OH THE HUMANITY
dan, blair, serena. superhero au. 1256 words.
summary:"Blair," Serena says firmly, voice ringing. "Don't you think this has gone on long enough?"
note: for Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
ivy32! this ended up more dan-centric than was originally intended, so...oops? that just sometimes happens with me. anyway, i hope you enjoy this fic and i am genuinely sorry it couldn't be longer, but time is unfortunately tight with the december prompts. also superhero ~names are stupidly difficult to come up with without sounding like a cheeseball.
She wears a silver mask over half her face, disguising all discernible features, even her eyes concealed behind the shining, mirror-reflective surface. Her hair spills out around it, lush and brown, and below it is her expression red mouth, which shows displeasure as easily as the alternative. Dan has never seen her without the mask. He doesn't even know her real name. They call her the Masked Witch, which she has never liked. Dan calls her dictator, despot, tyrant – all in good humor.
He wasn't always on her side.
Serena van der Woodsen wears no mask and hides nothing. She can be found easily on duty or off, greeting fans with happy smiles and dashing off autographs. She does interviews and says earnest things like, "I didn't ask for these abilities. But I have them, and I have to do something."
When she's performing her deeds of public service, she wears a tight gold suit that ends at the top of her thighs, one shoulder bared and the other trumpeting a banner-like swath of shiny gold fabric. She has a gold circlet nestled amongst her wild waves of blonde hair, gold bracelets on her wrists that stop bullets. She wields a sword. She looks like a goddess. She and the Masked Witch have monthly showdowns, and that's where the first layer of the story is peeled back:
"Blair," Serena says firmly, voice ringing. "Don't you think this has gone on long enough?"
"Blair?" Dan asks, later. That battle had ended in a lightning storm, a particular viciousness to the spell-casting.
It is impossible to tell if she's looking at him because of the mask. That face, impassive and silver, does not even turn in his direction.
"Keep it to yourself," she says, but he wasn't planning on doing anything else.
Serena finds Dan first in civvies, because even mercenaries get days off. He knows he doesn't look the type, and he isn't really: he had a loving home, he went to good schools. Only he'd always get in trouble for fighting – usually with the rich snots he went to school with. In an effort to "channel his aggression," his parents signed him up for all sorts of classes, boxing and martial arts and even shooting, a few times. One thing led to another. And now here he is.
He's an easy target for the other side because of this. They're forever trying to win him over.
"You seem like a good man," Serena says gently, kindly. "But you've been misled."
But Dan's always known what he was doing. He's just not so free with his origin story.
Blair's gown knots at the shoulder and sweeps to the ground, black fading slowly into a deep, poisonous green. Dan has been thinking about her real name a lot lately, letting it echo around in his head. Blair. Her name is Blair. Serena knows her name is Blair and that must mean something; now Dan knows, and that must mean something too. Dan suspects he is in love with this woman, though he isn't sure you can love someone whose face you've never even seen.
He admires her. It took him a long time, but now he admires people who go after what they want, damn the means and damn the consequences. And Blair – she doesn't do anything except that.
"It's so simple," she says once, almost coos. "All I want is the world."
Dan is cleaning his guns. He's her right-hand man, the only one permitted to remain this close at all times, the only one who knows where she really lives. "To do what?" he prompts. He glances up at her. "Or do you just want it, full stop, like a new pair of shoes?"
Her mouth curves in a half-smile beneath the mask. "I want it to listen," she says, "to me. I want everyone in it to listen to me."
Dan blows out a low breath. "Hate to break it to you, ma'am," he says, "but you may have to settle for a continent."
Her soft laughter rings through him for hours afterwards.
Dan meets Serena in a coffee shop, so daring that he hopes it flies right under the radar. They could almost be two normal people having a friendly warm drink, her in a gray sweater with her hair in a braid and him in a wool coat. He looks how he used to look, before.
"I'm not giving her up or anything," Dan says. "That's not why I'm here."
Serena observes him. "You're very loyal."
He doesn't really know how she means that, if there are underlying implications, but a part of him warms to it just like a compliment. But he ignores that to say, "You knew her before."
Serena inclines her head slightly. "And you want to know what happened to make her…this." She sighs. "Blair is a good person – was, I guess I should say. She just…She wants so much."
Dan nods a little, fiddling with his napkin.
"What about you?" Serena asks. "What made you…?" She trails off and gestures at him, though nothing in his appearance today reveals anything about the path he chose. So polite, he thinks, to not even say the words.
He shrugs. "Selfishness. Loss of faith in humanity. Tired of being the underdog. Take your pick."
Serena tilts her head. "Those sound more like reasons to help to me."
"Then I guess that's what makes people like you different from people like me," Dan tells her.
Blair asks him what he knows about explosives, her fingers gentle on his arm right below the sleeve. She presses the prominent bump of his wrist like a button, drums her fingertips along his knuckles.
"Planning on blowing something up?"
He learned all about anatomy because he's a thorough kind of guy, and in his head he names all the bones she's touching as she touches them. He knows how to break them. He's broken them before, in other people.
"I can't tell you all my plans," she says, voice playful and light. "You're just one step above the minions, after all."
"Sure know how to make a guy feel important."
Blair tilts up and kisses his cheek right above the line of his jaw. Dan freezes. "No one's as loyal as you," she says. "Better?"
There's that word again, he thinks. "Aces."
The same week Blair asks about the explosives, Serena appeals to him for help again.
"Don't you people have lackeys of your own?" Dan asks, huffy, divided.
"You're the one who knows what she's going to do next," Serena implores. "And I know you know it's wrong. That's why you keep letting me talk to you. You don't have to do anything, just – whatever it is, let me stop it."
But she underestimates how much he wants, too, and the next time he reports to Blair, he tells her everything.
The mask watches him. Her mouth is vexed. "She's my enemy, and you took her out for biscotti?"
Your friend once too, he thinks. He doesn't say it. He doesn't have enough evidence that Blair ever had friends. "It wasn't like that."
"I'm not interested in hearing what it was like."
"Blair –"
"I didn't say you could call me that either," she snaps. Her back straightens, arms stiff and regal on the arms of her chair. "What are you going to do to make it up to me?"
He raises his gaze to her hidden one. "Let's blow some shit up," he says.
dan, blair, serena. superhero au. 1256 words.
summary:"Blair," Serena says firmly, voice ringing. "Don't you think this has gone on long enough?"
note: for Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
ivy32! this ended up more dan-centric than was originally intended, so...oops? that just sometimes happens with me. anyway, i hope you enjoy this fic and i am genuinely sorry it couldn't be longer, but time is unfortunately tight with the december prompts. also superhero ~names are stupidly difficult to come up with without sounding like a cheeseball.Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Clik here to view.
She wears a silver mask over half her face, disguising all discernible features, even her eyes concealed behind the shining, mirror-reflective surface. Her hair spills out around it, lush and brown, and below it is her expression red mouth, which shows displeasure as easily as the alternative. Dan has never seen her without the mask. He doesn't even know her real name. They call her the Masked Witch, which she has never liked. Dan calls her dictator, despot, tyrant – all in good humor.
He wasn't always on her side.
Serena van der Woodsen wears no mask and hides nothing. She can be found easily on duty or off, greeting fans with happy smiles and dashing off autographs. She does interviews and says earnest things like, "I didn't ask for these abilities. But I have them, and I have to do something."
When she's performing her deeds of public service, she wears a tight gold suit that ends at the top of her thighs, one shoulder bared and the other trumpeting a banner-like swath of shiny gold fabric. She has a gold circlet nestled amongst her wild waves of blonde hair, gold bracelets on her wrists that stop bullets. She wields a sword. She looks like a goddess. She and the Masked Witch have monthly showdowns, and that's where the first layer of the story is peeled back:
"Blair," Serena says firmly, voice ringing. "Don't you think this has gone on long enough?"
"Blair?" Dan asks, later. That battle had ended in a lightning storm, a particular viciousness to the spell-casting.
It is impossible to tell if she's looking at him because of the mask. That face, impassive and silver, does not even turn in his direction.
"Keep it to yourself," she says, but he wasn't planning on doing anything else.
Serena finds Dan first in civvies, because even mercenaries get days off. He knows he doesn't look the type, and he isn't really: he had a loving home, he went to good schools. Only he'd always get in trouble for fighting – usually with the rich snots he went to school with. In an effort to "channel his aggression," his parents signed him up for all sorts of classes, boxing and martial arts and even shooting, a few times. One thing led to another. And now here he is.
He's an easy target for the other side because of this. They're forever trying to win him over.
"You seem like a good man," Serena says gently, kindly. "But you've been misled."
But Dan's always known what he was doing. He's just not so free with his origin story.
Blair's gown knots at the shoulder and sweeps to the ground, black fading slowly into a deep, poisonous green. Dan has been thinking about her real name a lot lately, letting it echo around in his head. Blair. Her name is Blair. Serena knows her name is Blair and that must mean something; now Dan knows, and that must mean something too. Dan suspects he is in love with this woman, though he isn't sure you can love someone whose face you've never even seen.
He admires her. It took him a long time, but now he admires people who go after what they want, damn the means and damn the consequences. And Blair – she doesn't do anything except that.
"It's so simple," she says once, almost coos. "All I want is the world."
Dan is cleaning his guns. He's her right-hand man, the only one permitted to remain this close at all times, the only one who knows where she really lives. "To do what?" he prompts. He glances up at her. "Or do you just want it, full stop, like a new pair of shoes?"
Her mouth curves in a half-smile beneath the mask. "I want it to listen," she says, "to me. I want everyone in it to listen to me."
Dan blows out a low breath. "Hate to break it to you, ma'am," he says, "but you may have to settle for a continent."
Her soft laughter rings through him for hours afterwards.
Dan meets Serena in a coffee shop, so daring that he hopes it flies right under the radar. They could almost be two normal people having a friendly warm drink, her in a gray sweater with her hair in a braid and him in a wool coat. He looks how he used to look, before.
"I'm not giving her up or anything," Dan says. "That's not why I'm here."
Serena observes him. "You're very loyal."
He doesn't really know how she means that, if there are underlying implications, but a part of him warms to it just like a compliment. But he ignores that to say, "You knew her before."
Serena inclines her head slightly. "And you want to know what happened to make her…this." She sighs. "Blair is a good person – was, I guess I should say. She just…She wants so much."
Dan nods a little, fiddling with his napkin.
"What about you?" Serena asks. "What made you…?" She trails off and gestures at him, though nothing in his appearance today reveals anything about the path he chose. So polite, he thinks, to not even say the words.
He shrugs. "Selfishness. Loss of faith in humanity. Tired of being the underdog. Take your pick."
Serena tilts her head. "Those sound more like reasons to help to me."
"Then I guess that's what makes people like you different from people like me," Dan tells her.
Blair asks him what he knows about explosives, her fingers gentle on his arm right below the sleeve. She presses the prominent bump of his wrist like a button, drums her fingertips along his knuckles.
"Planning on blowing something up?"
He learned all about anatomy because he's a thorough kind of guy, and in his head he names all the bones she's touching as she touches them. He knows how to break them. He's broken them before, in other people.
"I can't tell you all my plans," she says, voice playful and light. "You're just one step above the minions, after all."
"Sure know how to make a guy feel important."
Blair tilts up and kisses his cheek right above the line of his jaw. Dan freezes. "No one's as loyal as you," she says. "Better?"
There's that word again, he thinks. "Aces."
The same week Blair asks about the explosives, Serena appeals to him for help again.
"Don't you people have lackeys of your own?" Dan asks, huffy, divided.
"You're the one who knows what she's going to do next," Serena implores. "And I know you know it's wrong. That's why you keep letting me talk to you. You don't have to do anything, just – whatever it is, let me stop it."
But she underestimates how much he wants, too, and the next time he reports to Blair, he tells her everything.
The mask watches him. Her mouth is vexed. "She's my enemy, and you took her out for biscotti?"
Your friend once too, he thinks. He doesn't say it. He doesn't have enough evidence that Blair ever had friends. "It wasn't like that."
"I'm not interested in hearing what it was like."
"Blair –"
"I didn't say you could call me that either," she snaps. Her back straightens, arms stiff and regal on the arms of her chair. "What are you going to do to make it up to me?"
He raises his gaze to her hidden one. "Let's blow some shit up," he says.