.

"Aw, hell." He huffs, turning towards the front door and making his way across the porch, yelling out, "Luda Mae!"

You step out of the way to let him pass before quickly following behind, making sure to reach up and open the screen door for him.

"I don't need your damn help." He mutters, pushing the other screen door open with his cane and making his way inside, "Luda Mae!"

"What the hell are you yellin' about now, Monty!?" She calls back from the kitchen.

"What is this person doin' in my damn house!?"

"Your house!?"

You ignore the rest of the conversation, quickly walking past the kitchen as they argue, following Luda Mae's previous instructions and going straight down the hall.

This end of the hall is dark, a stark contrast to the rest of the house. There's a single step into a small room, and when you try the switch it doesn't work.

The large metal door is daunting, not like any basment door you've seen, towering over you in the dark like a threat.

Just like a horror movie... You can't help but to think, stepping forward and looking for a door handle.

You don't find one, your fingers running across the cold metal in the dark, feeling for a way to open it. Instead, your fingers catch on the side, and with a little more looking, you realize it's a sliding door.

Gripping the edge of the door, you pull as hard as you can, the heavy metal scraping as it slowly pulls open, working against you as if it didn't want you to open it at all.

You give up once you get enough space to squeeze through, leaving it partially closed as you step inside.

You're immediately met with a faint, foul smell, and a wooden staircase going down into a wall before turning into the rest of the basement hidden from your view. You can hear someone moving around down there, a faint light creeping up the stairs.

"Thomas?" You call out from the top platform, shifting in place. The basement was already terrifying you, and you hadn't even taken the first step down, "You down here?"

You hear metal clatter, and something drop before heavy footsteps make their way over to the stairs. Thomas comes up to the second platform, a rag in hand as he wipes off his hands and arms. You can't see what he's wiping off, and you're sure you don't want to.

"Lunch is ready." You tell him, Luda Mae's and Monty's yelling loud enough to echo into the basement as you give an awkward smile, trying to make light of the situation, "...I don't think Monty likes havin' me here much."

Thomas lets out a small amused huff, well aware of his uncle's habit of looking for a reason to have a problem.

"Are you coming up?" You ask, and he nods, tilting his head towards the basement as if to say he'd be up in a minute, "Alright, I'll tell Luda Mae."

You step back out of the basement, barely managing to push the door shut again.

You can hear the arguement finishing up as you head back into the kitchen, managing to catch the end tail of Luda Mae shutting it down, "...Sit down and eat so you can shut the hell up. Ain't no damn reason for you to be mad right now."

Monty grumbles something else too quietly for you to hear as you step back in, already stuffing his mouth full of the lunch Luda Mae prepared.

"Thomas says he'll be up in a minute." You break the silence, tension thick as you take a seat at the kitchen table.

Monty rolls his eyes, smacking around a full mouth, "Oh, what'a big help you are."

Taken aback by the sudden insult, you look between the two of them, beginning to pick at your own plate of food.

"Ignore him. He's just mad at nothin'." Luda Mae sets two more plates down before taking the seat beside him, "Don't talk with your mouth full, you damn fool."

He huffs again, glaring down at the plate of food as if it's responsible for everything wrong in the world, though you had an inkling suspicous he was directing those feelings towards you.

Another minute passes in silence, as the three of you sit and eat, your plate signifigantly less full than theirs, a request you gave Luda Mae earlier as to not waste any food you couldn't eat.

"...This is really good." You finally speak up, the silence driving you mad.

"Thank you. At least someone's appreciative." Luda Mae gives Monty a pointed look.

"Ain't suppos'ta talk wi'f my mou'f full." He makes a point of talking around a large bite of food.

It's her turn to roll her eyes as she turns back to her own plate of food.

"Why are you here anyhow? You get kicked out of your own house for bein' a druggie or somethin'?" Monty abruptly asks.

"Damnit, Monty--!"

"No, it's alright." You shrug, "I don't mind."

The smug look on his face almost makes you want to take it back, but you ignore him as you start explaining, "Mama drinks too much and Dad ain't around. Just seemed easier to go out on my own than to try and fix someone who doesn't wanna change."

"And it's also none of your damn business." Luda Mae points out.

"It's my damn business when it's in my damn house."

She scoffs, about to say something else when Thomas walks in the room, opting instead for saying nothing else, simply giving Monty a silent warning glare not to say another word.

"Hi..." You mutter, looking up at Thomas as he sits down, unbelievably relieved to have him in the room.

He looks around the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife between Luda Mae and Monty, creating an awkward environment for everyone in the room.

You stare down at the table, picking at your plate as you steal glances between the two of them before catching a glimpse at Thomas, who was doing the same as you.

You look at him, and then back at the other two. He nods, apparently sharing your thoughts.

You bite your lip, glancing between the two of them and Thomas. Perhaps it was the overly exaggerated look of anger on Monty's face, or the way Luda Mae continues making annoyed facial expressions, as if she was still arguing with him in her head, but suddenly you find yourself struggling not to laugh.

Thomas seems to be thinking the same thing, food untouched in front of him as he tries to fight off a smirk under his mask.

You place your arm on the table, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you look away, almost visible shaking from trying to stifle your laughter. It was like being a kid again, sitting between your parents trying have a serious arguement over the stupidest thing they could possibly think of, completely aware of how much trouble you could get into for laughing but unable to stop yourself from chuckling at their overdramatic antics.

The rest of the meal is spent in silence, you and Thomas stealing glances at each other and stifling your amusement at the two.

After everyone finishes you gather the dishes, helping Luda Mae wash them, the awkwardness long gone since Monty went to his room to take a nap.

You wash the plates and silverware in silence, Luda Mae drying and putting them away.

It's still early in the afternoon, and she's got nothing else to do, giving you plenty of time to grab your book and settle on the living room couch.

Luda Mae sits on a love seat on the other side of the living room, crotcheting something you couldn't quite make out. Perhaps it was too early in her project, or perhaps she was just shit at crotcheting. You don't bother to ask, content with reading over your book as an old song drifts through the air, dripping with static as the old radio pushes it out of it's speakers.

You pull your feet onto the cushion, leaning on the arm of the couch as your eyes read over the familar words for the hundreth time.

It's easy this way.

Easy to not ask questions.

Easy to pretend everything's normal.

Easy to forget what happened yesterday.

At least, it was.

The words are too familar, you know them too well.

They begin to blend together on the page, losing your focus as your mind begins to wander, the words changing and shifting until you're back in the pantry, watching Katie cry and plead for her life, helplessly yanking against her constrains.

You clench your eyes shut, her screams echoing in your mind as you shake your head, pushing the memory to the back of your mind, letting it settle in your chest like a gnawing guilt, reminding you that you could have done something different.

You're caught off guard when Thomas walks in the room, taking a seat on the couch and catching your attention. He's changed out of the grimey clothes he had on before lunch, now adorning a clean, navy blue dress shirt and jeans.

You look back down to your book, trying to refocus on the words and keep your mind away from yesterday, away from the thing that made you scared of him.

It doesn't work, and you close it, setting it down beside you as you sit up, leaning back and letting your head hang back as you stare at the ceiling.

You feel a tap on your hand, and you look over to see a concerned Thomas. He takes your hand, writing out his question, "A-R-E U O-K?"

You stare at your hands for a moment, letting his question roll around in your head for a moment before nodding, "Just tired..."

He nods as well, letting your hand go.

It feels cold for a moment, and you almost miss the heat of his hand against yours.

The rest of the afternoon goes on rather slowly, with not much to do, you're left to distract yourself.

Luda Mae shows you where the washer and dryer are, helping you get a load done so you can finally take a shower and feel clean.

It's a dream, clean clothes on clean skin, finally given the chance to run a brush through your hair, fighting against the tangles that have made their home there over the past several weeks.

You almost don't know where to start, staring back at yourself in the dingy mirror of the downstairs bathroom, wet hair clinging to your skin as you face the daunting task ahead of you.

You try your best to brush through the mess on your own, brush pulling at the knots harshly, leaving your arms tired and wrists hurting as you barely brush a few of them out.

"You alright in there?" A sudden knock makes you jump, grip tightening on the old hairbrush.

"Y-yea," You sigh, opening the door for Luda Mae, "Just havin' some trouble with my hair..."

She looks you over through thick glasses before sighing herself, "Well, come on then."

That's all the warning you get before she's walking down the hall and back towards the front of the house.

"Huh?" You blink in confusion, quickly following behind.

"Sit." She takes a seat on the couch, pointing to the floor in front of her, "Come on, now, I ain't got all day, supper's gotta be made."

It takes you a few seconds to realize what's happening, but none the less you do as you're told.

Luda Mae takes the brush from your hands as you cross your legs, leaning against the front of the couch and giving her access to your hair. Thomas isn't in the living room anymore, but the one sided conversation you can hear Monty having on the front porch gives you an idea of where he may be.

Luda Mae's hands are gentle as she works, slowly but surely brushing through each knot with much more ease than you had yourself. It's obvious she's done this before.

You close your eyes, letting them rest as she combs through your hair, humming a quiet song.

"...It's been a long time since I've brushed anyone's hair," She speaks up, "Thomas won't let me do it no more."

"You used to brush his hair?"

"Mhm. Every mornin', since he was just a little baby. Then Hoyt and Monty started teasin' him for it and now he does it himself..." Her voice is sad as she explains, carefully working through a particularly difficult knot.

"...You're a good mother." You're solemn as you lean your head forward, giving her better access to the back of your head, "He's lucky to have you."

You hear her hum in response, unable to see the small smile gracing her face,

"...There we go." She finally states after a few minutes, pulling the brush away from your hair, "All done."

You sigh in relief, running a hand over your hair just to feel the difference, "Thank you, it feels so much better."

"You can thank me by helpin' with supper." She pats your shoulder, and you take that as your sign to stand, following her into the kitchen to help make dinner.

#first meeting #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x s/o #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o

158 notes · View notes

girlsrawesome64 · 18 days

Note

maybe könig with a super innocent/sweet reader? like he finds them adorable but also worries for their naive nature?

W *infantilization, stranger to reader sexual harassment mention, dubiously healthy relationship, nonsexual ddlg vibes kindaa, low-key violent/anger issues konig (to others: alcohol inspired defensive violence, threats, armlock) bf!König, unfinished, abrupt end, unsettling nonsexual purity infatuation, dying dove actually idk feels weird☝️

YESSSS GOOD IDEA This ones a lil messy i apologize i got brainrot, couldn't stop and couldn't remember anything xd there's so many more points i wanted to hit but now im just dizzy /j TYSM FOR THE AASKKKK <3 :DD

=======

♡︎. You always made him smile. A stupid crooked grin under his mask, eyes giddy with knowing, satisfied joy whenever you do something nice for him- which felt like a lot. You never seem to realize just how naturally, deeply your sincere actions hold meaning. Just how beautiful you are in every sense.

He always scans your face, and you're looking at him wondering why he's got that smug look whenever he takes the sight of you in after you do something that just comes naturally/doesn't seem like that big of a deal to you. Of course you'd do that for him..? You're literally perfect and you don't even know it. He can't quite verbalize the exact thought, so he eases your worries instead by stroking your hair, saying many thank-yous and asking about your day.

Or, when he can't quite take it and he jumps you with kisses everywhere and confident praise instead whilst you confusedly smile and wonder what you did to get all this all of a sudden, which just eggs him on harder.

Or hugging you from behind and dragging you back onto the bed or sofa to lay on him, squeezing your waist and giving a kiss to the side of your face with an exhausted sigh because you're too cute and it hurts.

♡︎. He's always a human barrier between you and the rest of the world when you go out. It's not like you're stupid, but restricted processing abilities can be a bitch, and he just always has a close eye out for you. Or if he doesn't, coz he's not a cop, he instinctively snaps to you at the first indication of something.

A general practiced distrust makes him sour, snarky and vigilant to stranger third parties. Blatantly putting himself between you and tricky guilt-trippy street/seller/creepy scams. His appearance and general passive-aggressively 'friendly' demeanour is usually enough to get them to fuck off, but shouting or even threatening people comes equally as natural.

Sometimes he gets into it a little too much, breathing heavier, stinking of drink as an anything but playful grin twitched at the corner of his lips, bumping chest to chest- well, more like chest to neck- of someone you didn't quite clock was sexually harassing you before. You know, despite the fucked up circumstances, he'd missed this. He thinks they'd be a more than deserving subject to alleviate some frustration. Come on, reap your reward. Just swing first so he wouldn't look as bad for immediately slamming and pinning their pathetic, unqualified self into the bar, muttering coldly in their ear new instructions. To obviously not fucking touch you, anyone for that matter, and- while we're at it, hey, why don't they do a little dance? No, he's not carrying anything, that's so silly. Just, does it feel good when he bends their arm back a little more the wrong way? Ah- he didn't think so.

When you drone back at him later, eyebrows furrowed in concern and confusion at the hostility to this random innocent person- he'd sigh deep in apology, sitting down to your level. His expression was sincere as he eased you into letting him hold your hands as he explained. He knew you were your own person, it was just… there was no way in hell that wasn't what it looked like.

♡︎. Fucking adores you. You are his queen/king. Almost subconsciously keeps you as close as possible. Naturally tends to end up with you in his lap, a casual arm over your middle even if he's using his computer or doing something else tricky. Brows furrowed in focus and you objectively making it harder, but stubborn and no doubt in his expression that that's where you should be.

Or when you're out, he always seems to be holding your hand, rubbing circles to keep the touch entertaining, distracting from the fact that he's trying to keep track of you as closely as possible. If you're sitting with acquaintances, or something like that, he'd encourage you onto his lap, even though it might seem a bit weird to onlookers.

In that same vein of protective-to-posessive pipeline of touch, he loves to carry you. Hugs around your waist; playfully, gently but firmly throwing you over his shoulder

♡︎. Sometimes scolds you and picks you up.

♡︎. Your selflessness is admirable and unfathomable for him. From habit he's not a big crier, but when he's had a long day or is a couple drinks in sometimes it's over you. You're just so cute. And perfect. His perfect, perfect thing. It kinda stresses him out that he needs to keep you well.

Perpetual soft spot for people like you. He decides to return the favour. Lacking the retrospective emotional intelligence to figure out why exactly, but has an instinctual allegiance/affection from other genuinely nice girls like from his otherwise difficult school days.

♡︎. You both get weird looks when you introduce each-other as your s/os, double-taking that the sweetest person in the world was on the arm of a cocky, blunt military vet and vice versa.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #konig #könig #cod x reader #64sshit

91 notes · View notes

windtowee · 8 months

Note

Ello I’d usually make a big greeting but I’ve written this request way too much with no response so ima head straight to the request, sorry if it’s rude

Fandom: Httyd

Reader: Fem or GN idm which

Platonic ( or u could make it romantic idrc )

Summary: Reader is a new dragon rider and their dragon doesn’t like the gang or their dragons and it’s just all the riders coming up w/ ways to make reader’s dragon more comfy around them and stop attacking everyone

Toodles!

~ Cloudy

A/n: Don’t worry, it’s not rude, besides I prefer straight to the point anyways Gender Neutral! Rider! Reader and the dragon is a female Tw! Animal cruelty, child abandonment, mentions of violence, This is platonic

A mother’s love

“So how exactly do we make this dragon not try to attack us?” Astrid asked as the other riders and dragons in the room except your dragon. For some strange reason your dragon didn’t like anyone except you and it didn’t like anyone near you. It might be a trust or a protective thing but it’s pretty unique, as even Toothless isn’t like that.

“I’m not sure. This dragon is quite interesting as they don’t even listen to Toothless despite him being the alpha. Y/n, do you have an idea of why it doesn’t like anyone getting near you or it?” Hiccup asked while the others looked at you for an answer.

“Well, I have a couple of ideas but I think this one is the most likely. When I was about five, I was abandoned in the woods, fortunately my dragon was there too. As you know, my dragon is older than me, old enough to be my parent and my dragon had eggs that got destroyed by hunters” You responded as the others connected the dots. They were sadden by your short story and the realization.

“So correct me if I’m wrong, your dragon sees you as their child after their eggs were crushed by hunters?” Valka asked. She personally related to your dragon due to her being taken away from Hiccup and Stock when Hiccup was a baby. She couldn’t imagine if Hiccup had died or been abandoned.

“Yes. So the protectiveness and dislike is due to motherly nature” You responded as you knew the bond between you and your dragon was deeper than most bonds between people and their dragons.

“So the dragon wants to see if we’re a threat or not? That’s pretty understandable due to how mother dragon’s are very protective of their little ones” Fishlegs said as Hiccup was deep in thought about how to get the protective dragon to not attack them.

Valka then seemed to have an idea. A mother always trusts another mother, no matter the species of the two. Valka then grabbed you hand and led you out of the meeting hall with the others following.

“Mom? What are you doing?” Hiccup asked as Snotlout mumbled something about how Valka should hold his hand.

“She’s a mother, she’ll listen to another mother” Valka responded calmly as she was still walking with her hand in yours.

Soon, you all made your way to your dragon. Your dragon was growling and was ready to attack to protect you. Valka was still holding your hand as she stopped in front of your dragon as the others stood behind her, just in case your dragon attacked.

Valka held out her hand as Hiccup did with Toothless when they first met. Valka and your dragon made eye contact and your dragon got closer while Valka didn’t move or let go of your hand.

Your dragon looked between you and Valka who still has her hand out. “Please, I know you’ve suffered. I have too.. A mother would do anything to protect her child, I know that as I would do the same for mine” Valka whispers to your dragon as your dragon widens her eyes when she finds out Valka is a mother like herself. Your dragon lets down her guard a little, it’s working and your dragon steps closer to Valka with a more peaceful look.

Your dragon looks right in Valka’s eyes as Valka does the same. Valka is seen in your dragon’s eyes as your dragon is seen in Valka’s eyes, then your dragon presses her forehead against Valka’s hand. The others looked relieved that it worked as the emotional moment was occurring between two mothers who had suffered a great deal.

It was touching, really.. Valka was right. A mother will trust another mother if it involves a child’s health, happiness, or safety.

#platonic x reader #httyd x reader #how to train your dragon x reader

275 notes · View notes

euphoricfilter · 4 months

Text

bts as my favorite jellyfish 🫧

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

+ cool jellyfish facts

(another list no one asked for. shark list can be found here)

☆ jin: moon jellyfish

probably don’t need an explanation for this one, simply for the fact jin in the moon and pretty like jellyfish

moon jellyfish can survive in both warm and cool waters!! they’re very social and travels in groups, also known as ‘smacks’ (that’s so silly). some members of the moon jellyfish species live without brains, ears, hearts, blood, eyes and pretty much anything we’re used to having as humans: they have 3 main elements to their existence, they’re 95% water, a mouth and a digestive system. they have their own version of a nervous system though, and without any lungs they breathe through their membrane

☆ taehyung: upside-down jellyfish

upside-down jellyfish are hella unique, taehyung is hella unique. basically a perfect match if you ask me

the different colors seem in upside-down jellyfish comes from their intake of algae. aquarists can tell captive jellyfish from wild upside-down jellyfish, the wild jellyfish have more of a muddy brown color where as the ones in the aquarium are usually a blue, black, white, green or purple!!! they’re rarely found alone, and flips upside-down alongside others of its kind. their little oral arms point up to the sun, looking like a little flower!!! :D

☆ yoongi: cannonball jellyfish

cannonball jellyfish are cute and yoongi is just a cutie kinda guy. i don’t make the rules

they’re carnivorous, eating fish eggs, red drum fish larvae and planktonic larvae of mollusks and snails. they use their little oral arms to move!! when the jellyfish is disturbed, they dive deeper into the water and release toxin-containing mucus! they can sense light gravity and touch. though communication between them isn’t understood really well, sometimes the jellyfish will form larger groups :D they can reproduce both sexually and asexually: they sexually reproduce in the medusa state (what we all commonly know as jellyfish) where they lay eggs that develop into planulae (basically swimming jellyfish larvae)

☆ jungkook: mushroom jellyfish

i kinda love the the little mushroom mullet jungkook used to have hence he is the mushroom jellyfish

their common name refers to their shape of them in the medusa stage: mushroom cap!!!!! they’re often confused with the canonball jellyfish as they both lack oral arms. the mushroom jellyfish is much flatter, softer and larger as it can grow up to 51cm. mushroom jellyfish survive off plankton parts which are pushed out of their umbrella by the water and caught between their sort of finger like appendages!! they don’t really pose as a stinging threat to humans because of their lack of tentacles. however their stinging cells reside within their little bell :D

☆ hobi: lion’s mane jellyfish

lion’s mane jellyfish look cool as hell, and hobi is probably one of the coolest people i can think of 🤨

lion’s mama jellyfish use their stinging tentacles to capture and eat fish, zooplankton, sea creatures and other smaller jellyfish. kingfish will hide within the stinging strands and feed on the leftover jellies until they’re big enough to venture out into the ocean. lion’s mane jellyfish can grow up to 120 feet. they don’t actually have a very long lifespan, only living for around a year :( they can have up to 1200 tentacles. they also have neurons, a ring of nerves within their hoods. without an actual brain and eyes they rely on these nerve cells to perceive and respond to threats. they poop out of where they eat, and eat out of where they poop :D

☆ namjoon: portuguese man-of war

okay so for this one, i watched a long ass video on jellyfish one time and the way they described the portuguese man of war was like kinda super cool and the big boy jellyfish. so to go hand in hand with my choice of shark for namjoon, this one felt fitting

kinda a cheat one because they’re not really jellyfish even if they look very alike. however are featured in jellyfish videos and lists alike so they count on this list too. they’re actually siphonophores, which is essentially a cluster of organisms called polyps that depend on each other for survival!! despite being a slightly scary creature they themselves have predators, (which are super smart). the violet sea slug uses a bubble raft to float close to the surface of the water. they have dark purple undersides which help them camouflage in the darker waters. sea slugs also eat the man-of-war, using a similar strategy, however!! they can also repurpose the stinging cells of their meal for their own self defense!!! the float on the portuguese man-of-war is partially filled with carbon monoxide. and was named after its resemblance to ships :D they also kinda just drift, riding the current with no means of propulsion

☆ jimin: flower hat jellyfish

flower hat jellyfish are pretty, and so is jimin. need i say more

(again they’re technically not jellyfish despite the name, they’re classified as hydrozoa). flower hat jellyfish usually live close to the sea floor with kelp and sea grass. they’re native to small areas of the western pacific ocean with smaller groups individually scattered elsewhere. they prefers moderate moderate depths and warmer temperatures :D they mainly feed on varieties of small fish, where most will occasionally consume small marine invertebrates which they’ll scoop from the ocean floor!! they’re actually quite powerful predators who don’t have many predators of their own however, they have been known to consume one another :(

okay that’s all thank you for reading !!!!

#bts #jellyfish #sea facts #personal #namjoon #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #jimin #taehyung #jungkook

78 notes · View notes

pixiecaps · 6 months

Text

hm okay so these are all federation owned islands. the purgatory one USED to be something known as an egg island. however it has clearly changed. this explains why the federation cucurucho cinematic referred to it as a chill place that would be heaven and paradise.

the watcher refers to them being sent there as “they were so kind to send you this way.” clearly the they is the federation. which insinuates the federation/cucurucho had some established conversation with whoever runs this island to send them here. or at least that the watcher somehow KNEW they were being sent here. but here’s the one important thing the federation knew what they were doing to the islanders because elq knew. he was aware of where he was going when he took qq’s ticket, he knew. so the federation very purposefully sent them to this godawful place while they do “maintenance” to the dark matter.

i also am taking note of the religious imagery. cucurucho calling this new island heaven and then the watcher calling them sinners and saying egg island was to be a cute place that they would have loved and specifically “People LIKE YOU do not deserve a pleasant little break from the stresses of your previous island island. so I’VE taken the liberty of changing this place.” so outright stating it knew they were coming relocated AND THEN purposefully changed the calm nature of what this island was into a hellscape as a form of punishment for the islanders because it HATES them. for whatever reason it seems to have it feels like a very passionate form of hate. it called them VERMIN. it fully leads me to believe the watcher knows a lot of information about the islanders and their pasts. or has been fed some information to believe they deserve this cruelty.

the direct contrast of this island compared to their own really strikes me as interesting because obviously they’re imprisoned on quesadilla island but purgatory truly is PURGATORY. in the lore they’ve never had to worry about dehydration, food rotting, etc. all aspects of their lives that they took blissfully for granted. almost as if the federation WANTED them to realize how good they have it. or seem to have it compared to purgatory. and as a reminder purgatory is a place to cleanse your sins so in a way the federation sending the islanders there is a way for them to get them reformed. show them true punishment for all the rule breaking. and get them to a mental state where they’re more likely to obey when they return. to be happy.

this part of what the watcher said was interesting, “i’m sure you’re already hungering and dehydrating. good. whatever makes it harder for you to live.” so again literally stating the whole point of the trials and tribulations is to make them suffer MORE.

the element of a cursed team is the most interesting because that does directly impact the attempt of working together. someone has to lose. someone will lose. “What team is that? Can you figure that out? No.” this felt interesting to me because with the whole thought of a cursed team it seems like you could figure it out easily. i’d say the majority of the audience already has their guesses. but i was thinking about taking this sentence very LITERALLY. they can’t figure it out. because it’s not decided yet. it’ll be decided at the end. perhaps. maybe. who fucking knows. but obviously the threat of all their lives and the eggs is an interesting aspect because that means if theres one cursed team the other two won’t have that punishment if they lose. whichever of the three teams wins gets a “big prize” but the main focus is on this supposed cursed team. because if THEY lose then the eggs are all dead. the probability is very interesting to me. i really wonder why that team cursed specifically and how its chosen.

anyways that was interesting

#qsmp analysis

134 notes · View notes

hazelnut-u-out · 4 months

Text

Just coincidentally, I was talking to @dirty-bear-rick-sanchez, and he mentioned the fact that Evil Morty had a ‘Chekov’s Gun’. As soon as I saw the words, my brain immediately made some connections based on the events of ‘Rickmurai Jack’, ‘Full Meta Jackrick’, and ‘Unmortricken.’

First of all, I remembered making this post about the metaverse goggles in ‘Full Meta Jackrick.’ In the post, I was talking more about the device labeled ‘Foreshadowing’, which I thought could potentially show up in the future and make the glimpse we get of it in that episode a fun easter egg. Now, my focus is on how the devices and their labels coincide with the events of ‘Unmortricken.’

Let’s look at the Devices pictured:

We have Checkov’s Guns, Foreshadowing, Ticking Clock, and Action Enhancer. (There are other devices that can be seen in the scene that are difficult to read. The one in the corner is labeled ‘Gratuitous Violence’.) Thinking about the events that took place in the Prime fight, these things may have come into play. While we didn’t see the exact Foreshadowing device pictured used in the fight, it did pique my interest that the device seems to be pointed at the Chekov’s Guns display. The Ticking Clock being placed above the Foreshadowing device also made me realize just how much that parallels the use of the Omega Device as it’s shown in ‘Unmortricken’. Think about it… The reveal of the Omega Device is already being used as a method of Foreshadowing, Slow Mobius was lowered into the Omega Device from above while using his powers to slow the moment down (hence, Ticking Clock being a device used to create suspense), and at the end– when handed over to Evil Morty– the schematics become a Chekov’s Gun with a promise to return. Their placements parallel the events of the fight scene, even down to the blatant Gratuitous Violence! (I’ll admit, I don’t have an obvious placement for Action Enhancer yet, unless you count the Kill Bot drones/giant Diane Bots… I guess Evil Morty does ride one like a motorcycle!)

You don't show an Omega Device without erasing someone important to the audience from infinity, if you know what I mean.

I was having a lot of thoughts, and some of these branched off into different connections about Evil Morty and his exit, especially with the previous assumption/symbolism in mind. He looks at Rick and says the following:

2 things I thought of:

1.) This feels like a threat, not just an exit. It makes a lot of sense to interpret this as a future promise of betrayal. The fact that Evil Morty has to remind Morty Prime that they’re not friends makes me think he could come back to specifically stab Morty Prime (or Mortys) in the back, especially since he tends to dislike ‘sellout’ Mortys. Saying he could ‘use’ Rick for being ‘different’ makes me wonder if ‘ending the Rick Experiment’ could be synonymous with putting himself or another Morty in the Omega Device and eliminating the toxic relationship between Ricks and Mortys for good. Does acknowledging Rick is ‘different’ and useful imply that Evil Morty could use another life for leverage using the Omega Device in the future to get C-137 to do what he wants? (Not sure he’d erase himself since he references the vengeful Summers thing, but who knows?)

The events of ‘Full Meta Jackrick’ support this sub-theory, as well. Another post I made after the airing of ‘Full Meta Jackrick’ (here) talked about how I suspected Mr. Twist’s interaction with Morty (where he acknowledges Morty is the plot twist) might have actual weight to it.

If you remember, one of the BIG moments of ‘Full Meta Jackrick’ was this one right here:

I think Rick emphasizing the importance of Morty’s existence is major foreshadowing. Not to mention, Rick tries to ban Morty from accompanying him to the Prime fight. More acknowledgment that Morty is very important to Rick. Being able to tie all of these elements back to a single episode AND Evil Morty’s arc would work quite well in terms of storytelling.

2.) What is the ‘Rick Experiment’? I think that the Rick Experiment might just be Morty’s existence. Especially since we know our Rick was a founding father of the Citadel/Curve, it seems plausible that Mortys would be the central ‘Rick Experiment’ (created to be the perfect sidekick; obey them; keep them company; hide their brain waves; prove they could create life across infinity when the Omega Device can destroy it; and– for C-137 and others– there’s the added benefit in the search for Prime). I’ve even wondered who Ricks are trying to hide their brainwaves from while on the CFC, and I think that who might’ve been Prime. This theory would explain why Rick is holding Morty so triumphantly in that photo in Birdperson’s house in ‘Get Schwifty’ AND how Rick knew a Morty baby in general.

We have to keep in mind that Evil Morty not only told our Morty about the Morty Trade in the first place, but also that he's probably the most knowledgeable (outside of C-137 or what's left of the Council) about the Morty Trade/ Rick Experiment in general, whatever that turns out to be.

This was essentially me throwing theories at a wall to see what sticks, so all of this could be nothing! Just some big food for thought, lol.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #full meta jackrick #unmortricken #rickmurai jack #sorry if this is all over the place- i'm literally writing this while on lunch break for my chronic illness course lmao

54 notes · View notes

russenoire · 8 months

Text

in response to this post:

ONE-sensei is a bit of a troll, not gonna lie.

but... i actually like this ending, at least for comedy's sake. the stark juxtaposition of

'boy gets hit by a truck and his unexamined jungian shadow self flattens a city before he finally makes peace with it'

with

'and everything was just fine six months later'

is funnier than spelling out exactly how we get from point A to point B, because we KNOW — as the audience — that it wasn't 'just fine'. after everything we saw, how could it be?

subverted expectations underpin a lot of comedy, even dark comedy, especially absurdist comedy. MP100 is practically built on both. this story wrings a lot of humor out of sad, if not tragic, situations: witness shigeo's 'who told you you could pass out?!' after his home has been reduced to kindling. or ritsu's admission that he only recently stopped crying himself to sleep at night over his inability to bend spoons like his big brother. while he's letting shigeo know just how much he supposedly hates him in that alley.

not expanding upon the real-life consequences of said city-flattening is funny precisely because dropping 'i wrecked my hometown after nearly dying in a car accident on the way to ask out my crush when i was a teenager' in a conversation and just... leaving it there? would be fucking horrifying in real life. here, in the elastic magical-realist context of MP100, it's more darkly absurd than anything else...

more to your point, OP: in this particular series, ONE-sensei tells so much of this story by implication. the answers to some of your questions are in the text, only... alluded to.

this might get long. bear with me:

the fact that joseph from the government exists? and that he's an esper working in secret? implies that the knowledge of destructive espers might need to be concealed from the public at large, perhaps to prevent wide-scale panic or ostracism of espers themselves. i doubt the government was forthright with its citizens about the confession arc disaster or the actual cause, for the same reasons.

that suzuki's broadcast-hijacking world domination announcement is met with public disdain and ridicule, especially over social media? outside of our cast, no one actually takes his threat seriously until it happens. reigen's trash-talking claw's seventh division down to earth also shows how little respect espers who don't make themselves useful to society actually get here. he is, after all, just another member of the public.

that reigen agrees to take on haruaki amakusa as a client after the world domination arc in part because he's worried about losing business? people have begun to move away from seasoning city in the aftermath; whatever the threat amakusa's hyakki present, neutralizing them as soon as possible is best for reigen's continued financial health. i can see even more residents deciding they've had enough and leaving after shigeo's last brush with death. would you stay?

how many people know shigeo is connected to reigen, apart from the people they both know? out of his own inflated and fragile ego, reigen presents himself as a sole proprietor on his website; it doesn't seem his business or its reputation would be directly affected at all.

and the injuries caused? possible deaths? we get a taste: early on in chapter 100, several people are trapped and unable to move in a 地盤沈下 (jibánchinka, literally: 'land subsidence', which can apply to a sinkhole, a landslide...) shigeo has left in his wake. we only find out because a cop is being briefed on this and its cause while trying to detain the suspect for questioning.

but like all other bodily harm caused in this story, we aren't treated to the fallout. did the elderly ishiguro survive shou plowing him into the earth? did miyagawa die after teruki flipped his barrier onto him and broiled him in his own flames? did those high school bully boys live after shigeo cracked their heads open on the pavement like eggs? like, these are good questions. (i'm inclined to believe that all these people died, but many would call me harsh for saying that about an otherwise kind story. we never see them again, either way.)

shigeo actually has a healing factor of sorts; his jungian shadow self keeps plucking him from death's arms. we have no way of knowing if this is true for anyone else, because that isn't the story ONE wanted to tell. if nothing else, the mangaka's lack of desire to engage with this question of lethal consequences is at least consistent across MP100.

any questions that aren't answered either directly or that can't be answered by easy extrapolation can foster continued engagement with the material.

for example: we don't know what shigeo's parents think about much of anything in this story, besides how little they expect from him and how ritsu sets a standard they feel shigeo should live up to. this boy goes through hell multiple times and is never shown to confide in either of his parents about it, instead suffering in silence for some time until he finds someone he feels safe enough to talk to. all this gives me the distinct impression that shigeo just isn't that close to his mother or his father. i can understand why. it's actually kind of sad, even as readers' frustrated expectations of real-life parental involvement with — and confusion over — his and his brother's shenanigans also generate some dark humor.

this also establishes a precedent: since we never check in with them, by the time the confession arc rolls around, their opinion hardly matters. (but i'm sure someone has written a fic fleshing that out! i'm somewhat curious myself.)

73 notes · View notes

luxaofhesperides · 8 months

Text

those who serve.

CHAPTER SIX: a break.

read the previous chapter here or the entire fic on ao3.

this is 11.5k.... this fic will never end..... surprise i still have no idea how long this will be. tentatively setting the goal to end at 9 chapters total. taglist will be in a rb, ask to be added or removed!

Danny doesn’t sleep. He dozes lightly, enough for his thoughts to slow down without losing his awareness of the world around him, but he doesn’t sleep.

How can he?

He didn’t find a shady basement full of illegal things. No, he found an entire cave used as a home base for Gotham’s heroes.

It is a very nice cave. Not dark and wet and miserable at all, as he thought all caves were. It did have bats, though, but most stayed away from the main cavern. And it was big; multiple different levels, all full of different things. Part of him wants to go back to snoop around, but the larger, more wary and sensible part wants to run away and pretend this night never happened.

Danny stays in bed until the clock hits 7AM. Then he heaves a sigh and pulls himself out of bed, forgoing changing out of his pajamas in favor of walking through walls directly to the kitchen. He’s still reeling from what he’s discovered, torn between wanting to run away and wanting to learn more about them.

They’re heroes. Actual, legitimate heroes, and he works for them. When else is he going to get a chance like this?

But if they see him as a threat…

Well. It’s not like Danny has much. If he needs to, he can just walk out of the manor and never be seen again.

Although, it might be a little harder now that he has a legal identity and they can put out a missing person report on him.

The kitchen is dark and still when he arrives. Even Alfred isn’t up yet, it seems. Which makes sense; if he’s wrangling a bunch of heroes until three in the morning, he’d need to wake up later in the day to get enough sleep. Danny hopes it’s not a regular thing, staying up to help the rest of the Gotham heroes—who he still can’t believe are the Waynes—because that would mean Alfred had been forgoing sleep or running off of very little in order to have their dawn chats while Danny was living on the streets.

He should make breakfast for Alfred.

The rest of the Wayne family can fend for themselves. Though he doubts any of them will wake up until much, much later.

A large part of him still balks at rummaging through someone else’s kitchen without permission. Never mind that in order to do his job, he has to; his poor Midwestern heart demands he respect other people’s spaces. He has to push it down as hard as he can just to open the fridge and look through it, trying to think of what he can make.

Nothing too difficult. He can barely make pasta dishes on his own and he still tenses when the fridge opens, fully prepared to take down reanimated food.

There’s a lot of fresh vegetables and fruits. Milk and eggs, too. That’s… maybe something he can work with?

Danny pulls out a few fruits and sets them onto the counter next to the sink. It takes him a few seconds of indecision to decide on which knife to take from the knife block, then grabs the smallest one he can find, just to be safe.

It’s not like he needs a big one to peel and cut fruit.

He makes a mess trying to get everything plated, apple peels of all different sizes scattered on the counter and strawberries bleeding down his hands as he cuts them into halves after removing the leafy heads. They don’t come up exactly even, but it’s good enough that Danny decides he can serve them to Alfred without shame.

Cracking the eggs goes fine, after he’s done with the fruits. No pieces of shell fall into the greased frying pan and the yolk is intact until he accidentally hits it when trying to move the egg closer to the middle of the pan. Fuck it, he decides, frantically mixing it all together, scrambled eggs it is.

No one will know he messed up. No one.

He seasons the eggs lightly, then gets them on a separate plate.

Fruits and eggs doesn’t seem very filling, so Danny hunts through the refrigerator once more and comes out with a tub of vanilla yogurt. He scoops it out into a small bowl then tops it off with granola and honey.

Fruits, eggs, yogurt. That’s a breakfast, right? It’s the healthiest and fanciest breakfast he’s ever made. He certainly never got this back home, usually going for cereal or bread on the days he wasn’t running late to school.

Danny sets everything onto the kitchen table, ready to wait for Alfred to wake up. Then he realizes he hasn’t set out anything to drink and panics, tearing through the cabinets like hurricane, frantically searching for tea.

This house doesn’t use teabags, he realizes with despite when he comes up boxes up boxes of loose tea leaves.

Did people really drink it like this? How?

He brings down a box of English breakfast tea; it sounds perfect for Alfred, if only he knew how to brew it.

Despairing, Danny drops his head onto the counter and sighs heavily.

“That was quite the sigh,” a deep voice rumbles behind him. Danny jumps up to the ceiling, floating in the air as he tries to get away from Bruce, who has once again snuck up on him unnoticed. “Ah. Sorry for startling you,” Bruce offers.

It’s hard to believe this man is a vigilante who protects all of Gotham.

“It’s fine,” Danny replies weakly. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, I asked you first.”

“I supposed you did,” Bruce concedes with a small smile. “I just came up from the Batcave. I haven’t slept yet, and it’ll have to wait until I return to the manor after lunch.”

It’s even harder to believe that billionaire Bruce Wayne can call anything the Batcave with a straight face, yet here they are. This dimension is so bizarre.

“I just came up to grab something to drink,” Bruce says. He turns his attention to the fridge, looking through it before he pulls out a carton of apple juice and pours himself a cup.

Slowly, Danny floats back down to the ground, silently setting his feet down.

“Don’t tell the kids,” Bruce says as he takes a sip from his cup.

“Um. What?”

“That I’m drinking their juice. They each have their own juice that they are very protective of and they always get in fights over who else is drinking it, or ‘stealing it’ as they say.”

“And it’s you?”

“As I said. Don’t tell, Danny. Let me have my fun.”

“Sure, I guess.” He is amused by that, but the way Bruce is so casual and friendly with him despite having his secret identity be revealed makes Danny’s nerves stand on edge. It reminds him too much of Vlad, always acting friendly and nice to try and sway Danny over to his side, only to react violently when Danny refused.

“I’ll get out of your hair now,” Bruce says, putting his now empty cup down in the sink. “We’ll train later today. And we can talk about the family secret you’ve stumbled upon before you head to bed, alright?”

Not alright, not at all, but Danny did agree to training. Even if that was before he knew about Bruce being a vigilante. As much as he isn’t looking forward to it, he’s also not a quitter. He’ll worry about it more when the time comes. Surely that won’t end badly for him.

“Okay,” Danny says quietly. Bruce gives him a parting nod, then leaves the kitchen. Danny’s eyes follow him until he’s sure the man is gone, not yet ready to turn his back on him. As nice as Bruce has been, he’s also very dangerous. Now, Danny knows why but he’s been burned too many times to just believe someone when they claim to be a crime fighting hero.

Usually, he’s the crime they’re fighting, attacking him with prejudice when all he wanted was to protect people and ghosts from each other.

He doesn’t even want to think about how things would have turned out if he hadn’t met Alfred, if the Wayne family—not a mob family but clearly just as dangerous—went after him without that buffer. Would they have driven him out of Gotham? Made sure he couldn’t be safe in this dimension either?

If things ever go too badly, maybe he can track down Martin Manhunter and beg for help?

There’s nothing more he can do now but see how it all turns out and prepare for the worst. No one else is in the kitchen, and when he strains his hearing, it’s clear that there’s no one nearby. Deeming it safe enough, Danny dares to turn his back to the kitchen entrance and return to his tea making struggle.

Rummaging through drawers gets him a tea infuser he has no idea how to use. To think he used to complain about how long it took to make Jazz’s tea. At least she used tea bags like a normal person.

This is rich people nonsense. This is too much effort for tea. Alfred will just have to do with some water, unless he also enjoys stealing other people’s juice.

He’s just starting to put the tea away when a knock on the doorframe startles him. Danny looks behind him and relaxes when he sees it’s only Alfred, looking as put together as ever despite the early hour.

“Good morning, Alfred,” he says, “I made you breakfast! And I tried to make you tea but I don’t actually know how to make it when it’s not in a tea bag.”

“Good morning, Danny. Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Alfred smiles. “Have you already eaten?”

“Oh. No, not feeling very hungry right now.”

“I would prefer if you ate something. Sit, I will make something light for you.”

“No, no need! I can just eat like. Yogurt or something.”

He really doesn’t think he can stomach anything when he’s still reeling over the fact that his employers have a giant underground cave for crime fighting and has no idea how to interact with them anymore. They seem fine with his powers so far, but what happens when they start to see him as dangerous? Or worse, interesting?

Interesting is what gets him captured and cut open and studied. Danny doesn’t think he can survive that, halfa or not.

“Very well,” Alfred says, but Danny can see the way he forces back a frown, the line of his shoulder drawn tight. Before he can start fixing Danny a bowl, Danny ushers him into his seat and works on quickly taking care of his own small breakfast, leaving his yogurt plain.

Alfred frowns at the amount he puts in his bowl, but doesn’t say anything. He waits until Danny sits across from him to thank him for the breakfast.

They eat in silence, the silence not quite as comforting as it had been in the past. Danny’s too on edge to let his guard down any more, despite how much he wants to trust Alfred. He needs to see with his own eyes that the Waynes mean him no harm, that he can trust them to be good and let him live quietly and safely.

When he can’t take the silence anymore, staring down at his empty bowl, Danny says, “Superheroes, huh.”

“I would be more than happy to answer any questions you have.”

There’s so much Danny wants to ask that it all crashes together into a tangled mess in his head. Instead of important questions like how often is the city in danger to need so many heroes or aren’t you afraid they’ll all die and you won’t be able to do anything about it, what comes out is, “When they asked who my favorite hero was at dinner, were they just looking for an ego boost?”

Alfred laughs, the lines in his brow smoothing out some. “Oh, yes. They are a rather vain lot when it comes to their night identities.”

It eases the tension in the air, makes it easier for Danny to relax enough to focus on the conversation and keep his mouth from running ahead of his mind. “So, I know Dick is Nightwing. Who’s everyone else?”

“They would be very excited to tell you themselves, but they’re also not going to wake up for many hours yet. I will tell you the basics, but I encourage you to ask them about this,” Alfred says. “Master Bruce is Batman. He is the very first vigilante in Gotham. He is among the first generation of heroes and a founder of the Justice League. Master Richard is Nightwing, as you’ve said, and he leads the Titans in New York when he is not here. Master Tim is Red Robin and often works with many other heroes and groups, such as the Teen Titans. Master Damian is the current Robin and Master Duke is the newest of us, operating in the day as the Signal.”

“That’s a lot.”

“There are more. Mistress Cassandra is Black Bat. She has recently returned from Hong Kong. Miss Barbara Gordon is Oracle, who is the leader of the Birds of Prey and works digitally. There are many others who operate within Gotham or visit the manor, and I’m sure you’ll meet them in due time.”

“Great,” Danny offers weakly. So many heroes, just in Gotham. He’s seen firsthand how bad it can be, all the crime and dangerous villain plots, but it’s also concerning to know that this world has such a need for all these heroes. He was enough in his old dimension, as Phantom.

But he wouldn’t be enough here. There’s constant danger everywhere, and he realizes now that he’s taken the peace of him home dimension for granted. Admittedly, at the time, it didn’t seem like peace when he was dodging ghost hunters and the government and trying to wrangle ghosts. But all of that was mostly kept in Amity Park, and he was the person most affected by it so there weren’t many civilians getting caught in the crossfire.

“Do they have powers?” he asks.

“No. All they do is a result of their own skill, hard work, and equipment.”

“So they’re just normal humans beneath the masks?”

“Yes, they are.”

The knowledge sends a chill down his spine. He would panic when Sam or Tucker or Jazz got caught in a ghost fight, even when they were equip with Fenton Blasters or something else that they could use to defend themselves. And that was just against ghosts! Here there are people waving around guns, fully prepared to kill, and the members of the Wayne family go out only in colorful armor?

They could die so easily. All it would take is one good shot, one unlucky hit, and they’re gone forever.

“How do you stand it?”

“Pardon?”

“How do you stand watching them all go out and endanger themselves? How can you be fine with just staying here?”

Alfred leans back in the chair and looks to the window, gaze distant. “I am not fine. I never will be. But I also see how much good they are capable of, how many lives they save because they choose to risk themselves each night. They are all good, good people who want the world to be a better place and are willing to fight for it.”

He pauses for a long moment, lost in thought, then says, “I will always worry about them. Even when they go out as civilians. As much as I would like to keep them safe within these walls forever, I know that they would be unhappy living like that. It’s enough to know that they will do all they can to come home to me and be cared for. I tend to their wounds and ensure they can rest and heal in the manor. It is very rarely enough, but it’s better than nothing.”

“My parents hurt me,” Danny admits quietly. He keeps his gaze fixed on the table, trying to ignore how tense Alfred becomes, the heavy weight of his full attention. “When they found out what I am, what I can do, I just… stopped being their son and became their… prey? Target? Mission? I wish I had someone like you back then, because then it wouldn’t have hurt so much all the time. But all I had was my sister and my friends and they can’t do much against adults except help me escape.”

“I am so sorry, my boy, that you have had to suffer so much. But you’re here now, and I will take care of you, just as everyone else in this household will. You are not alone, Danny.”

Danny shrugs, slouching in his seat. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“Well!” Alfred claps his hands together, the suddenness of the sound making Danny flinch, then he rises to his feet. “We have much to do today. Would you like to help me make breakfast for the rest of the household? Or would you like to tend to the vegetable garden?”

“What will I have to do for the vegetable garden?”

“Water the plants, pull any weeds, and also pick a few cucumbers and bell peppers, if you would.”

Danny offers Alfred a small salute and slides out of the chair. “I’m on it, boss!”

He ducks out the back door, grateful to be given an escape from the conversation and all the unpleasant memories it brought up, and takes his time walking to the vegetable garden. The sun is fully above the horizon now, and though it’s still cloudy, it’s not enough to block out the sunlight that rains down onto the garden.

He hits up the small shed for a water can, then fills it up to the very top until it spills out whenever it’s jostled. He waters each raised bed, making sure the to get every inch of dirt thoroughly soaked.

It takes refilling the water can another four times before everything is watered and tended to. There are barely any weeds to pull, but he searches carefully just in case any escaped him the first time, then gets to carefully picking cucumbers and bell peppers, lifting up the hem of his shirt to create a makeshift basket.

All of that takes the better part of an hour, which is apparently enough time for more people to wake up, and for Alfred to make a full spread of breakfast left on the kitchen island, while the man himself is nowhere to be found.

Damian is sitting at the table, eating, when he reenters the kitchen. Danny freezes for a moment and just looks at Damian, takes in how young he is, how small, and is horrified that anyone lets him out so late at night to fight crime.

“Good morning,” Damian says, setting down his fork, “As you now are aware of our secret identities, let it be known that if you endanger any of us, I will remove your limbs for your body. Slowly.”

“Sure,” Danny replies, distracted as he tries to get all the vegetables onto the counter without dropping any of them. “Sounds fair. Quick question: aren’t you too young to be fighting crime? Shouldn’t there be an age requirement or something?”

Damian scoffs. “I have trained since I could walk. I am made to be the heir to the Bat and the Demon’s head. I am more than capable of defeating the criminals of Gotham.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better about this whole situation.”

“It’s none of your business anyways. As long as you stay out of it, none of this will be a problem for you.”

“As long as I’m here, I won’t be able to stay out of it,” Danny says. “I just don’t have that kind of luck. The world always finds some way to screw me over.”

Damian doesn’t speak again, so Danny takes that as his cue to focus on putting all the vegetables away. There’s nothing more they can add to that conversation anyways, so Danny is more than happy to put it behind him and pretend at normalcy again.

He wonders where Alfred went, wondering if it would be rude to just leave while Damian is still around to search for him. He’s still pondering it when Damian asks, quietly, “Do you really want nothing to do with our… night lives?”

The thing is, just two years ago, Danny would be jumping at the chance to be a hero. A proper one, working alongside other heroes to save people. But a lot has changed since then. The Danny who existed back then was always moving, always trying out some new trick with his powers, always trying to juggle heroics and normal life. He was innocent.

Or, at least, as innocent as anyone so familiar with death could be.

As he is now, Danny is just tired. He doesn’t want people to get hurt, and he’ll protect them if he can, but he’s so tired of being scared and hated and hunted down.

He’s a kid too. He was even more of a kid back when he was fourteen.

Why did no one protect him?

That’s not a fair question to ask, really, because he did have his friends and his sister and a few ghosts who would do their best, but it wasn’t enough.

“No,” Danny answers, voice hard. “I’m done with all of that. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Were you a vigilante too? Before you arrived here.”

Danny turns to face Damian and leans back against the counter. He doesn’t look at the kid, really, just at the floor in his general direction. “I don’t know.”

“How could you possibly not know? Either you are, or you aren’t.”

“It was complicated,” Danny snaps. “I was trying to protect everyone. But a lot of them didn’t see it that way. Just saw me as a threat, or am monster, or something. God, the government was out to get me.”

“Vigilantes are not usually well liked,” Damian says.

“Yeah, well, most vigilantes still get human rights. I got nothing. Everyone like me got classified as non-sentient, so we had no protections. If they wanted to experiment on us and cut us open, there was nothing stopping them.”

“And where was this taking place?” The clear rage in his voice startles Danny, makes him look up and warily eye the way Damian is gripping his fork, looking as if he wants nothing more than to bury into someone who’s wronged him.

“...It doesn’t matter,” Danny says slowly. “There’s nothing any of you can do. And it’s too far away to matter. Does that answer your question?”

Damian lets out a slow breath, forcing himself to call down. Danny can almost hear Jazz’s voice in his ear, counting slowly and saying Good! Now again, deep breath in and—

He shakes his head, trying to force her imagined voice away, and focuses on Damian’s controlled breathing; in, out, in, out, slowly each time.

“Every answer we get,” Damian says at last, “Brings up more questions. We will find where you came from. You can make things easier for us by just telling us your background.”

“Not a chance in hell, dude.”

Damian clicks his tongue and stands, holding his empty plate. “Very well. We’ll just investigate as we usually do. You won’t be able to keep your secrets from us forever.”

“I can do my best, though.”

“You will not be joining us as a vigilante,” Damian says again, putting his plate in the sink.

Didn’t they just cover this? Was Danny not clear enough?

“Right,” he confirms, “No heroics for me.”

“I will ensure you have proper protections befitting an associate of the Wayne family, then.”

Danny blinks. “What. Hey, wait, hang on. Didn’t we just talk about me not being involved in any of that?”

“Trackers,” Damian says, thoughtfully, steamrolling right on ahead, “A taser, of course. We’ll find a way to hide a few panic buttons on your person. Those will also have trackers, so if you should ever need help, we will be able to find you.”

“I really do not need any of that.”

“I will talk to father about it,” Damian nods.

“Don’t,” Danny starts to say, but somehow Damian is already out of the kitchen, leaving Danny behind absolutely bewildered by all directions their conversation went.

Seriously, what was all that?

Danny huffs, then shakes his head. Not his problem. If it comes to it, he can just go invisible and run away until the Waynes learn to act like normal people. He pushes the entire conversation out of his mind and washes Damian’s plate, then sticks it onto the dish drying rack next to the sink.

He’s not sure where Alfred is, so he busies himself with cleaning the kitchen, wiping the down the table and counters then straightening everything up.

Some more poking around in the kitchen and the rooms and hallways beyond help him find where more cleaning supplies are. He considers mopping the kitchen, but figures that should be saved for after dinner, so any messes he makes while helping Alfred cooked won’t be messing up a newly cleaned floor.

By then, it’s well into the morning, just a few hours away from noon, and Danny hasn’t seen anyone else come by.

He’s… uncomfortable being left unsupervised in someone else’s house like this. Sure, he lives here now, but it’s not his home. He’s just a new employee who doesn’t have any close bonds with anyone in the family. He spends way too long debating on whether he should stay in the kitchen and wait for someone to show up, or if he should go through the manor and find Alfred in order to get some instructions on what he should do.

Eventually, Danny tires of pacing around restlessly and ventures away from the kitchen, poking his head into random rooms and straining his hearing to make sure no one sneaks up on him.

Not that it helps, when a chill races up his spine just before someone taps his shoulder.

Danny whirls around, stumbling away, and holds himself back from lashing out at Cass.

She immediately takes five steps back, giving him space, and offers him a smile and a small wave. “Morning.”

“...Good morning,” Danny returns, looking over her carefully. Cass gives him his time, and he’s grateful that she backed off immediately, but he’s still rattled by the fact that she snuck up on him so easily. The space between them is reassuring, but he’s not foolish enough to think it’s anywhere close to enough if she actually wanted to hurt him.

Cass is a vigilante too. Black Bat, Alfred had said. It goes to stand that she’s as dangerous as the rest of them. He’s sure she’s the scariest of the bunch. There’s just something about her that makes every nerve in his body scream to alertness, prepared for a fight, waiting for a knife to slip into his ribs.

She doesn’t say a thing as he stares at her. Danny shifts his weight off one foot, trying to think of a way out of this situation, and comes up blank.

“So.” He cringes immediately at how he breaks the silence, then rolls with it. Might as well, really. It’s not going to get any worse from here. “Did you want breakfast?”

Cass shakes her head. “Not hungry for food. Hungry for snacks.”

“Oh, well I made cookies last night. I’m not sure where Alfred put them, though.”

She shakes her head again. “All gone.”

Danny blinks. “Huh?”

“Ate them all,” Cass explains, “Last night. Family meeting about you. Very good cookies.”

He’s… not going to unpack all that right now. Or ever, hopefully. “Cool. Which one did you like most?”

“Sugar cookie. The brown one?”

It takes a moment to remember which one that is, with all the cookies he made yesterday, but he recalls that particular batch quickly. “The brown sugar cookies!”

“Yes!”

“I thought they were missing something, so I rolled them in cinnamon sugar. Alfred’s recommendation, really, I was just going to dump cinnamon in the dough. Turned out really good, though.”

“Very good,” Cass says again, nodding sagely. “Best cookies. Make more?”

“Uh, maybe later. I’m looking for Alfred right now?”

“He is calling Jason. I can… guide you?”

Cass offers a hand, still five steps away from him. There’s still plenty of space between them, enough for him to stay out of grabbing reach, but he can take her hand if he wants to. Or he can go intangible and just fall through the wall behind him.

But she’s nice. Terrifying, of course, but nice.

He got scared, and she moved back to give him space. She doesn’t push for questions or explanations, just treats him as if he’s always been here.

Danny looks between Cass and her hand.

He’s going to stay here. He’s staying for Alfred. And now he’s staying because the Wayne family regularly endanger themselves and it makes Alfred upset. He can wonder about running away all he wants; Danny knows himself and he knows he’s here to stay.

He didn’t even run from his parents until they tried to kill him for good, captured him and had the basement prepped for his vivisection. There’s a chance he can make something of himself here, to create someplace he can be safe, and he can’t afford to lose it.

He takes Cass’s hand.

“Yeah, okay. Take me to Alfred, please?”

“Okay,” Cass says, a bright smile on her face. She turns and leads him down the hall, her grip loose and easy to break from. Danny doesn’t let it break.

Cass is both dangerous and kind. Danny’s survived all sorts of dangerous people before. If he can just get his brain to chill out, then he can act normal around her and the rest of the Waynes. He can do this.

She leads him through the manor with ease, as if she could navigate it blind, and opens a door to a little balcony on the second floor that Danny didn’t know about. Alfred turns to face them as soon as the door opens, phone held up to his ear, and he gives them a smile and waves them in, inviting them to sit on the small bench. Cass sits him down on one of the cushions tied to the bench, then pats his head.

“Still training today?” she asks.

“Apparently,” Danny answers with a grimace. “Think I can get out of it?”

“No. Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

That’s not really reassuring, but it is nice to know that he won’t be locked in a room alone with Bruce and forced to fight his boss. That’s got to be against some labor law. Sam would probably know.

Cass leaves, giving him one last wave from the door, then disappears back into the manor.

Alfred looks out over the grounds, nodding lightly to whatever Jason is saying. Danny doesn’t want to eavesdrop, so he just bounces his leg and stares up at the cloudy sky, wondering if he’d be able to see the stars on a clear night.

“I shall speak to you again soon, Master Jason,” Alfred says, barely a minute later. “Yes, do take care of yourself. Until next month, then.” And his phone is put away in one smooth movement. Alfred straightens out his waistcoat, then turns to Danny. “I apologize for being away for so long. Are you ready to start the day?”

“Sure. It’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? So what’s the plan for today?”

“Well,” Alfred says, looking Danny over thoughtfully. “If you would be willing, there are some lightbulbs that need changing and chandeliers to be dusted. It’s difficult for most people to reach these, but if you are able to fly up and take care of these tasks…”

The thought of causally using his powers out in the open makes his skin crawl with nerves, but it’s too late to try to keep it a secret. He did float down into their secret crime fighting cave. There was no way he was ever going to keep that from the Waynes.

Honestly, if all they want is for him to use his powers for mundane things like this, it’s not bad. Definitely better than being tested and observed like some newly discovered creature.

Alfred just wants some help with household tasks, and Danny’s powers make it easy for him to do them. That’s all.

“Sure,” Danny says, “I can do that.”

It’s normal. Normal enough, anyways.

As long as they keep to this facade of normality, he’ll be fine.

Bruce Wayne apparently does not care to be normal.

This is more a rich people are different from the rest of humanity than it is this is top secret hero stuff. Who has a giant gym in their house complete with a pool and a locker room? On top of a giant crime fighting cave?

It’s absurd.

Danny stares at his locker—complete with his name on it, so he doesn’t accidentally open someone else’s—and wonders what, exactly, a training session with Bruce Wayne is going to look like. He had been expecting basic exercises to see where he’s at, something close to what he does at school in P.E. Now he has to factor in weights, treadmills, and a boxing ring. There’s also ceiling to floor mirrors on one wall and a large section of the room covered in a thick mat, with only a single martial arts dummy on it.

He tries very hard to ignore the wooden swords and bo staffs hanging on the wall. He’s definitely not touching those while other people are around.

Sighing, he decides that putting off this training session isn’t going to make it end any faster and opens his locker.

There’s a set of training clothes already set inside for him. He’s sure it’s perfectly his size. He’s just not going to think too hard about how they managed to get his size at all.

Though the locker room is empty, he doesn’t want to change out in the open. He was the same way in school, and though this often got him teased by the football team for his ‘insecurities’, they quieted down when they saw his scars. Dash never asked about it, but he was always careful afterwards to make sure Danny’s shirt never rode up and revealed anything when he tossed Danny around.

He peeks around the locker room before he hurries into the changing stall, paranoid that he’s being watched somehow. He changes quickly and, sure enough, everything fits him perfectly.

The only problem is that the shirt he was given is short sleeve. Th Lichtenberg scar, made permanent by his death and the ectoplasm that flooded his system at the same time as the electricity of the portal, is clearly visible. The white scar tissue branches down his arm all the way to his wrist, wide and ugly.

He really doesn’t want any questions about it.

Danny takes off the shirt, then puts his long sleeve shirt back on. He can train just fine in it, and if they have a problem with it, they can order him a long sleeve shirt for training.

He takes his clothes to his locker and shoves them in, then takes a few minutes to just breathe, trying to force his nerves away long enough that he can walk out to Bruce without feeling nauseous.

When he finally manages to force his feet to move, Cass and Damian are in the gym as well.

Cass he expected after their morning conversation. Damian is a surprise, and it seems like the boy is trying to act as if he’s not here to watch Danny train, using one of the wooden swords to go through a series of careful movements.

Bruce is waiting on the mat next to the dummy, and he nods when he sees Danny approach. “Come here,” he says, “We’ll do some stretching first, then we’ll see where you are in self-defense.”

Cass looks them both over with a sharp eye, then walks away to pull out a yoga mat and set it just outside the mats. She effortlessly goes into a handstand, then goes down onto her forearms and lowers her legs into a split.

“You’re not expecting me to do that, right?” he asks, looking at Bruce.

He smiles, a small thing that softens the serious expression he had been sporting, and shakes his head. “No, not at all. We’ll just do basic stretches. After me, now.” And with that, he immediately gets started, rolling out his shoulders and stretching his arms and wrists, then dropping down into a forward fold. Danny does his best to follow along, glancing up often to make sure he’s doing everything right.

Stretching is easy. He’s definitely not as flexible as Bruce or Cass, but he doesn’t do too badly. At the very least, he can press his palms flat to the floor in a forward fold.

They’re just finishing up, rolling out their necks, when the door to the gym is pushed open and Tim comes in. “Have we started yet?” he asks, looking a mess. His hair is windswept and tangled and he’s sporting a split lip that he didn’t have yesterday.

“Do I want to know,” Bruce says, and Tim grins.

“Know what? I’ve been having a peaceful, relaxing day. Quit worrying so much, it’s bad for your heart.”

Damian scoffs, swinging his sword down at an angle. “As if any of us would ever believe that you’re not causing messes for us to clean up.”

“What’s that, Gremlin? You’re looking for a sparring partner? You should have said so sooner!” And Tim’s grabbing a bo staff from the wall and throwing himself at Damian without any warning.

Danny makes an aborted sound in the back of his throat, torn between yelling for Damian to watch out and Tim to stop, but Damian isn’t phased at all. He scowls harder and blocks Tim’s attack, then hits back. The heavy thud of their weapons hitting each other echo through the gym, but neither of them get hurt. They dodge each hit expertly, dancing circles around each other, fighting gracefully in ways Danny has never seen.

Bruce clears his throat and Danny snaps his attention back to the man in front of him.

“Why don’t we begin with something easy,” Bruce says. “Punch me.”

“What?”

“Punch me,” Bruce repeats.

Danny stares at him. “I don’t want to hurt you. Aren’t you supposed to teach me how to defend myself, not attack other people?”

“Both require the same skills. The only difference is in how you choose to use it. Now, punch me.”

Slowly, Danny lifts an arm, curling his fingers into a fist, and looks up at Bruce’s face to make sure this is fine. Bruce looks unimpressed, waiting for him to move.

He throws a weak punch at Bruce’s abdomen and is entirely unsurprised when his wrist is grabbed and held in place easily.

“Again,” Bruce says, “And do it seriously, this time.”

Okay.

Okay, he can do this.

Danny steps back, giving himself some space, and takes a deep breath. He’s fought plenty of people before. Mostly ghosts, but still. He can figure out how to fight hand to hand without using any of his powers. He can hold back his strength. He can do it.

He shifts his stance, standing with his feet shoulder width apart, a more stable base, and lifts his hands in front of his face, not curling them into fists but holding them loose. Just as his mother taught him, before she started handing him and Jazz weapons to familiarize themselves with.

Bruce is a vigilante, he reminds himself. They all are. They know how to fight and how to defend themselves. They have plenty of experience and he’s sure they’ve already come up with ways to take him out if they need to.

Danny lets out one last fortifying breath, then looks up at Bruce, who is watching him with a shrewd gaze. Whatever he sees makes him nod approvingly and shift his own stance, no longer casually standing in place but ready to move.

“I will try to stay at human power levels,” Danny says, one last warning before they really begin. “Stop me if I go too far.”

“I can handle anything you throw my way, Danny. Don’t worry about me. This is about helping you be able to protect yourself.”

No more stalling.

Danny darts forward, throwing out a punch. Bruce takes a single step back, twisting to the side so Danny’s fist sails past his body, and sweeps out a leg to trip him. Danny’s already moving, trying to get to Bruce’s back, get out of his line of sight, staying light on his feet.

Distantly, he’s aware of the sound of Tim and Damian’s battle falling silent, but he can’t focus on it as he tries to strike Bruce’s pressure points, darting in and out so he can’t be grabbed. His mother’s old lessons come back to him, body falling into that familiar rhythm, and it’s enough to make him slip up, use a little too much strength.

Bruce staggers back two steps, then is grabbing Danny’s arm and tossing him over his shoulder before Danny can process what’s happening.

Instinct has him floating in place, then his legs shoot out and kick Bruce in the chest, using it as a springboard to jump off of to get some distance between them.

“Good,” Bruce says, giving him a moment to catch his breath. “You’ve had training before.”

“My mom is ninth-degree black belt in mixed martial arts. She taught me a few things.”

“We’ll need to see where you might need some improvements. Otherwise, I give you permission to use your powers against me.”

Danny drops his hands in shock, coming out of his ready stance. “Wait, seriously? I could really hurt you!”

“I promise you, Danny, you really can’t,” Bruce says. “Remember, I’m Batman. I’ve fought gods and monsters before.”

“I don’t know…”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with Danny, even if it means you only stick to flying.”

That’s… reasonable. He does fly a lot; he loves flying. It’s the best part of being a halfa, really. And most of his fights involve him flying. Having to stay on the ground puts him at a disadvantage, and if they really want to train him up to hero standards—

No. He’s not going to be a hero in this world. He’s going to live a quiet, normal life as best he can and he won’t be flaunting his powers around in a world he’s unfamiliar with.

Shaking the thoughts out of his head, Danny refocuses on the training match and nods. “Flying only,” he says.

He’s up in the air before Bruce can move, darting around him, then ramming into his side like a bulldozer. This, he didn’t learn from his mother. He learned it from Cujo.

Bruce grunts, his breath knocked out of him, and grabs Danny. There’s a brief moment of struggle where Danny tries to get away, but he’s laid out on the floor before he can go intangible.

The lights above him are blinding. Bruce towers above him, all broad shoulders and heavy muscle, looking down, and his face is shadowed enough that is makes Danny’s heart stop and he sees—

Dad, wait, it’s me! Stop, please!

His father wasn’t smiling. There was no manic grin, no booming laughter, no victory cry for catching Phantom. Just his father standing above him, expressionless, as he held up a Fenton Thermos and—

Bruce reaches for him—

“Stop!”

Before anyone can move, before Danny can come back to his sense and make his brain understand that it’s not his father standing before him, ready to capture him and treat him like a thing to be cut open, before he can say anything more, the air shifts.

Cass is there, suddenly and without warning, and slams into Bruce, then tosses him over her shoulder and onto the mats. She kneels with one knee on his chest, keeping him pinned down, and steel in her eyes.

“We’re done,” she says. “Time for a break. Snacks.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Bruce relaxes and nods. “Right. This is enough for today. I’ll make a light training regime for Danny so he can protect himself both with and without his powers. Boys,” he says, looking to where Tim and Damian have been watching them, “If you want to continue training, do so in the Batcave. Don’t use flimsy excuses to learn more about Danny.”

“What excuse? I genuinely wanted to beat Damian up,” Tim retorts, and follows it up with a soft whack to the back of Damian’s head.

“As if you could beat me!”

They’re back to tussling a moment later, weapons thrown aside in favor of slapping the shit out of each other.

It would make him laugh in any other circumstance. As it is, Danny’s frozen, heart jackrabbiting in his chest, staring at where Cass is keeping Bruce pinned, keeping him safe from the man who resembles his father in the lowlight.

He can’t focus on much more than them, frantically trying to piece together the last two minutes to make sure he’s safe, it was just Bruce, everything’s fine. He may have yelled for Bruce to stop, but he’s sure that Cass was moving even before then.

Somehow, she had known that he needed to get out of that situation. Needed distance from Bruce. Needed protection.

And she had given it to him.

Dangerous and kind indeed.

“Go,” she says, pulling Bruce back up to his feet. “I will stay with him.” She doesn’t give him any time to argue, pushing him towards the door.

Then she shoots Tim and Damian a look and they immediately disengage from their fight. Damian tosses his wooden sword over to Tim, who snatches it out of the air without even looking at it and puts both their weapons back on the wall. They leave within a minute, closing the door behind them.

A stillness settles over the room, the world gone quiet now that it’s just him and Cass.

He’s shaking, he realizes. His hands tremble where they rest on his chest and it takes far too much effort to force himself to sit up.

Cass doesn’t comment on it. She just sits down next to him, giving him enough space that he feels comforted by her presence rather than trapped.

“Sorry about that,” Danny manages to say at last, forcing the words out. His voice is rough and his heart feels like it’s been scrapped over with sandpaper.

“No.”

“What?”

“No sorries. Bruce went too far. Saw you weren’t… safe? Did not stop, so I made him.”

“I’m still sorry you had to get involved.”

“Danny,” she says, then waits until he looks at her. “It’s okay. I always beat Bruce. It’s good for him to lose sometimes.”

He can’t help but smile a bit. Between her and Tim, he can see that Bruce’s kids really enjoy causing him trouble. That’s how it’s supposed to be with siblings; everyone teams up against the parents. All siblings have to unionize, that’s how every world works.

“Thanks.”

Cass reaches out a hand. This time, Danny doesn’t hesitate to take it.

They sit in silence for a long time. His heart settles down and the last of his fear dissipates; the guilt of being so terrified of just the idea of his father towering over him remains, but that’s something he’s sure will accompany him for the rest of his life. Cass doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t push for conversation, and simply waits patiently as he regains him composure.

As much as he’d like to, he can’t hide away in the gym forever.

He begins to stand and Cass follows him up, keeping hold of his hand. She looks him over carefully, then nods and pushes him towards the locker room.

“You’re not going to ask questions about…” Danny waves a hand through the air, “All this, right?”

“No questions,” Cass reassures. “Tell when you want to. Even bad memories are important. Yours to keep.”

“Okay. Thanks for being so cool about all this.”

Cass gives him a sunny smile. “Go. Change. I will get Alfred.”

Danny offers a weak salute, then heads off to the locker room to change, happily chucking off his training clothes and dropping them into the laundry chute.

Training was a disaster in a different way than he expected, but either way, he’s relieved it’s over. Now, all they have to do is pretend his little panic never happened and they can all move on with their lives.

Alfred must see that resolve on his face when he exits the gym. Danny isn’t asked any questions as they walk through the halls, simply told about the chores that need to be completed. They don’t come across any members of the Wayne family and Danny can’t help but feel that’s purposefully, that they’re avoiding him to keep him from getting spooked and running away.

Danny takes over dusting the high rafters and corners of the ceiling, sneezing when a particularly strong sweep of the duster over the top of a hanging light fixture brings up a cloud of dust. Below him, Alfred vacuums and straightens out rooms, calling out directions to help Danny get everything clean.

Once the sun begins to set, Alfred sends Danny to the kitchen while he puts away all their cleaning supplies. Dinner prep has apparently been taken care of while he was training with Bruce; all Danny has to do is start the oven and pull everything out of the fridge.

He wants to offer to set the table, be more helpful, but the thought of seeing everyone again has his throat tightening up, bringing up the residual panic that hasn’t left him since he fell through the Infinite Realms into the streets of Gotham. Instead of helping more with dinner, Alfred pulls out a thick recipe book, paged faded with age, and sets him on making a cake for dessert.

Danny manages to get all the ingredients together, measured carefully and mixed slowly so none of the flour spills out of the bowl. He does well enough that Alfred decides he can safely leave Danny without any supervision in order to bring dinner to the dining table where the Wayne family waits.

In the time he’s alone, Danny tries very hard not to mess anything up, folding in melted chocolate into the batter.

He works slowly enough that Alfred is able to return before Danny tries to hunt down a baking pan. He wordlessly pulls one out of a cabinet and sprays it with cooking oil before setting it on the counter next to Danny, watching with a shrewd eye as Danny pours out the batter, using a rubber spatula to scrape batter down from the sides of the bowl.

“Very good,” Alfred comments, then instructs Danny to lift the baking pan and drop it onto the counter gently a few times to break any air bubbles in the batter.

They get it in the oven and start the timer after that. Alfred pulls out another mixing bowl and gets to work making buttercream frosting, showing Danny how to separate the egg whites from the yolk.

Danny is not ready to try it on his own, but it’s cool to see how it’s done. Alfred does everything so precisely, with clean movements and nothing wasted. It’s beyond impressive. Danny can only hope he can emulate some of that one day.

The smell of rich chocolate cake fills the kitchen and Danny feels his mouth start watering. He hasn’t had much to eat since lunch, and even that was small. For once, he’s feeling hungry enough to eat a horse, and is a strange mix of embarrassed and elated when his stomach growls loudly.

“Oh my,” Alfred laughs, “I see that cake never fails to wake a boy’s appetite.”

Danny shrugs sheepishly, and allows Alfred to usher him into a chair at the kitchen table. He watches as Alfred bustles around the kitchen, whipping together a quick meal of sauteed radishes, sliced in halves and with the leaves included, and a wrap so full Danny worried it would burst when he bit into it.

It’s a bigger meal than what he’s used to, made with larger portions and heavier ingredients, but all the events of the day have drained him of enough energy that Danny all but devours his dinner. He even brings out his fangs to tear into the wrap more easily, eating quickly to sate his hunger.

“How are you liking your food, Danny?”

“It’s delicious!” he answers with his mouth full.

“Do try to avoid talking with food in your moth,” Alfred gently reprimands, and Danny shoots him a thumbs up, trying to chew faster.

“I can have some of the cake later, right?”

“Of course. So long as you finish your dinner, then I will give you the first slice.”

Danny clears his plate in record time and has everything washed and dried by the time the oven beeps. Alfred opens the oven door, flooding the kitchen with warmth and an even strong aroma of chocolate, then slides on a pair of Batman oven mitts; they’re black, with a bat symbol on the back and little white eyes glaring out from the fingertips, and have little bat eats sticking out from the tops. He has to bite back a laugh and wonders how much of their own merch the Wayne family owns.

“Now we must wait for it to cool down before we can frost it,” Alfred says, setting the cake down on the counter.

“Can I use my powers to help it cool faster?”

“How do you intend to do that?”

“Well,” Danny says, holding up a hand, “I can make ice.” He lets his fingers frost over, his ice the pale blue of an iceberg’s submerged bottom. “I can freeze the counter space around and under the cake.”

Alfred looks intrigued, which is a good sign. “Would it not melt?”

“Not unless I want it to.”

“Then by all means, Danny.” He steps back to give Danny space to work, watching as Danny presses his fingers to the counter and lets the ice spread from the point of contact, circling the cake. He pushes his ice to be a few degrees cooler than usual and feels the chill race up his arms.

It’s comfortable for him, but he knows he shouldn’t touch anyone until he warms back up. Sam and Tucker have told him plenty of times that he’s colder than ice after he uses his powers, a biting kind of cold that always hurt their hands.

“It should be cool enough soon,” he says, stepping back from the counter and shaking out his hands.

“Thank you, Danny. Would you mind keeping the frosting cool as well?”

“No problem, Alfred!” He ices over the frosting bowl; it’s not quite as cold as the ice on the counter, but enough to keep the frosting chilled. “Do you want me to do anything else?”

Alfred thinks it over for a moment, then shakes his head. “Not at the moment, no. Go take a break. I’ll wash up and get everyone’s dishes. Master Bruce would like to speak to you as well, when you’re ready.”

Oh, great. No more running from questions, it seems.

His mood plummets immediately, but he still forces up a smile for Alfred. “You got it. I’ll just… wait for him to get me, then.”

He’s out of the kitchen before Alfred can offer an platitudes, wandering aimlessly until he ends up in the grand foyer. He flies up to the ceiling and sits upside down, legs crossed, and tries not to think about training and all the explanations he doesn’t want to give.

His thoughts drift towards Amity and he misses it with an ache. He never planned to stay there forever, already looking for out of state college options, joining the rest of his class in wanting to leave and find their way into the wider world.

But all he wants now is an hour at Nasty Burger with his friends, a trip to the bookstore with Jazz, the familiar shared panic as everyone on the road tried to avoid the Fenton AV whenever his parents decided to go grocery shopping. Hell, he even misses Caspar High and the stress of having his work pile up as he fought ghosts and ghost hunters and his own procrastination. He misses the park where he’d play fetch with Cujo. He misses flying through the clear skies of Amity, the way the lights of the city shone up to him from where he rested high above it all. He misses the empty fields and forests and the clear air that Gotham will never have.

Danny is so far from home. He doesn’t think he can ever go back.

Would he even have a home if he found some way back to his original dimension?

His parents know the truth now. They captured Phantom, trapped him in the Fenton Thermos, and when they opened it again, Danny came out. He transformed immediately, full of panic and fear, begging for something as his mother sank into denial, shooting at him, while his father was emotionless and Jazz was screaming as a distraction, for him, at being pushed down by her parents as they focused all their attention on Danny.

The last thing he ever heard from his home was Jazz screaming I hate you! How could you! Danny is⁠—

And then the Infinite Realms wrapped him in its embrace and took him away.

“Danny?”

Danny jolts and falls from the ceiling. His stomach drops and he braces himself for impact, too out of it to use any of his powers. Instead of hitting the floor, he crashes into someone’s chest, their arms wrapping around him to hold him steady.

He blinks his eyes open and looks up at Bruce, who gives him a moment to collect himself, then sets him down on his feet. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Danny says, voice hoarse. He clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just startled.”

“If you don’t feel up for a conversation⁠—”

“No, no, let’s just get this over with. The sooner the better, right?” He offers Bruce a strained smile, but it falls from his face quickly.

“Alright,” Bruce says slowly. “Let’s head up to my office.”

He guides Danny up the stairs, keeping a heavy hand on his shoulder. It makes Danny feel trapped, but he’s too tired to get away. He’s resigned to this happening and just wants it to be over already.

When the door closes the behind them, it sounds final in Danny’s ears. He sinks into the armchair off to the side of Bruce’s office, rather than taking one of the more uncomfortable chairs in front of his desk.

Bruce sits across from him on the lounge couch, elbows on his knees and his fingers steepled together.

“Danny,” he begins. “I know you’ve had a stressful day, but it’s important that we discuss this now.”

“Discuss what,” Danny says tiredly. He’s not asking, not really, just trying to lead Bruce to where they need to go.

“You are aware of our identities as Gotham’s vigilantes.”

“I’m still not very familiar with any vigilantes. I don’t really know anything other than your names.”

“But you know our identities. You know where we live and where we operate from. This is dangerous information; in the wrong hands, it will destroy us and leave Gotham to be torn apart from the inside by all the corruption we work to keep off the streets.”

Irritation prickles down his spine. Danny knows how important secret identities; look at what happened to him when he was discovered. Logically, he knows Bruce has no way of knowing this, but emotionally, Danny wants to snap at him, hurl insults and accusations to distract from his own hurt.

“This must remain secret,” Bruce continues, leaning forward some. “We will know if you reveal this information to anyone.”

“If you’re going to threaten me, can you just do it outright?”

Bruce blinks, then leans back, his brow furrowed. “What?”

Danny sighs and folds his arms across his chest, holding himself in a mockery of a hug as he looks away. “I get it, this is a big deal and having an outsider suddenly in the know is a huge risk. But I also need you to consider who I am.”

“And who are you, Danny?”

“A homeless runaway freak of nature. I have no support in Gotham. I have no one outside of Alfred that I can rely on in this country. You talk as if I have any power over you, but I don’t. Who would I even go to? Who would believe me?”

“Reporters would pay a lot for information like this⁠—”

“That’s not the point,” Danny interrupts, a bite in his voice. “The point is that even if I know all your identities, you’re still the one who has power here. I am entirely dependent on you for housing, food, safety. You’re my boss. The only reason I have anything, including a legal identity, is because of you. And you can take it away at any time.”

“I wouldn’t⁠—”

“People can excuse anything when they’re desperate enough.”

Bruce falls silent, staring at Danny with dark eyes. His expression is unreadable, as warm as stone, and Danny tenses in preparation for something awful; being fired, or kicked out, or imprisoned.

“No matter how good they think they are, or try to be,” Danny continues, his voice growing quieter, more tired, “When the time comes, they’re willing to do anything to get what they want. No matter who you are to them. No matter what they have to do to you.” He looks over to Bruce, finally meeting his gaze. “Do you understand? You don’t have to threaten me because my entire existence here is a threat to my survival. I can only hope that everyone will be kind for another day before they decide I’ll be better off being cut open by scientists and studied.”

“Is that what happened to you? Why you ran away?”

“That isn’t important. It’s none of your business.”

Bruce frowns. “If it puts you in danger, it is my business, as you’re a minor in my care.”

“I am always in danger, okay? The details don’t matter. If you make me talk about it, I’ll run away and make sure no one can ever find me again. Got it?”

“Understood,” Bruce says after a tense moment. “I won’t push. But if you ever want to talk⁠—”

“Yeah, no. Not going to happen. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

He leans back, straightening up. “There is. In regards to training⁠—”

Here it is. Danny just said he didn’t want to talk about, so Bruce hops right into the next topic of conversation that will make them talk about it.

“⁠—You have a good foundation to grow from. It would benefit you to learn how to handle a few of our weapons as well, and if there’s something you want to learn that we can’t provide for you, we can find someone else to train you. I will need to know what your triggers are so I can avoid frightening you as I did today.”

“I don’t have triggers,” Danny says, “I just don’t trust anyone but Alfred and Cass to not really hurt me. It’s just how it is.”

“...Very well.”

“Is that all?”

Bruce nods. “For now, yes. I know one of your conditions was not being involved in our nightlife, but if you’d ever like to learn more or see more of the Batcave⁠—properly, this time⁠— then we’d be more than happier to lead you through it.”

His gut reaction is to turn it down immediately, to ensure he doesn't have anything to do with their ‘nightlife.’ But Alfred’s involved.

All Danny is here to do is help Alfred, and that apparently includes wrangling vigilantes into surviving each night and being tended to. He already knows he’s going to join Alfred down there one day, but he’s not ready for it yet.

“Maybe some time in the future,” Danny offers. “Not any time soon, though.”

“That’s fine, Danny. We’ll go at your pace.”

A knock on the door stops the conversation from continuing. Damian opens the door and comes in before he has permission.

“Are you finished yet?” he asks, looking between Danny and Bruce.

“Uh, just about. Why?” Danny replies.

“We cannot eat any cake until you have the first slice.”

Conversation fully over; Danny has cake to eat and he needs to get to it right away. It’s way more important that talking to Bruce about his trauma and the family’s secret vigilante activities.

“Sweet, let’s go get cake.”

He stands and Damian turns back to the door, ready to go. He stops at the doorway and glances back to Bruce, then asks, “Is he to remain aware of our nightly activities?”

“Yes, he is,” Bruce answers.

“I will be showing you where all the supply caches in the manor are,” Damian tells Danny. “They will hold either weapons, first aid kits, or fire extinguishers. It is crucial to memorize the location of all of them in the event of an emergency.”

“Isn’t this place safe? I mean, you all live here.”

“We hold events here, unfortunately,” Damian scowls. “There’s a gala coming up, in fact. You will need to know all of this before it begins. We shall start after we eat cake.”

From what he’s seen and heard of Gotham so far, this really is for the best. If this were Amity Park, Danny would call this behavior overly paranoid. Here, it’s an appropriate level of preparedness.

“After cake,” he agrees, following Damian as he leads the way out of Bruce’s office .

He’ll worry about everything else after that promised first slice. As long as he’s got Alfred on his side, he’ll deal with anything thrown his way.

(“Don’t push,” Cass warns. “He’s like me. Will run.”

Tim sighs and slumps against the counter. “I just need to know more in order to help him! Come on, Cass, don’t tell me you don’t want to beat up everyone who’s ever hurt him.”

“Only if he wants to tell us,” she says, firm in her stance.

Alfred nods approvingly from where he’s slicing the recently frosted cake. Danny’s ice remains on the counter, and he makes a mental note to ask the boy to remove it before he goes to sleep.

“Miss Cassandra is right,” he interjects when Tim opens his mouth to speak, trying to find some way to change Cass’s mind. “Danny has had a difficult life and needs time and space to trust us and feel safe in the manor. I will not allow anyone to push him more than he can handle, simply because they could not handle their own curiosity.”

“You’d better tell that to Bruce, then. You really think he won’t interrogate Danny?”

Alfred sets down the cake knife with more slightly more force than necessary. “He has been warned. Should I hear that he did not take my warning lightly, I will ensure he faces the consequences of disregarding Danny’s needs.”

“Well,” Tim says, “You’ve got me and Cass to back you up. Danny will be fine with the three of us in his corner.”

“I do hope so,” Alfred replies. Cass is looking towards the kitchen door, so he begins to plate some of the slices. She has a sixth sense for knowing when someone is approaching, and when she’s around, Alfred takes his cues from her to make sure everything is prepared when they enter the room.

Sure enough, just as he’s finished plating the last slice, the door opens and Damian enters with Danny trailing after him, looking paler and wrung out.

It seems he will have to remind Bruce about Danny’s boundaries. Tim and Cass will be pleased to take on this new mission, and from the look in Damian’s eye, so will the youngest Robin.

Good.

He won’t let anyone push Danny out of the manor. Not while he still has breath in his body.)

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc fanfic #those who serve #my writing #this chapter is actually all abt cass appreciation everyone give her the love she deserves!!!#and also a reminder that bruce is a very paranoid character who often makes things worse bc his paranoia got ahead of him hence the convo #abt the power he has over danny via social standing #hes still nice and a good person but he's also thinking worse case scenario and it blinds him to the fact that danny isn't a threat #anyways IM BACK BABEY #butler danny au #alfred's apprentice au

79 notes · View notes