#and now the two of them have to deal with the aftermath

[iamthewanderingbard]

So. Our DM for our Blades in the Dark game elaborated on Devil’s Bargains and when and how they might be used in game. And one of the potential conditions our DM read off for taking a Devil’s Bargain was “betray or anger a loved one”. So naturally my mind went to Elissa and Lucy and.

Darkest timeline Elucy AU let’s gooooooooo.

#the idea so far is that Elissa and Lucy are at opposite ends of a goal #and Elissa is desperate enough to take a Devil’s Bargain to achieve said goal #and she shoots Lucy in the shoulder #because it’s the only way Elissa can stop her and achieve her own goal #and now the two of them have to deal with the aftermath #and OOF does it hurt #but it’s interesting to explore #we agreed to call it the Blood & Water AU #so that’s the tag i’ll be using if i scream about it some more #Lucy Mae Crimson #Elissa Viero #Elucy #Blood & Water AU #Blades in the Dark #bitd #The Gutters of New Capenna #Bard’s ramblings

[theramblingvoid]

Number 6, for Hallowrove!

Okay this is the fun one I'd hoped someone would pick because the thing is it's happened so many times in canon already that there's just NO question about the answer

Hallowrove's List Of Who She'd Go To If Badly Injured, by preference:

- Fluorine Scaleflats, a Rubbery friend with a great skill and interest in Shapeling Arts who can be relied on to piece her back together in (mostly) (if asked nicely) the right order

- Haarsink, who also knows shapeling arts and can probably apply them in a much less biologically creative manner in a medical setting, but is second on the list because showing up bleeding at his place would stress him the hell out (ask me how I know lol)

- Oversol, who although being a deeply trusted safe place to go has no particular medical knowledge or skills and will probably just call a very expensive doctor and/or pick Hallowrove up and sprint her to a hospital, while being VERY stressed either way

Hallowrove's List Of Who He'd Go To If Badly Injured, by what inevitably actually ends up happening:

- Oversol

- Haarsink that one time

- But other than that it's always Oversol

- Good lord Hallowrove you are going to put this poor man into heart failure we have got to stop letting this happen so often -

#ask game #worst part is 'that one time' with Haarsink was only AFTER being sprinted there by Oversol jdhfhfjsj - #Hallowrove ends up badly banged up a lot from monster hunting or from crossing the wrong people and by now can usually deal with it #but there have been just an awful lot of times where they've either gotten hurt in Oversol's presence or he's the closest door to stumble to #or the first option they can pull into a hazy mind while stumbling through the dark #they're really conscious about stressing him especially at the current stage in the plot #but the two of them have crashed on each other's couches enough times that there's few states of disrepair they haven't seen each other in #and there's no one Hallowrove would rather have around for the aftermath and recovery of an injury，even if Oversol does fuss terribly #have to shout out Haarsink again though. poor man got home from a day's work to find one friend bleeding on his floor and another panicking #and. #.....okay i did just remember how he dealt with the other half of the situation but the Hallowrove part at least he dealt with well hdhfhfhs #my guy's got a neat twisted up Shapeling Arts scar now where a knife wound used to be #ANYWAY. excessive blorbo rambling is my passion #Hallowrove tag

[luxeberries]

i think i actually do dislike it when people write eddie to have known the others before s4. like when he knows steve or nancy or robin more than just in passing. when they're acquainted. because like..i think it's more touching and i think it's very Them that they didn't know eddie, they just found him, in need of help, in need of support, freshly wrapped up in the UD bullshit and decided they're going to save him. i like that people just get adopted into this group. like they have so much love and they have this solidarity that brings them close like a family. they would die for each other, they would fight for each other and that includes the people who have just joined the party. i think it's sweet. i think making eddie well acquainted with the others detracts from that

#stranger things #just thinking #i don't care for it when people make steve and eddie have pre-s4 interactions either #like they spoke in depth in high school and got along and the fic is still canon compliant #I don't like it #like.... that's. it takes away the like.. essence. of steddie. #the whole point of steve and eddie is realising the other isn't as bad as the rumours make them out to be or as bad as they used to be #and they realise that in a life or death situation that pushes them together #like. i don't know #these two met at exactly the right time #and i think it's weird when people try to flesh out their relationship more by going backwards #you have so much room in the aftermath to explore how they deal with that and how they begin to get along #how their friends keep pushing them closer just by being their mutual friends #or how they continue to seek each other out because actually they do like each other now there's something growing between them #the point of steve and eddie isn't that one time in high school they like. hung out and smoked weed and spilled all their deep secrets #and then like. destiny pushed them back together to try again #that's not it #its. #whatever I said three sentences ago #it's about how they were pushed together and were forced to learn about each other #they would never willingly seek each other out. like ever. #they had to be pushed together like that so they could be forced to interact #and in doing so they learn things about each other that go against what they thought they knew #and they find that they really like what they learn about each other #yeah #I've rambled. I'll go back to reading my nightly bedtime story now #(a 50k fic)

[theriverdalereviewer]

surely one of you has read nineteen minutes by jodi picoult... as usual I have THOUGHTS

#the lesson of this book has not aged well #now let me break it down quickly #but major tw if you ever consider reading nineteen minutes its a book with two teenage protagonists but it was written for a mature audience #the book deals with bullying gun violence and abuse and it does depict them quite graphically #so yeah I absolutely would not pick up this book if youre sensitive to that #but anyways the story is about a shooting that happens at a high school and then takes you back to the events that led up to it #as well as the aftermath #and I feel like the idea of Peter's has aged quite poorly #like the book was written in 2007 so the narrative that shooters are the bullied lonely kids who are getting revenge #was very popular in our society but in the year 2023 I think we are (very) slowly realizing that these kids weren’t unpopular nerds #majority of them are incels living in a country that makes it very easy for them to kill people with guns #and the book reallyyyyy misses this mark #like they portray Peter as this kid that was bullied for being sensitive and not a masculine tough guy like the rest of the boys #and its true boys who get bullied generally are bullied for not conforming to masculinity #BUTTT these boys aren’t the ones who go and kill people #its the ones who have deeply entrenched hatred for women and minorities and also happen to be able to use weapons #so yeah if the text was just about a kid who was being bullied and how traumatizing that is then yeah I think it would’ve nailed it #butttt when you try to convince us that this is the profile of a shooter you start to lose #also not nearly enough about gun control was discussed #like the book sends the message that if we’re all nice to each other bad things won’t happen ummmm yeah #but also even if we were all mean to each other we could minimize the amount of casualties by have stricter access to guns #like what people in other countries don’t have mean kids this is a uniquely american problem #anyways these are my grievances

[cbartonscoffee]

I think I've never been more aware of just how many people only get their info of the batfam through fanfic. I finally started reading Red Robin (2009) and I can not believe how many things are blown out of proportion. Particularly about Dick and Damian.

First of all, Dick does try to put limits and he does get fed up with Damian's ways sometimes. Out of the three first interactions of them in the comic, at least in two he tells him to shut up. And one of those is when Damian starts to brag about being Robin and Tim being useless, he tells him to shut up twice.

Another thing about that moment, is that they treat it like Dick completely dismisses Tim and treats him as unimportant. He doesn't. He takes him seriously, he tells him he needs him, he tells him he views his as an equal, as someone capable. And he also tells him he's concerned about him and that he needs to start processing Bruce's death. Could that have been a little harsh? Yes, but he needed to do it without making Tim think there was room for him to be convinced about his theory because let's be honest, Tim would've taken anything less than complete refusal and tried to change his mind. And had he been wrong neither of them could have taken it.

Secondly, Dick is always left to shoulder the blame of kicking Tim out and of never reaching out. That's bull. And I need to make that clear. Tim was in a delicate point, he tells us this himself multiple times, but the decision to leave was completely made out of his own free will. Another thing he did was put space between him and the people on Gotham. We see only one time in which Dick tries to call him. Tim picks up and tells him he doesn't want to talk. This tells us that Dick respecting Tim's wish of space included almost no (or even no) contact, and Dick calling was not something Tim appreciated or encouraged.

Now. Going into the second year of the run, when he's back in Gotham, there's a few things to talk about and I'm still in the aftermath of Damian and Tim's fight.

I feel it's important to say that even if they are all family, more often than not they're doing their own thing. Like, Babs and Steph are in the Batcave while Dick and Damian are in Wayne Tower, Cass is said to potentially be in Hong Kong and we haven't even heard Jason be name-dropped except for the fact that he went on a rampage at some point.

So, Dick is immediately called away in League business. So he isn't there. Damian is behaving fairly civil besides being a brat, so no one wastes too much effort in correcting what he says. We need to think about the fact that this is a kid whose world was turned upside down multiple times in a short period of time, who has a need to be accepted, and who hasn't yet found his place. All this is to say, that if it's difficult to get him to eat breakfast there's no way they're controlling his every move and that's understandable.

So Dick is away, Damian is still trying to adapt, Alfred has his hands full and everyone else is doing something else.

The whole thing starts because Tim is being kind of cryptic about what he's doing with his hit list and Damian feels left out and goes looking for more. He finds his name in a hidden double side of the hit list marking him as a threat. He understandably feels hurt and angry, because he's a kid, and he's trying, and his predecessor who at this point doesn't even try with him anymore views him as something bad.

So in classic Damian fashion, he falls back on his upbringing and doesn't deal with the situation as one should, talking about it. Instead he cuts team line, hurting before being hurt. It could've been worse, we see in the panel that Tim doesn't have that much of a hard time getting safely to the ground. The problem is that he snaps and starts a full-blown fight he knows Damian won't back out off. (I'm pleased to add that after cutting his line Damian doesn't start anything else)

So they are fighting, Tim has the clear advantage and he knows this, we know this. And that's how Dick finds them. Having just returned from a JL mission, in the place where the Waynes were murdered, with Tim having overpowered Damian.

They go back to the cave and Damian shares his findings, and Dick understands. And Tim tells him he (Dick) knows why he (Tim) did it. Dick agrees, and tells him he should have tried to make it harder to find. Tim says he hadn't thought Damian would try or even care. Dick tells him Damian wants to be accepted.

All in all, so far the only thing this comic has proven to me is that there's a reason comics are the bomb and that fanon has gotten out of hand. I get making things out to be worse for the sake of a story, but everything surrounding these events is basically used as the foundation for Damian and Tim's relationship as well as Dick and Tim's and I don't think I've once read a fanfic where these events are portrayed correctly or even following the real motivations of the characters. This is a disservice to all of them and only serves to amplify the hate towards a character that doesn't deserve it. There's a lot of Damian hate going around. And it sucks. Mostly because people use his actions against Tim to justify it and honestly? I don't think you should be allowed to use that if you haven't read RR and understood what was going on.

#batman #dc comics #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin #dick grayson #nightwing #red robin 2009 #dc #batfam #batfamily #stop the damian wayne hate #and the dick grayson hate for that matter #and please try to differentiate canon and fanon #and get at least an idea of the source material

[serpentandlily]

Now That We Don't Talk

Part I

Now That We Don’t Talk - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Dealing with the aftermath of your mate’s betrayal.

Warnings: major angst, mentions of grief and loss, mention of infidelity 

a/n: this has a happy ending, I promise! I’d also like to mention that I never usually blame the woman when a man cheats, but in this case, both parties knew of the existing relationship and bond so *death to all of them* lol jk…for now…I hope this lives up to your expectations!

────────────

“That’s it, Y/n,” Madja said, taking a step backwards as she carefully monitored you between two support beams. “Go slow.”

Your shoulders and arms were straining as you held yourself up using the two beams, slowly raising your foot to take another step forward. You groaned at the pain, feeling flustered and embarrassed that walking was taking you so much effort. 

Cassian and Nesta had turned one of the larger chambers in the House of Wind into a physical remedial room. You had sessions in here every day with Madja, Cassian almost always there with you and in times he couldn’t be, Rhys would fly up to be with you during these. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell your brother that you preferred when Rhys was here instead of him, only because he always magicked his wings away so you didn’t have to see them. Cassian’s were just a reminder of what you had lost. 

Relearning to walk has been one of the hardest parts of losing your wings.

Even now it was a struggle to simply stand. You were too used to the weight of having wings on your back and using them to balance. You felt their absence in more ways than one.

But this one was easier to deal with—the physical part. It was the mental and emotional part that still kept you up at night. The loss of freedom, having to know you’d never be able to fly again. The nightmares. The embarrassment. The shame. 

You had never been a particularly proud Illyrian, never agreeing with the way your people were raised and the culture they lived in. But still, having those wings made you a part of something bigger than yourself—a community, a tribe, a family. 

You weren’t like Rhys, not a half-breed like him. You didn’t have the pointy ears to make you fit in with the wingless High Fae. You’d always be other to them. And now you’d be other to your people as well. 

You tried to blink away the tears forming in your eyes but it didn’t matter. Your brother seemed to sense the change in your mood and rose from his chair in the corner where he had been monitoring the session.

“You’re doing great, kiddo,” Cassian said, trying to encourage you to keep trying. “One step at a time.”

“I can’t,” you choked out, your muscles straining from the effort to keep you upright. “I-I can’t.”

“You can and you will,” Cassian said, sternly. “Come on, I know you can do it.” 

“I can’t.”

You wobbled, letting out a long exhale. You had only made it halfway to the other side of the mat. Pain pierced through your still healing back, serving as another reminder of what you had lost. Your fractured hip had healed already but the bones still felt like they were being grinded together every time you moved your legs. 

“Thank you for your help today, Madja,” Cassian said, sharing a look with the older healer. “I can take it from here.”

Madja, as if also sensing the shift in the atmosphere, took her leave without argument to give you some privacy with your brother. 

“Just make sure she eats something after this. Her body needs more nourishment,” Madja said on her way out. The noise of the door shutting behind her was all it took for the hold on your emotions to completely crumble. 

You felt your legs give out as a cry escape from your throat. Cassian darted forward, catching you only just before you hit the ground. He slowly lowered you the rest of the way, going with you to hold you in a tight embrace as sobs racked your body. 

“I-I can’t do this, Cass,” you cried over and over again. “I can’t do this.”

He knew you weren’t just talking about walking.

Every intake of breath reminded you of the heavy weight of your heart in your chest. It was unbearable, all consuming. The heartache, the pain, the feeling of the mating bond still lingering in the background of it all. You wanted to rip your heart out, wanted to scream and scream but all that came out were inaudible words and sobs. 

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” Cassian murmured, petting your hair on the back of your head. “I promise you.” 

“My wings, Cass, m-my wings are gone,” you choked out, tears streaming down your face.

Cassian cradled your head in his neck, pulling you tighter against him. His own body was tense and you knew he was holding back his own emotions, trying to be strong for you. “I know, kiddo, I know.” 

“M-my wings,” you cried. “My wings. I-I want them back, Cass. P-please, I want them back!”

“I would cut off my own wings and give them to you if I could, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered, his voice filled with despair. “I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t understand this feeling, would never unless he too lost his wings. You remembered when he almost had after protecting Azriel in Hybern from the blast of the Cauldron. Azriel…Just thinking of his name was making you spiral further, choking on your own sobs. 

There had once been a time when Azriel had been the one to save your wings. And now he was part of the reason why you lost them. You weren’t even sure which hurt more at this point. His betrayal or the loss of your wings. 

Both felt so violating. 

A piece of you, of your body, ripped away along with your trust and heart. Your mate sleeping with another female and coming home to you. Looking you in the eyes and keeping that secret from you each and every day. Making love to you knowing he was sharing himself with another behind your back. How were you supposed to move on? 

It didn’t help that you weren’t fully rid of Azriel. The bond was still an unwelcomed presence inside of you, still sang his name–called for him–despite the hurt he had caused you. You wanted to tear it to shreds. 

“Why?” You cried, wrapping your arms around Cassian’s neck to fall into him further. Your brother held you as tight as he could, stroking your hair, whispering words of support in your ear. “Why wasn’t I g-good enough, Cass? W-why wasn’t I enough for him? What is wrong with m-me?”

The guttural wails that came from you caused Cassian to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to keep his own tears at bay. Your chest heaved as you struggled to even breath under the crushing anguish that was consuming you. He held you as you shook, held you as your tears soaked through his shirt, held you as he restrained himself from shooting off to go find Azriel and kill him. 

“There is nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. Nothing,” Cassian growled. “Azriel is a fool for losing you. He’s the fuck-up. Not you.”

“He is my mate, Cass, my mate. And he–he did this to me. Why?”

“Because he’s a miserable bastard who doesn’t know how to love,” Cassian growled. 

You couldn’t even register his words over the pounding of your own wailing heart. “What did I do to deserve this?”

You felt so violated, so vulnerable, so completely and utterly shattered. The pain of your broken heart seemed to echo in the depths of your very soul. Why hadn’t you been enough for him?

Was Elain just that much better? Was she prettier, smarter, a better female? Could she give him something you couldn’t?

“You didn’t deserve this. You did nothing wrong,” Cassian murmured into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “You are so much better than them, sweetheart.” 

“B-but then why wasn’t I enough?” Your cries met their crescendo, your hands shaking as you clung onto Cassian’s shirt with tight fists. “Why wasn’t I enough, Cass? Why?” 

Your voice was hoarse, your words cracking as you spoke. But there was nothing left to say. 

Nothing left to say at all. 

You weren’t good enough for Azriel, for your own mate. You weren’t good enough to keep his attention. Not good enough to keep his love. 

You were just simply not enough. 

Cassian held you there as you cried and cried, held you as the weight of everything you lost engulfed you. Held you through the raw grief that surged like a tempest within you. Held you until you had cried yourself into a fitful sleep, only then rising to carry you back to your room. 

────────────

As soon as Mor had gotten word about what had happened, she immediately started her journey home from the continent. She had gone to you the minute she landed in Velaris, but Cassian had turned her away because he didn’t want to interrupt your sleep, something you hadn’t gotten much of since the attack.

But that was okay because she had a few things she needed to take care of. 

“Where is she!”

Mor’s shout rang through the entire house, the ground quaking underneath her as she stormed into the dining room where a very morose dinner seemed to be taking place with Rhys, Feyre, Elain and Amren at the table. Rhys shot up from his seat. “Y/n is at the House of Wind with—”

“Not her,” Mor snarled before pointing a finger at Elain, who stared at her wide-eyed. “You.” 

Before anyone could stop her, Mor launched herself forward, grabbing Elain by the hair on the back of her head and slamming her face down on the wooden table she was sitting at. Rhys cursed while Feyre jumped up from her seat, thanking the Gods that Nesta wasn’t here for this. 

Rhys grabbed Feyre by the arm, shaking his head at her. “Some things need to be fought the fae way. Let her learn.” 

Amren leaned back in her chair, not so much as flinching at the display. 

Mor kept her fist wrapped in Elain’s hair, pressing her face against the hardwood as the other girl cried out, blood dripping down her nose.

“That was for Y/n because she’s up there learning how to fucking walk again because of you,” Mor hissed before yanking Elain up by her hair until she was standing. 

Elain cried out for Feyre but her sister just pressed her lips into a thin line, Rhys’s hand still around her arm. Feyre was disappointed in her sister for what she had done but she still bristled as Rhys’s amusement at the scene traveled down their bond.

Mor decked Elain in the face, the sound audible, causing Feyre to flinch. Elain’s head whipped to the side as she dropped to the floor with a loud sob. “And that was for Cassian because he would never lay his hands on a weak, pathetic female but I will. Remember that.” 

Elain’s cries rung out in the room, blood dripping from her now broken nose and a bruise already forming on her cheek. Mor ignored her as she looked to Rhysand.

“Where is the other one?” Her voice was full of anger. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” 

“I don’t know,” Rhys sighed, finally letting go of Feyre. She rushed to Elain’s side, helping her off the floor and out of the room, giving Mor a remorseful look, feeling guilty over what her sister had caused. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“He disappeared once Y/n woke up and made it very clear she didn’t wish to see him. I have no idea where he went.”

“That fucking coward,” Mor grumbled. “Why is Elain still here? This is Y/n’s home, not hers. She shouldn’t have to be the one who leaves and you know she will if those two are still around. Cassian would leave with her too—I’m sure of it.”

“I know he would,” Rhys said, sitting back down and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do, Mor. If Elain wasn’t Feyre’s sister I would’ve had her banished in a second and Azriel…Gods, he’s my brother. I can’t believe he would do something like this. He loves Y/n. I don’t know why he would hurt her like this.” 

“Azriel has always been his worst enemy,” Mor sighed, sitting next to Rhys. “We’ve all tried to help him as much as we could but this just isn’t something we can help him with. Y/n is going to need our support. This could destroy her.” 

“It already has,” Rhys replied. “She might leave our court regardless of whether or not we send Azriel and Elain away. I wouldn’t blame her. I’ve already let her know that if she wants out, I’ll have everything set-up for her.” 

“What of the girl’s mate? The redhead,” Amren piped up, crossing her arms. “Does he know yet? You know how males are. He might call for a blood duel against Azriel.” 

“Lucien has already been informed about what happened,” Rhys spoke. “Cassian has been on a warpath and was all too eager to tell Lucien. I think part of him hoped he would duel Azriel. But Lucien wouldn’t.” 

“So what happens now?” Mor asked. 

Rhys looked at her and she took note of the heavy bags under his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping. Neither had she. She was certain none of them had. Azriel had caused a giant rift in this family—one felt by them all. 

Rhys held back his tears, clearing his throat.

“I know what was to be done,” he breathed out. “But it’s going to be hard. He was…He was my brother for over five hundred years. Regardless of what he’s done, it’s going to be hard to say goodbye.” 

Mor rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know, Rhys. Nothing about this is going to be easy.”

“He cannot be trusted anymore,” Amren added. “Anyone who could cheat on their mate cannot be trusted. He might as well have spit on the Mother’s face for what he did.”

“I just want to know why. Why would he do this?” 

Mor let out a long breath. “I’m not sure you’ll ever get an answer. I think Azriel, himself, can’t even answer that question.” 

“I failed her, Mor. I knew how dangerous that mission was. I should’ve never given it to her,” the quiet cry shook Rhys’s body. 

“Azriel was supposed to be with her, Rhys,” Mor said. “It’s not your fault. He failed her. This was his doing.” 

But Rhys just shook his head, the tears finally slipping free from both of their eyes. 

“Get it out now, Mor, before you see her,” Rhys choked out. “It’s…hard to see her in the state she’s in. Prepare yourself. We have to be strong for her.” 

“I know,” Mor whispered, wiping at her tears. “I know.” 

────────────

“Hey, kiddo,” Cassian’s voice pulled you from your sleep.

You blinked awake, groaning at the pounding in your head. It took you a second to realize you were in your room. Cassian must’ve carried you here after your breakdown yesterday. 

Cassian was sitting beside you, stroking your hair. “I brought you some breakfast and someone is here to see you.”

It was only then you noticed the other person sitting at the end of your bed. 

“Mor?” Your voice was hoarse, the word barely escaping. “You’re here?”

“I came back as soon as I heard,” Mor said, leaning forward to clutch your hand in hers. “How are you doing, babygirl?” 

Mor had always felt like an older sister to you. Her friendship with your brother had made the two of you close. 

“I’m…I’m not doing good,” you replied, honestly. “I can’t…I don’t know what to do, Mor. I don’t know how to move on from here. Part of me wishes I died in that alleyway. I wish I died the minute my wings were cut off.” 

“I know,” she said, sadly. “I wish I had an answer for you but I don’t. It’s going to be hard, but we’re going to be with you every step of the way.” 

“Come on, why don’t you sit up so you can eat,” Cassian murmured, putting a hand on your back to help you up. 

“I’m not hungry,” you protested.

“You have to eat something, sweetheart,” Cass said gently. “Madja’s orders.”

But you shook your head. You didn’t have an appetite. Everything still hurt so much. 

“Just give her a second, Cass,” Mor murmured. 

Cassian frowned but nodded. He brushed some of your hair away from your face again and the soothing motion started another round of tears. 

“Hey, hey,” Cassian whispered. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Cass! How will I ever be able to show my face again?” you cried. “I will be shamed, spit on, shunned because I lost my wings—because I couldn’t fight for them. I can never return to Illyria. I won’t be able to help train with the girls anymore.” 

“Emerie told me the girls are already awaiting your return. They miss you,” Mor reassured. “Who cares about what the stupid males are going to think? Most of those females have had their freedom of flight taken from them. They would never shun you for what happened.” 

Your eyes fell on the many bouquets of flowers and get well cards on your nightstand. Cassian had been bringing them to you. Your heart ached at the sight. 

“But I failed them, Mor,” you sobbed. “I failed them. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be a warrior and all it took was one male to completely destroy me. I’m worthless to them now. How can I teach them to fight for themselves if I cannot even do that?” 

“You are not worthless,” Cassian said, sternly. “You are more of a fighter than half of those Illyrian males. You continue to fight each day knowing you have to live with the loss of your wings. Most of the males would’ve given up already, sweetheart. You are stronger than you think.” 

“I-I’m not. I’m weak and a failure,” you cried. “I couldn’t protect my wings. Couldn’t keep my mate’s love. Couldn’t…couldn’t–”

Your sobs overtook your words, your entire body shaking. 

“Listen to me, Y/n.” Mor demanded. “You are not weak. You are not a failure. You are a million times better than the two assholes who hurt you. You will survive this. You will survive him. I promise you, Y/n, I promise you.” 

She embraced you, holding you as you broke down into gut-wrenching sobs once again. 

────────────

The air was tense to say the least. Rhys was standing behind his desk, palms pressed flat against the surface as he stared at the two people sitting in front of him. Feyre stood next to him as both a pillar of support and the High Lady. 

Azriel’s eyes were downcast. He hadn’t even looked at Elain since he had been dragged into this office by Mor—a new black eye and a bruised jaw decorating his face. Elain stared and stared at him, her eyes pleading with him to look at her but he ignored her presence. 

Azriel looked rough. He hadn’t shaved, his eyes were bloodshot, but the most surprising thing was his lack of shadows swarming him. 

“Where are you shadows?” Rhys asked. “I swear, Azriel, if you sent them after Y/n, I will bring Cassian down here to do with you as he pleases.” 

Azriel looked up, shaking his head. “They won’t sing to me anymore. Not since…Not since the accident.” 

It was true. His shadows had hissed at him, recoiled in his presence before they dissipated as if they too had felt his betrayal. They had wailed in agony at the loss of Y/n. They had always skittered away in Elain’s presence, probably the only reason they never yelled at him when he was with her…but it seems this time, they had left for good. 

Despite his curiosity, Rhys decided to drop the subject. This was not the time or place for that discussion. 

“Feyre and I have come to a decision about what must happen due to the results of your actions,” Rhys said, his voice full of authority and resignation. 

“What? But we’ve done nothing wrong!” Elain exclaimed. “I know we shouldn’t have gone behind Y/n’s back but we’re in love!”

“I don’t care,” Rhys snarled, baring his teeth. “I don’t care how much you two claim to be in love! Azriel has caused irreparable damage to his own mate—a member of my court, of my family. And you were complicit in that.” 

“Are we not your family too? Feyre is my sister!”

“And Y/n is mine,” Rhys retorted. “And Cassian’s.”

Elain crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “So we’re being punished for falling in love? It’s not our fault the Cauldron decided to make someone else our mates. It was never our choice.” 

“You’re not being punished for falling in love, if that’s even what we can call this,” Feyre spat out, staring at her sister with disappointment. “You’re being punished for how you handled a sensitive situation. You’re being punished for lying to our whole family and for causing it to be torn apart.”

“You’re not being punished at all,” Rhys snapped. “If you were, both of you would be in a cell in Hewn City and I’d let Cassian decide what your punishment would be considering Y/n would never have the heart to hurt either of you. This is simply the consequence of your own stupid actions.” 

Azriel’s head shot up at the mention of your name. “How is Y/n? Is she doing okay?” 

Feyre went to answer but Rhys shook his head at her. 

“You don’t get the privilege of knowing anything about her at this point, Azriel,” he huffed. 

Azriel stood from his chair in anger. “She is my mate, Rhys.”

“Sit down,” Rhys commanded, his voice rising for the first time since the meeting started. “Funny how now you acknowledge her as a mate but not when you had your tongue down Elain’s throat.” 

“Fuck you, Rhys,” Azriel growled, but sat, unable to fight the power of a High Lord’s order. 

“No fuck you, Azriel! I thought you were my brother! How could you do this to Y/n? To our family? Both of you should be ashamed. You are already getting off easy, don’t make me rethink my choice. Lucien has every right to storm in right now and demand a blood duel against you. And even though it’s not a practice in my court, I’d even let Y/n declare one against Elain.”

Elain’s face paled but Azriel only scoffed in indignation. “As if Feyre would ever let anyone kill one of her sisters.” 

Feyre stepped forward, glaring at the shadowsinger and Elain. “I’m done protecting her. Nesta is done protecting her. We have spent our whole lives taking care of her thinking she was just too soft for this world—too naive and innocent. But I think we’re finally seeing the real you, Elain. And it is time for you to face the consequences of your own actions, make your own way in life.” 

“So what are you going to do? Are you going to force me to live in the House of Wind like you did Nesta?”

“No,” Feyre said, stone faced before looking at Rhys. They had decided together how they would handle this situation.

“You are both hereby banished from the Night Court,” Rhys declared. “I will not tolerate Y/n having to lose her own home after she just lost her wings and we are going to do what's best for her. Lucien has made it clear that you both will not be welcomed in Day either and Helion is standing by his son’s decision. Beyond that, we cannot help you. You will pack your things and leave immediately. If you step one foot in this court after you leave, I will be notified and you will face worse repercussions.” 

“What?” Elain exclaimed. “Feyre, you can’t be serious! Look, I’ll move out of the Riverhouse. We can live in Azriel’s apartment and avoid Y/n.”

“That apartment belongs to Y/n too, you know,” Feyre snapped. “We have already made our decision. We will not be negotiating any terms.” 

“Rhys, come on,” Azriel said. “I will leave but you don’t need to banish Elain too. She did nothing wrong.”

“Elain knew you were a mated male, knew you were together with Y/n. While I agree that what you have done is worse, she still knew what she was doing wasn’t right.” 

“Where are we supposed to go?” Elain cried. “I don’t have any money. I don’t have anywhere to go, Feyre. You can’t just toss me out like this.” 

“Azriel has money,” Feyre shrugged. “I guess you’re his problem now.” 

“You know none of the other High Lord’s will want me in their courts, Rhys,” Azriel snarled. “Not after the things I’ve done for you.” 

“Should of thought of that before you betrayed our whole family.” 

“I hear the old Manor is still abandoned in the human lands,” Feyre remarked. “Since Vassa had reclaimed her territory with Jurian at her side and Lucien had moved to Day to be with his father.” 

“We can’t survive there,” Elain sobbed. “Humans hate faeries.” 

“Not my problem, Elain,” Feyre said. “You’re not my problem anymore.” 

“Azriel, do something!” Elain cried, looking at the shadowsinger. 

“What do you expect him to do?” Rhys laughed humorlessly. “He no longer has his title, his place in my court. He has no sway here. You both don’t. You will not change our minds.” 

“Nesta won’t allow this!”

“Nesta,” Feyre said, “is packing up your things as we speak.” 

Elain fell back in her chair, crying. 

“I’d say I wish you two the best, but I don’t,” Rhys said. “You have two hours to sort out whatever you have to before I expect you both to be out of my court. Two hours. Do you understand?” 

“Please,” Elain begged. “Please don’t do this, Feyre.”

But Feyre only shook her head at her sister. “There’s no going back for either of you. Say your goodbyes, sort out your affairs, but you will leave in two hours.” 

Rhys took his leave after that, giving Azriel one last look that was full of disgust, guilt, regret, sadness. One last look at his brother before striding out of that room, never to see or speak to him again. 

────────────

Mor had just left when you heard the flapping of wings approaching your balcony. Thinking it was your brother, you pushed yourself to stand and hobbled over to the balcony doors using the walls of your room for support. You opened the door, expecting to see your brother, but your heart stopped when you came face to face with Azriel. 

Your eyes narrowed and you went to slam the door, but he grabbed it before you could. 

“Please, please just hear me out,” he pleaded. “I will leave, I promise, I just…I just—please.” 

“There is nothing you can say that will make me forgive you, Azriel.”

“I know, baby–”

“Don’t you dare call me that!”

Azriel looked down at his feet. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m not here to try to earn your forgiveness, Y/n. I know I fucked up beyond repair. I know I failed you, failed us. Words will never be able to convey how much I regret everything.” 

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe as your legs threatened to give out. You were debating screaming out for Cassian. 

Azriel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stone that looked to be enchanted. He held it out towards you. 

“I can’t…I can’t hear the shadows anymore,” he murmured. “But I can’t just leave you without some way to contact me. In case you ever change your mind, in case there is ever a chance that we can be together again. You’ll be able to call for me with this.”

“That is never going to happen.”

“Please, just take it,” Azriel begged. “Even if you don’t want me, please. If you’re ever in danger again and need help, you can use it for that too. Just please, take it.” 

When you said nothing, didn’t so much as open your palm so he could place the stone in it, he knelt down and placed it at your feet instead. You stared at him, emotionless. You didn’t want to give him anything. He didn’t deserve your tears or your sadness. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry for the way things ended,” Azriel said. “You deserve a better mate than me. If I never…If I never get to see you again after this, I promise I will find you in the next life and the one after that. I will do right by you. I will give us another chance.”

He stared at you, pleading with you to say anything. Anything. Even if you screamed at him, beat him, cried—anything was better than this utter silence. But you didn’t. You merely looked at him like he was nothing to you. Like he was a stranger. 

“Goodbye, Azriel,” you said. “I hope you find happiness in your life. Truly.”

And then you slammed the door shut and walked away. 

And he knew then that your words would haunt him for the rest of his life because he knew he had lost the one real thing that had brought him true happiness forever.

────────────

One Year Later ~ Winter Solstice 

“Get up, you lazy cow!”

The sheets were yanked off your sleeping body, exposing you to the cold morning air. You let out a shriek, cursing at your brother and trying to grab the sheets back.

“What the hell, Cassian!”

“It’s Winter Solstice!”

“It’s also six in the morning,” you retorted, falling back down on your bed. 

“Nope, you’re not going back to sleep,” Cassian said. “It’s time to get up!” 

Before you could even respond, Cassian grabbed you by the ankle and yanked you to the end of the bed. You squealed as he tossed you over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, pounding on his back as he raced out of the room.

“Cassian! Let me down, you big brute!” 

But he only laughed at you, carrying you all the way to the kitchen where Nesta was sitting at the counter with a steaming cup of tea. She didn’t so much as blink as he dropped you into the chair next to her, already used to her mate’s antics. 

“Goodmorning, Y/n,” Nesta said, pushing an already prepared cup of tea your way.

“Oh, you are an absolute goddess,” you groaned, greedily accepting the mug. You curled your ice cold fingers around it, relishing in the warmth. 

“Hey! What about me?” Cassian yelled, swinging a wash cloth over his shoulder as he started to make breakfast for the two of you. “I’m the one making you guys food!”

“You’re also the one who woke us up, dingbat,” you scoffed, causing Nesta to snort.

It wasn’t long before Cassian was sliding a plate of pancakes your way. “Eat up. You have a long day ahead of you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him but accepted the food, scarfing it down. It was almost hilarious how out of the three of you it was Cassian who cooked the best. 

After breakfast, you retired to your room to get ready to go down to the River House for the real celebrations. Cassian had cryptically told you to wear pants, so you did. You had no idea why until hours later, when you were all lounging in the sitting room after lunch. 

A knock on the front door had you jumping up from your seat. “I’ll get it!” 

No one batted an eye as you raced for the door, pulling it open to see Lucien standing on the doorstep. You let out a noise of excitement, grabbing him in a hug.

“Lucien!” you exclaimed. “You’re here early!” 

A few weeks after the incident, Lucien had sent you a letter asking how you were faring and offering you support. He became a lifeline while you had dealt with the aftermath of saying goodbye to your mate and healing. You both leaned on each other during that time because you were simply the only two who understood the pain of having a mate who fell in love with another. 

“Happy Winter Solstice,” he said as you pulled away and opened the door wider so he could enter. “I’m actually here to retrieve you.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Is everything ready?” 

Your brother’s voice came from behind you and you whipped your head around to stare at him. He was wearing his flying leathers now only confusing you further. 

“Yes,” Lucien nodded. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, suspiciously. 

No one else followed Cassian out. Not even Nesta. You frowned as he shook Lucien’s hand, giving him a friendly whack on the back. 

“You’ll see,” your brother said with a grin. “Lucien is going to winnow us somewhere, kiddo, to your solstice gift.”

You looked between them with narrowed eyes but accepted Lucien’s outstretched hand. His grin was the last thing you saw before you were pulled away in a flurry of wind. A second later, you appeared in the middle of a clearing. 

The tall green grass, the slightly warm breeze, the lack of snow, told you that you were in the Spring Court. You whirled to face your brother who let out a sneeze as soon as he got his bearings. 

“What are we doing here?” 

“So, you know how when Feyre was brought back she was given a drop of power from every High Lord?” Cassian asked. 

You nodded, not understanding where this was going. Your hand slipped into your pocket, around a stone that was always kept there. The one Azriel had left you. You had never used it but for some reason, had never parted with it either. At some point, you had started holding it whenever you felt nervous or fell back into the heartache you had experienced last year. 

“Well, of course she inherited part of Tamlin’s shapeshifting powers. And we thought maybe she could shapeshift others the way he does, but after numerous tries, unfortunately it seems as though the sliver of power she received only allows her to transform herself.” 

“It was not fun being the guinea pig for those test runs,” Lucien laughed. “When Feyre was unable to do it, we had to turn to someone else.” 

“Okay, but what does that have to do with me? Or my solstice gift?” 

Before either of them could respond, a noise came from the shrubbery in the distance. Tamlin’s beast form pounced out from it, striding towards you. You gasped and backed away, right into your brother’s chest. He placed a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “He’s here as a favor to Lucien.”

“And Feyre and Rhys approved this?” you whispered up to him. 

He nodded his assurance.

You let out another gasp as Tamlin shifted back into his fae form. He looked well, better than the last time you had seen him at least. He seemed to have regained some weight and gotten a haircut. You knew he was still in the process of recovering his court. You wondered what sort of strings Lucien had to pull to get him to willingly let you and Cassian come here considering his history with your rulers.

He gave you and Cassian a polite, but bland, greeting which you reciprocated.

“Are any of you going to tell me what’s going on?” 

“Tam is going to help you shapeshift,” Lucien explained. “If you will allow him.”

“Shapeshift? But why would I–”

It clicked in your head, what they were implying, why they had brought you to this large clearing. You whipped around to look up at your brother who seemed to be holding back tears. He gave you a nod, already knowing what you were asking.

“W-wings,” you choked out. “He can give me wings.” 

“It won’t last forever,” Lucien said. “But yes, he can give you wings.”

Tears started slipping down your cheeks and you lurched towards Lucien, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. You…you were going to have wings. You were going to be able to fly!

You didn’t care that it wouldn’t last forever. Just the chance to fly once more was a gift in itself.

“Thank you,” you whispered into his ear. “Thank you.” 

Lucien laughed, hugging you back before you slowly pulled away from him. You looked over your shoulder at your brother. “This was your idea?”

Cassian shook his head. “As much as I wish I could claim this, it was actually Lucien who thought of this first. I’m just here to supervise–and to offer you a flying partner if you’ll have me.” 

You smiled up at Lucien, unbelievably touched at the thoughtfulness. Lucien wiped your tears from your face, gently, before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Are you ready?”

You nodded with enthusiasm.

Lucien gestured at Tamlin to come closer.

“Thank you for doing this,” you said to him with a small bow of the head. 

“I once watched a faerie die after losing his wings,” Tamlin murmured. “Its…Its a horrific crime. One my family has a history with. I’d like this to be my first step towards making amends for their mistakes.” 

You weren’t sure what to say, so you just gave him a grateful nod of the head. He focused intently on you and you felt his magic surround you. It felt nice, like a crisp Spring breeze. And then you felt a familiar weight on your back. You stumbled for a second, readjusting to how it used to feel having wings. But it surprisingly came back to you quite easily.  

You looked at them over your shoulder, stretching them out and flapping them a few times. They looked just like your brother’s and you realized Tamlin must’ve used him as a guide. You grinned, facing Cassian. 

“Race you towards the end of the clearing,” you shouted before taking off into the sky. 

Your brother’s laughter followed after you as he too launched into the sky. 

+++

Hours after night had fallen, you found yourself behind the River House, leaning on the railing to watch the slow moving river. Your wings had since dissipated, but you hadn’t felt this light in a long time. Being able to fly today had healed you in some way.

You had spent a lot of time thinking while you flew amongst the clouds. Thinking of who you used to be. Sometimes you missed that girl, sometimes you wished more than anything to be her again. 

But you hadn’t felt that today…

Today, you had felt like a new person. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. And perhaps in a way, you were. 

Life had never been predictable. Your whole life had been filled with tragedy and sorrow, challenges and hard work, happiness and joy, regret and insecurities. You had gone through so much, so much, but somehow, you were always able to come out on the other side.

It wasn’t easy. It involved many days of despair, awful thoughts, and soulless recovery. You had to fight to get up sometimes, had to fight just to feel something. Sometimes it seemed like you’d conquer one mountain only to be faced with another. 

If it wasn’t for your brother, you were certain you would’ve fallen back a dozen times. But he had been your pillar of strength, your rock to rest against when things got too hard. And Mor and Rhys had been there to help lift you back up. 

You had gained new friends, found a new life for yourself. Metamorphosed into a new person. 

That girl from a year ago? 

Well, you were finally going to let her die. 

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the stone Azriel had left you. You ran your thumb over its smooth surface. It didn’t hurt as much to look at it now, not like it had before. Before it had represented so many things.

The loss of love, the grief of losing your wings, the reminder that he had betrayed you. 

But now…now it just looked like a rock. 

You gripped it in your fist and tossed it into the Sidra, watching as it hit the water’s surface with a small thud before sinking down into the black water. Down and down, until it would find its way to the bottom. Perhaps then it would drift out into the sea. 

You heard the backdoor to the house open.

“Hey, Y/n, come on!” Mor shouted out to you. “We’re going to Ritas!” 

You took one last look at where the rock had disappeared in the water, letting out a long breath. 

“Goodbye,” you whispered into the cold air. “I’ll see you in our next lifetime. Maybe then you’ll deserve me.” 

With a new weight lifted off your shoulders, you turned and marched back to your new beginning. 

#acotar #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #azriel acotar #azriel imagine #angst with a happy ending

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC: Why summoning the Ghost King and Danny when he expects Pariah Dark might literally give John a panic attack

So, this would not be the first time John has summoned something and didn’t get what he expected. To explain that, I’ll have to explain the Newcastle incident, and I will but going to give a brief overview of what the consequences are before dipping into that… because it’s a bit intense

So during a summoning one of the things you need to do is name the being you’re summoning. The ritual and sigils are what brings the being forth. Naming the summoned entity is part of the binding. The binding is what gives you an amount of control over the being summoned and offers protection to the summoner

So having the wrong name means they have no control over what they summoned. Naming the spirit puts it on a leash and muzzles it, having the wrong name is just letting it in without the leash or muzzle

Let’s just say at this point, Constantine’s past experience with summoning would make him super against summoning “the Ghost King” and one of the other magic users like Zatana would have to do it

John would be freaking out the moment the wrong guy showed up, he has some trauma around that. Even if it’s just Danny, this is going to dredge up some stuff and he’s going to have a hard drink afterwards

I will now be going into one of the most traumatizing moments of John Constantine’s life. As such, it’s going to get pretty intense and I’m toning it down a bit

Explanation of the Newcastle Incident Content warning sexual assault and abuse

In 1978 Constantine and his “magic gang” go to the Casanova Club to deal with a bit of a situation there. They arrive and there’s a lot of dead bodies in the basement and a very traumatized girl

Astra Logue’s father was basically a cult leader and an orgy enthusiast. He and his followers did some not so great things to Astra. Astra was psychic, so in her distress she summoned a hellhound named Norfolthing (actually a primordial elemental but that takes explaining) to protect her from the sexual abuse of her father and his followers. Norfulthing proceeded to commit sexual assault against the cult before killing them

John and the Magic Gang showed up to deal with the aftermath. In order to get Astra out of there and get rid of Norfulthing, they decided the best way to deal with this was to “fight fire with fire”

They then proceed to summon the demon/former god Nergal but the ritual didn’t have his name. Right ritual, wrong name. Nergal then proceeded to drag Astra’s soul to hell, Norfulthing raped one of the magic gang

John then spent the next two years at Ravenscar Mental Asylum and only managed to rescue Astra’s soul from hell about a decade later. She was still dead obviously but at least she wasn’t suffering in hell

So yeah

John has some baggage when it comes to summoning things with the wrong name

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #John has had a rough life #he’s been through some things #it’s also a big reason John doesn’t use that much magic early on #because if you go in half cocked and mess up you are going to mess up big

[ma1dita]

love like a blister

the five stages of loving losing luke

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.7k 

summary: (post-tlt) set directly after lovers, or partners in crime; The one where you learn to mourn someone even if they're still alive. Loving him and losing him are one and the same; the aftermath of his betrayal. this work references a lot of previous works in the series! (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: yeah… yall been asking for this so buckle up. luke is not present in this one, moreso you/trouble dealing with the after. i let annabeth breakdown a bit since ep 8 was amazing but felt choppy to me. this is not the end of the trouble!verse i promise!!

(posted 2/12/24, betaed by mootie lari @mrsaluado)

—

DENIAL - bursting under pressure

we grew up together, what do you mean you grew into a person i can’t love?

Annabeth and Percy find you standing at the edge of the forest clearing—staring at the space where you let the love of your life vanish into thin air. 

You let him leave. 

It’s almost harrowing when the three of you make eye contact, not a single weapon in your possession, only your dying lantern and heart bleeding with the confirmation of Luke’s betrayal. 

Knees shaking as Annabeth stalks over and her sword still raised with tears in her eyes, she’s no longer Luke’s little sister but a formidable warrior set on protecting camp—on protecting Percy.

And you failed in doing either of those things you promised yourself at the beginning of this summer because you ignored the signs of Luke’s behavior— until this very moment. There’s a pressure in your head that dampens your senses, overtaking the control you have over your being as you deny any knowledge of what happened tonight. 

Because in truth, you put the pieces together at the same time they did, just a little too late. She looks at you now with the fury she wasn’t able to project on the real traitor.

“You knew,” she grits her teeth, on the defensive as Percy scrambles up from the ground.

“Annie, I…”

Percy stares at you in horror, a few steps back with Riptide in his injured grasp, and suddenly he understands what it means to see you break. They both feel it instantly as your lantern goes out. Heavy despair drapes over all of you as the madness rips its way through your body, almost breaking through your skin as it emanates through the air. The two children had never felt anything like it before, swords shaking in their hands as they’re filled with the sensation until it bubbles over and they can’t do anything but watch you, their usually poised head counselor lose your grip on reality.

But this can’t be real. 

Out of all of the plans you both made, it was never deemed a possibility that Luke wouldn’t be there with you. Now you stand in the darkness of the forest, hands raised in surrender to a crime you didn’t commit.

There’s so much pressure and it hurts holding it all in, hurts so badly—everywhere until you scream.

“DAD!”

You stare at their small faces surrounding you in anguish, both of them talking but not a single word registers in your mind as you keep shaking your head and screaming for your father for the first time in your life. Before the words the words can form between your lips again Dionysus is there, not as an immortal god but carrying the wrath of a protective father, and there are no forces that can fight against that.

It all moves fast from there, black spots blurring your vision brought by the sheer strength of your tears. Though you don’t feel strong right now, instead there’s nothing that can describe the feeling but hurt as you’re frozen in pain.

The kids watch Mr. D check you for any injuries, but what they’ll never understand is that the wounds Luke left behind are on the inside, and you are bleeding. He shushes you, but the words fight their way out of your mouth, almost in disbelief. “Did I do that to him?”

Your father scoops you into his arms, godly strength and fatherly concern surfacing as he cradles you like a little girl like he should have all those years ago.

The haze clears as Mr. D quells the misery that reverberates through the air and it’s quiet again as your eyes fall shut. For a moment, Percy can’t help but wonder if this is another performance of yours, another way to throw him off of the traitor’s scent. But as your hand falls out from under Mr. D’s arm, he grabs onto it anyway. The son of Poseidon remembers how you and Luke always looked at each other like you were equals, and realizes that for once, the actress was outplayed at her own game.

ANGER - words leaking like an abscess

i never knew loving someone so much would be a crime

There isn’t a protocol set in place for when one of your cabin counselors and all-star campers defects with plans to wage war on the gods. There is even less of a precedent set in place for when the head counselor and daughter of the camp director is left to pick up the pieces, hands dirtied by the evidence he left behind. Perhaps your job description was never truly clear anyway.

All you know now is that you’ve been sitting in a rickety wooden chair in your dad’s office for hours now, tied up—for formalities. 

This must be your punishment from the gods for every way you were different. Maybe if you were braver, maybe if you didn’t force yourself to only see the good in him, maybe then maybe, he could’ve been saved too. Surely undoing all of that would be considerably less painful than being questioned by everyone you love about the one you love. 

For once you didn’t have any good answers.

“Like I said to Chiron. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know what? Use your big girl words. Just do the right thing, like you always say!” Clarisse barks in your face. The centaur tuts at the daughter of Ares, making her step back and cross her arms. The boys are more silent but still suspicious, and Lee asks if you really thought Clarisse was the traitor.

“I didn’t. I was the last one to know,” you grit, looking at Percy who surveys you with hesitant eyes, “I just thought Luke was leaving. I didn’t know why.”

“How do we know you’re not working for Kronos too?” 

One of them says it, you’re losing track as to who when you blink hard and long, but the words spill out of you like a festering wound— fast, acidic, and painful.

“Do you REALLY think I could turn my back on my home? My friends? Is that how you all think of me? After everything!”

“You’d do anything for that boy and we all know it,” Silena says with a scowl very unlike her, though you suppose everyone’s out of sorts from exhaustion.

“Not that. That’s where him and I are different. I would never be able to do that.”

You think you hear Silena bite back a sob as she turns away from you, not meeting your eyes.

Mr. D was unable to judge you since you were his only daughter. He’s been gone most of the night and you feel so alone even if the room is filled with familiar faces that don’t even want you here. Charles, Percy, Lee, Clarisse, Silena, Katie stand still as they judge you— Annabeth didn’t even come to the Big House, her mind probably already made up. 

Chiron says there will be a vote, the procedural way—like how you taught the cabin counselors how to handle disagreements, though they were never expecting to vote on your dismissal from camp. Tensions are high, some rightfully angry at the war looming over your heads, others looking at you with pity from the other corner of the room. All of them, your friends, still, you hope.

6 votes, since you and Luke didn’t count, and Annabeth’s abstention. They did it outside, away from your view and you sit in the silence of the office, angry at what’s become of you. Tainted and tarnished, you don’t bother to find out who voted what, knowing things won’t be the same after this. 

Your dad comes back a little before dawn, having asked a favor from Apollo to determine your innocence–to prove that you’re telling the truth. But by then, Charles and Lee are already untying you from your chair and you’re being let go. You wonder what changed once they were able to speak without being in your presence. Remaining seated and staring at all of them with your jaw set in stone-cold wrath, Percy thinks for a moment that you look like Luke.

The first rays of light shine through the window upon your sullen frame— a confirmation from the sun god that your heart was always pure. It still feels like a loss. There’s no medal or award for getting left behind, and winning has always been more of Luke’s thing.

You resign from the position of head counselor by the time sunlight spreads across the campgrounds.

BARGAINING - to make yourself new from the inside out

isn’t home the first place you learn to run from?

You catch Percy at the doorstep of cabin 3 before he leaves and your dad is yelling at all the campers.

“Okay! For those of you who are not staying for the full term… get out! You get out. Pack your bags. You’re going home!” Mr. D screams with a twinkle in his eye as he winks at you, patting you on the head before walking away to drive kids out.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he mumbles, adjusting his backpack over his shoulder. You’d been locked up in your room since the interrogation with almost no signs of life. He was worried about you—all of them were. They just didn’t know how to say it, after everything.

You stood in front of him in sweatpants and a shirt he’s sure he’s seen Luke wear to sleep before, exhaustion prominent on your face; usually you’re better at hiding it, but there’s no need for false pretenses anymore.

“Last day of camp. Had to end it on a good note,” you say softly, biting your lip, “I heard about what you did, Perce. You didn’t have to. I was going to quit anyway.”

Sometime in the past few days, Chiron came to your cabin to tell you they didn’t vote at all, which was a surprise to you. Percy convinced them not to, reminding them of your efforts as head counselor, and as a friend—the decision was settled quickly after that.

“I knew you didn’t betray us. I was just scared.”

You watch him shift his weight, not losing eye contact as he produces a half-smile. He seems older now after his quest, as many demigods do–though it’s only been a few weeks, he looks like he’s grown more sure of himself.

“That’s okay. I was too.” 

The silence between you is comfortable as both of you listen to the birds in the trees, the distant voices of chattering children, and your heart hurts at the idea of leaving this, even temporarily. As your eyes flicker back to Percy’s, you realize he feels the same way. 

“I hope your mom’s okay, especially after all of this. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

His sandy eyebrows furrow and it’s funny how Percy always looks a little confused.

“You’re leaving camp? I thought…”

“Well I’m not joining Kronos, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you laugh dryly, “It’s getting boring here. Gonna have to change it up soon, I think. See you.” you nod, waving a hand as you turn to walk away.

“Wait!” 

Percy calls your name, skipping down the steps of his cabin and meeting you halfway down the forest path. He’s digging through his jacket pocket, and pulls out two black clay beads with blue tridents etched on the surface as your body grows cold.

“I don’t know what to do with—” “We…the other counselors, this is what we ended up voting on. And I thought you should get an extra, just in case,” Percy mumbles, his voice edged with hope and your face contorts into something like regret. You can’t cry again, even if you wanted to. 

“I wouldn’t pray for something like that,” you whisper shakily.

“I thought you didn’t really pray at all.” 

The kid smiles at you and it makes you wonder what souls like him and Luke must’ve done in their previous lives to deserve fates like this—to fight wars that aren’t their own. To be doomed by the narrative is a treacherous thing, and it is so utterly unfair. 

“Yeah. That was more his style,” you sniff, taking the beads out of his hand, “but I still find myself with a lot of hope.” 

Hope, in a sense, is prayer too. Wishing that things will be better, manifesting and believing that it doesn’t have to end this way. You don’t think Luke will ever come home to you, not really, not all of him, but it’s nice to have something to hang onto. At his core, he was raised to be a soldier, and soldiers don’t always come home.

You decide to drive Percy down the opposite shore to Montauk. It’s a short ride, and he spends the time looking out the window to the sea, thinking of his father— when the car pulls up to the driveway of the beach house, you step out and give him a hug. Soon, he’ll be taller than you.

“Take care of yourself, okay? Need anything and I’m a call away,” you smile, but he sees that it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Thank you. For being a real friend, even if it hurts you.”

You grab his shoulder to make him look at you, and the distant sound of crashing waves dampens the thoughts running through your head.

“Listen to me. None of this is your fault. I couldn’t save him. Luke’s my biggest failure.”

Your voice wavers and you swallow hard, pushing the tears back down your throat.

“You know, I knew you didn’t know anything about his betrayal because when we were in the forest, I’d never seen you like that before. I couldn’t figure out the feeling, and–”

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that, Perce. I couldn’t hold it in anymore,” you interrupt, but he shakes his head and continues.

“I thought you were sad. It felt like sadness at first, but then I realized it was hatred. And I knew even then that I could never hate you. So I realized that’s how you felt about yourself. I hope someday you don’t feel that way anymore.”

If a few tears slip down your cheeks, Percy doesn’t pay it any mind. He waves at you when he gets to the door.

DEPRESSION - healing takes thick skin

i knew to love would be to lose my mind

After the summer term ended, you spent most of it in bed, hiding away from the world. You wished to be more spontaneous, to up and leave the safe boundaries of the camp you call home, but you’re not quite there yet. The one good thing about this is your father. Dionysus was at your bedside every morning and night between the work him and Chiron had to do to keep camp running in your absence. His powerful fingers made themselves comfortable stroking your hair as you always find yourself staring at nothing. Your father cured you of what he thought was madness over your life being turned upside down by someone you love, but after the fog cleared, you were left feeling nothing. Numb to the touch, hardened by your hurt like a growing callous.

Impenetrable.

He thinks it’s bittersweet, getting to know you better as you chat late into the night when you can’t sleep, but it breaks his own heart to have the power of Olympus on his side and still not be able to fix you. He knows now what you must have been feeling these past few months, to some extent.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I’m dead already,” you mutter as your eyes stare blankly at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. Your dad is sitting at your desk as he signs paperwork, and his eyes flicker to a pinned photo on you wall of you kissing Luke’s cheek in a photobooth. One of the pins is missing a memory, torn and stolen away. 

“Unfortunately, you’re not that lucky. I carried you out of that forest, I’d know,” he mutters, sipping on his Diet Coke. 

“Will it always hurt like this? Losing someone you…” Love.

You can barely even bring yourself to say it, so he sighs and nudges you to move over on the bed, his Hawaiian shirt an eyesore against your bedspread. It makes your lips quirk up to see the god try to fit himself into a full-size as he adjusts to get comfortable.

“Yes. Because if it hurts, it means that it mattered. There is no such thing as love lost if you gave it willingly. You know, your mother and I were never together, but I loved her too.” 

He tucks the duvet under your chin like he’s worried you’ll catch a chill. Your form is still unmoving under the covers as he continues.

“Love is a powerful catalyst. The actions humans do after are a product of that; it brings out the best or the worst in people, especially if you think it’s the only way. You love because you want more time with them. You love someone to life, not to death.”

“Silena said something at the Big House. She said that everyone knew I would do anything for him. Where does that leave me? What do I do now?”

Your eyes shut as you feel your dad grab your hand and he chuckles lowly. He knows a thing or two of doing anything for love. He’s gone to the underworld and back—twice, for his mother Semele and his true love, Ariadne. And he’d do it again for you, if he ever had to. “You’re not broken, kid. You’re in love. It’s the purest emotion the gods have bestowed onto humans, and it is a gift, even if it doesn’t work out. Love is insanity.  I think you and I know it best.”

“I guess I’m a lot more like you than I like to admit,” you scoff, leaning against his arm. 

“Don’t sound so excited, daughter of mine,” he says playfully, and he seems so human now as he laughs. The two of you have a gift of fixing people, but perhaps you were both blind to who needed it the most until this very moment. Sitting there in the quiet a little longer, it doesn’t feel so bad to be the favorite daughter of Dionysus. Maybe when you’re ready to get out of these walls, you’ll be able to say it with pride.

ACCEPTANCE - to be soft again takes strength

in another life, we would’ve mattered more than choosing sides

“He always hated it when you smoked, you know.”

You cough through a puff, boots slightly slipping in the sleet of the gravel driveway as you turn to face Annabeth. Besides the fact that her father’s house is grander than anything you could ever imagine yourself living in, there’s a large distance between the two of you as she stands on the steps, the box you left on the doorstep slowly being dotted with falling snow. You left the car running, thinking she wouldn’t want to see you after everything that’s happened.

“Well he probably hates a lot of things about me now,” you say grimly. 

It’s been a growing habit to want to feel something, the rush of nicotine through your bloodstream—even if it’s bound to rip years off your life. It doesn’t really matter as much anymore.

I hate a lot of things about me too, you think, remembering a white house on a hill even if it was a distant dream— these thoughts all go up in smoke as you watch her sit down on the stoop waiting for you to come sit down with her.

Your hands fidget as you find a place next to her, putting out the cigarette on the red brick as the ash falls onto your chipped nail polish. It burns, but Annabeth watches you, the both of you stone-faced.

“What made you drive all the way out here?”

She opens the box and tries to hide a shaky breath at it’s contents but the vapor in the air betrays her. You can still tell a thing or two about people acting, but you’re never too sure anymore.

“I got a few days off from class. Dad Iris messaged me, told me there were new kids in 11 who needed bunks, so… he thought it was time. It was sitting in my room when I got there.” She notices you call Mr. D your dad now, but doesn’t say much of it. She’s also getting used to calling her father that after all these years.

You pull out the quilt you gave Luke the night before you got claimed, a faded pink and purple pattern worn from the years of use and wrap it around her shoulders. It still smells like him, citrus and musk and something darker that hangs over your heads and she sniffles.

“So you’re a college girl now, huh? Never thought you’d do it,” Annabeth mumbles, still not looking at you as her eyes scan through what was hidden underneath the fabric. Luke never had much he held close to his heart, and it’s funny to think his two prized possessions were staring down into a box trying to find the meaning of it all.

“Yeah, me neither,” you sigh. It should’ve been an insult, but you know what she means.

Not without him. 

There’s a lot that you promised each other, but you find yourself doing it all alone–because you have to. The world does not wait for for anyone, even if you beg for it to.

“It’s not a big deal, I’m still on the Island, just…not at home. Just trying to keep myself busy.”

Her hand picks up a polaroid of the two of them—he’s smiling as she peers over his shoulder.

“I think it’s great. You’re too hard on yourself sometimes.”

Other memories are scattered in the box including a leather bracelet, a compass, unsent letters to his mom, and photos of happier days back when all of your hearts were softer. There’s not much to split between the two of you.

A black clay bead rolls to the inner corner, indicative of this year’s events and painted with turquoise like the eyes of a certain son of Poseidon that now crosses the both of your minds.

“Percy gave it to me before he left for the city, for him. In case.”

You swallow loudly, and you watch her braid it onto the leather cord and tie it around your wrist. Her fingertips are cold as she nods, “In case.”

“You’ve been looking for him, haven’t you?” The movement your head makes is almost imperceptible—not a nod nor a shake, but the daughter of Athena knows you too well by now. She knows you because Luke did too, once upon a time.

“Think I’m trying to find myself now. If he’s still a part of that I don’t know what that says about me.”

The two of you sit there on the stoop of the Chase mansion catching up on the past 7 months even if the both of you can still feel the wall of his memory between you. She doesn’t invite you in to meet her family despite the weather—hesitant to let her mother’s side of life bleed into the new normal she’s created for herself, and you can’t blame her one bit. The both of you have been at war with each other and with yourselves since the end of the summer, when in reality you both know what it’s like to protect the little you have to hang onto and what it feels like to be left behind. Survival mode, until the end.

“Why do you think he did it? I mean, I know why, but…”

Why weren’t we enough?

Annabeth’s mind has always been so brilliant, but sitting in the dim porchlight, you understand now that she’s growing up so quickly. Gone are her baby-soft cheeks, with her cheekbones more prominent as they frame her wise eyes. She’s a teenager now. But Annabeth looks at you like she did long ago, the only person besides Luke who would patiently answer all of her questions. Even if the answers weren’t always what she wanted, you had a way of telling her what she needed to hear.

“I think I’ll be asking the gods why for the rest of my life. And even if they ignore me like they did him, or give me an answer that’s worth the balance of the world, I’ll still never be able to understand it.”

The snow is falling harder now, but neither of you seem to notice. It’s stuck in your hair, dusting your eyelashes as you sit and stare out at the front lawn. She tells you about school, her family, Percy and Grover, and the things you’ve missed about her so deeply—and for a moment you feel like you can be her older sister again, someone who can keep her secrets. Partially, you left home because everyone either doubted you or thought you as fragile. Annabeth always tells you what she’s truly thinking— it’s a breathe of fresh air to let yourself just be.

“I’ve never not had the last word when it comes to him, y’know? I guess I have nothing more to say though.”

You both huddle together for warmth under the quilt, sharing secrets and memories of him, things others wouldn’t understand.

“You know that’s not true,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes, and her smile is as bright as the snowflakes in her ebony tresses.

“What I do know is that you know too damn much,” and you both start giggling softly, teary eyed and feeling what you’ve been keeping in for months now, from each other and the rest of the world.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters suddenly, and your name falling from Annabeth’s mouth sounds almost as unfamiliar as her apologizing. It shouldn’t have to have been like this. You’re not going to lose the only person who remembers him like you do, who hurts like you. 

“Me too.”

She leans her head on your shoulder like how she would when you used to sing her to sleep, and deep down Annabeth knows that she won’t let the only good part of her brother go either. What tore the two of you apart brings you back together, because if you don’t have him you still have each other.

The door to the estate opens up slowly, it’s well-oiled hinges silent like the two sad girls’ whispers. Dr. Chase steps out to see you two illuminated by the light of his home, hand in hand over a box of memories and wrapped in a pink and purple quilt that Annabeth will hold close to her like she does her mother’s hat. 

“You two ladies causing trouble?” he smiles, his eyes wild with a thirst to know more and it’s a look you’ve seen his daughter give you one too many times.

You can’t help but chuckle at the irony and though he means well, the all-consuming feeling that comes with the name, Luke’s name for you– ignites in your heart once more. No one will ever call you trouble again, not in the way he did. It burns like alcohol running through your veins almost unendurable and you want to will it away, but Annie’s patting your arm as she tries to stifle the flames with her cold fingers.

“Her?” she says knocking her shoulder against yours, “ Always.” 

Annabeth laughs, and that too, reminds you of him but it doesn’t hurt as much anymore, your body still warm in the winter Virginia air. You feel your chest shake and suddenly you’re laughing and it’s crazy and loud and maniacal and so you that you can barely see Annabeth through the tears rolling down your cheeks. It cuts around the dead skin that’s encapsulated your being these past few months, revealing something brand new—much softer, even if it’s still tender to the touch.

It’s still you, still hurting, but choosing to live despite it.

Because you have to.

—

“Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do. Being loved by you is the hardest.“

- Ari B. Cofer

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

#luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan angst #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #made by ma1dita ♥︎ #trouble!verse #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[inbarfink]

Okay, so, I know this is kind of a Stupid Thing to Focus on but… I’ve been rewatching ‘Friends Forever’ (still one of my favorite and most complex and most heart-wrenching Ice King episodes) and I’ve been thinking about the bit where Ice King tries to research how to be smart…

We can see him reads from what very much seems to be part of Simon Petrikov's journals. Considering that it details the aftermath of the Mushroom War.

In addition, while the shelves are made of ice, much like the bookshelves Ice King has in his throne room, this is clearly a much... robust archive

which much more resembles Simon Petrikov’s library/research room.

The table IK uses also seems to be a match to the one in the research room. At least in terms of colors

So, it might be a different Room Full of Books that Simon placed in his Castle before he truly 100% lost it, or it might be the same one we see in 'Betty' but with a minor continuity error when it comes to what the shelves are made from. Either way, from the aforementioned journal, we know this library probably contains books Simon had personally written

But considering the Amount, probably not all of them. (Especially if you assume there are two separate library rooms). Maybe he came back to his old house to gather up all the prewar academic books he owned, but that still seems like an Unusually High Amount of Books. I think he probably kept gathering and writing books as he was slowly turning into Ice King. Like, by the time the show started he was basically totally gone - but a couple hundred years ago he’d have brief moments of lucidity and start writing again or searching books that could help him deal with the curse.

Which makes me wonder about this book.

I know that it’s just a silly funny joke, but…

Like, a Big Undertone of ‘Friends Forever’ is Ice King’s insecurities and frustrations with his own stupidity and lack of maturity. And with Simon’s library showing up in the middle of the episode like it did, it’s hard to forget that Simon used to have the intelligence and maturity needed to speak with all of these living furniture on equal terms, but his mental facilities have been eroded by the madness of the Crown and now he can’t and these frustrations manifest even though Ice King isn’t fully aware of that fact.

And this book, I know that the title just playing directly into Ice King’s insecurities is just the Joke but also…

I’m thinking about Ice King/Simon when he was a bit more lucid. Aware that he’s going mad and it's getting harder and harder for him to think clearly and that makes it so much harder to find a solution and expressing a lot of that same anger that Ice King expresses outwards towards the Living Furniture - inwards.

I’m wondering if Simon specifically sought out that book because he felt like he was ‘turning dumb’.

I’m wondering if Simon could’ve written this book. Some sort of last final act of impotent rage against the person he was turning into, frustration at his growing inability to think like he used to, even though he couldn't even remember his own name anymore - only that he was the 'Smarty McBrainypants' part of his old identity.

That would explain why it’s such a worn and rugged book...

#adventure time #atimers #adventure time analysis #adventure time headcanons #at #ice king #the ice king #simon petrikov #adventure time ice king #simon adventure time #adventure time simon #at simon

[artemis32]

Locksley

yandere Batfam x reader

yes, i do love them. yes, it is a problem. yes, i will make this my entire personality for the next two and a half months

also, necessary disclaimer, there’s a piece of dialogue in this that i took from a youtube asmr channel (bite me, they’re interesting and i’m starved of attention) - it’s jimち asmr, if you’re interested

word count - 4.8k

mbe masterlist

You wouldn’t call yourself a hero, not in any sense of the word. Likewise, you didn’t consider yourself a villain. You were something in between - you did bad things for good reasons, you did good things for bad reasons. 

Living in Gotham changed people. No matter how kind or well-intentioned, everyone ended up corrupt sooner or later. Some just fell further from grace than others. 

The people you helped would argue that you were a hero, someone who deserved recognition and respect for your actions. The people you stole from tended to disagree.

You didn’t care much about what you were. Heroes, villains… They were all the same in your eyes. They wrecked havoc and left people like you to deal with the aftermath - an ordinary citizen who had neither the means nor the aspirations to fix what they’d broken.

****

You started years ago, before you were even a teenager.

It was small things at first. Single fruits, a loaf of bread, a blanket, cough syrup. Things people wouldn’t usually notice. 

You realised pretty soon that you were good at stealing, good at getting away without people noticing. Very good.

Stealing felt justified in your young mind. You told yourself that it was okay. It was okay because you weren’t stealing for yourself. Never for yourself. Never committing a crime for personal benefit.

No, you stole to help others. You did what you could to help those that were too weak or scared to help themselves. 

In those early years, when you were still young and hopeful, you likened yourself to Robin Hood. Stealing from the rich to give to the poor.

Now, years later, the sentiment had faded. 

You still stole from the rich. You still gave everything you stole to the poor. 

Poverty in Gotham was a disease. The densely populated apartment blocks in the Narrows, where you lived, housed more people than it should have, and those people had become somewhat of a family to you. Or at least as close as you’d ever get. So you did what you could to keep them safe and alive. Stealing food to keep them fed, stealing clothes and blankets to keep them warm, stealing medicine to keep them healthy, stealing toys to keep the children hopeful.

That was your job, your purpose in life.

It made you feel as though you had a use. Seeing how people’s faces brightened, how happy they looked to see you when you bought a spare blanket or some extra food, or a toy a hopeful child had been eyeing for a while, it made you feel as though your life wasn’t completely meaningless.

Your life had a purpose. And that purpose was to help those who couldn’t help themselves. 

So you did.

And you never got caught. Not once. 

Until you did.

****

This uniform is so fucking uncomfortable. How do these people do this all day? You think, slipping your index finger beneath the buttoned collar of your shirt, tugging at it in a lacklustre attempt to catch a breath.

As much as recon was necessary, it was also an annoyance most of the time. It was times like these that you thanked the stars above that you weren’t born into a wealthy family. Stuffy galas and boring board meetings were never your thing.

The crowd of wealthy tycoons and aristocrats barely paid the waitstaff a second thought, primping and preening as they mingled amongst one another, trying to impress people who were too self centred to notice them. 

You would’ve rolled your eyes and gagged at the sight, had it not acted as the perfect cover for you. 

Stealing the name tag and uniform off of the service roster was simple enough, and sneaking in through the service entrance of the disgustingly lavish manor was a breeze. Now, as you flit through the crowd of supercilious pricks, you feel grateful for your own nondescript appearance.

Blending in with the average service worker was a blessing, one you took full advantage of as you scanned the large ballroom. There were several large windows, massive panes of glass bordered with ornately carved ebony wood frames. The doors were just as grand, two sets of double doors, and a smaller service door in the very corner of the room, all dark stained ebony to match the windows, were just as detailed and lavish.

It made you sick.

How could these people live so wastefully? How could they live so easily? Their biggest worry was keeping their faces youthful and their houses fancy. It didn’t make sense. Even now, after months, years of doing this, it still confused you - the fact that you lived such a jarringly different life, one that seemed so pathetic in comparison to the vapid crowd that surrounded you.

At the very least, it eased your conscience, and made your job easier. You felt no pity, no remorse for stealing from people like those gathered around you. Very few of them had actually worked for what they had in life. No, it was handed to them at birth. Life was funny like that. Those who work hard are left impoverished, and those who give in to gluttony and greed never have to work a day in their lives for what they have.

You discarded the now empty serving tray behind a potted plant, slipping out the large double doors and into the empty corridor beyond. The halls were silent and dark, moonlight casting large shadows over the walls.

The manor’s antiquated runner rug muffled the sound of your footsteps as you crept along the wall of the corridor, carefully taking note of each door, drawing up a mental map as you continued. 

Every corner you turned was more extravagant than the last. You could practically feel the wealth seeping out of the walls. It disgusted you. 

At least it was nice to look at.

Twenty minutes later, you’ve made it up to the East Wing, the furthest part of the manor from the ballroom. It seems to be the personal quarters of whoever the hell owns this abomination of a house. On the trek up several flights of stairs, you’d passed a collection of bedrooms, several smaller living rooms, and,to your great delight, a study. Though, ‘study’ feels like the wrong word to describe the room.

It looks more like a grotesque mix of a library and a maze, and if you were any more wet behind the ears, you might’ve been intimidated by the sheer size of it. In fact, if you’d stumbled upon a room like this a few years ago, you’d have been in awe. The value of a single item in this room would have you set for life. 

But you don’t allow yourself to be caught up in the moment, keeping steely focus as you move silently, swiftly between towering shelves. You don’t take anything. Not yet. The time for that would come later. Right now, you focus instead on gathering information. The layout of the manor, alarms, sensors, residents.

The last part was always the hardest, especially with people like the elite of Gotham city. People came and went as they pleased, and the odds of you running into someone was higher in extravagant homes like this, what with their abundance of butlers and maids. But you’d avoided them all up to this point, never once encountering anyone in more than a decade of prowling.

And this manor - the famous Wayne residence - never housed more than a dozen people on any given night. You knew the staff and groundskeepers all went home in the evening, leaving the property all but abandoned at night.

You reach the end of the room, pausing only to glance over at the large grandfather clock nestled between two shelves before you turn on your heel and stride back towards the door. You’d gotten what you came for. Now, it was time to take your leave, full mental map in tow. 

Getting out of the gala was a lot easier than getting in, and you took the time to register the smaller details of the manor. In this time, you confirmed one thing you knew for certain:

Wayne manor disgusted you in all its excessive wealth.

Bruce Wayne may have appeared as some kind of well meaning philanthropist or humanitarian, but you knew his pockets ran deep. Much of his wealth, generational and unearned, was hoarded while the rest of Gotham was left to rot in poverty. 

It was, in part, the reason that you didn’t feel bad about what you were doing. He, alongside the rest of Gotham’s elite, had done nothing to earn what they had. You were just levelling out the playing field, giving those in the Narrows a fair chance at life.

And if you had to dirty your hands to help them, then so be it.

****

The thick carpet muffles your landing, though you don’t really need it.

Over the years, you’d mastered your movements, learning how to move silently, without notice. It’d been born from necessity, rather than genuine desire. Growing up in the Narrows wasn’t good for much, but at least you learnt pretty quickly that it was easier to get by if you went unnoticed.

You gently close the window, pushing the polished wooden frame with your fingertips, wincing at the soft click of the lock. Any noise was too much.

The corridors are empty as you silently sweep through the manor, as expected. You aim for the lavish library you’d scoped out a week prior, mental checklist ready. 

Avoiding the cameras and alarms is easy enough, especially when the majority of them scoped the perimeter, rather than the interior. The lack of security, combined with the excessive luxury confirmed what you’d always thought.

Rich people were fucking dumb.

They really thought their money could protect them from everything. Well, there was one thing that no amount of money could save them from.

People like you. People with absolutely nothing to lose.

You had no family, no prized possessions, no desire or greed. And you sure as hell didn’t harbour any fear for people like them.

Eventually, you arrive in the East Wing, slowing your stride slightly. You strain your ears for any hint of movement, blending seamlessly into the shadows as you prowl the corridor. The ornately carved solid wood door opens with a silent swoosh, and you slip into the room a mere moment later.

Someone’s here.

You take note of it a moment too late, slipping between two towering shelves the instant you hear the soft murmurs of a conversation. The lighting is dim, shadows dancing across the room, sourced from the crackling fireplace at the back of the study.

Fuck.

It takes you a beat longer than usual to calm your now racing heart, and the instant you get it under control, you’re back to creeping along the shadows, hands darting out to grab at ornaments and books, shoving them silently into every pocket and gap in your suit and small backpack.

If you could, you’d have brought a bigger bag, but you needed to travel light - light enough to make a swift exit if needed. 

You manage to grab quite a few things without nearing the source of conversation, which you’ve now determined to be two men murmuring lowly near the fireplace. Relief settles heavy in your bones as you creep back towards the door, thankful for the numerous shelves hiding you from view.

Lady Luck was a fickle being, and it seemed she’d decided your time was up.

When you’re about ten steps away from the exit, senses on high alert, time seems to slow, the baroque handle dropping slowly as the door is pushed open. You’re back in the shadows before it fully opens, back pressed against the wall while you weigh your options.

The door is out of the question. There’s no way to slip out without being noticed. The window, maybe?

One glance at the tightly latched windows across the room dash that idea immediately.

Panic swirls up your spine, threatening to take over. If you got caught here, there’s no telling what would happen to you.

As you scramble to come up with a plan, the door swings open and a man steps into the room. He’s young, fresh-faced, perhaps a year or two younger than you. He’s handsome too, in the way aristocrats often were - light eyes, tanned skin, full lips. He was striking. 

And he turned to look right at you.

You’re up, on top of the nearest shelf seconds before his eyes slide towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut, sweat slicked palms pressed flat against the dusty wooden shelf underneath you.

Fuck.

He lingers for a moment, taking a step closer into the shadows, to the spot you’d stood in moments ago. 

There’s no way he knew. He couldn’t.

After several tense, painful seconds, his brow twitches and he turns on his heel, striding over to the other two men, his gait confident and swift. You let out a soft sigh, relaxing only a bit as you try to stop the nervous tremors in your hands.

Escape comes hours later, near three in the morning, when all three men eventually retire to their rooms. You couldn’t get out of that eerie, shadowed manor fast enough.

****

“You really should lock your door at night, especially in this area. You never know when some creep might think about inviting themselves in. Windows too, for that matter - or else B&E’s would just be… Well, E’s.” 

It was barely two in the morning. You’d crawled into bed, still fully clothed, less than an hour ago, exhausted from a long day of work in the hellscape that was hospitality. You hadn’t even had the energy to look over your next few potential hits, never mind take a shower or have dinner.

So it’s no surprise that you’re disoriented, thrown off guard when you wake up to a masked man leaning far too casually against your derelict old couch, slim katana resting comfortably in his hand while he twirls it around.

“Then again,” he continues, ignoring the wide eyed look you give him. You flinch back, the movement too slight to notice as he straightens and strides over to you. “You’ve made my job easier. So I should thank you.”

He stands, hovering over you, arms hanging casually at his sides beneath his cloak as he regards you. The mask he wears hides his eyes, and it feels as though you’re staring up into dark, never-ending pits rather than eyes.

“Hm. You look different than what I expected. Younger. How old are you?”

If you weren’t so terrified, you might’ve laughed. Here, in your cramped, dingy bedsit, stood someone who appeared more demon than man, and he was presumptuous enough to critique your appearance. Worse still is the fact that you might’ve answered him, had he not swiftly changed topics.

“It doesn’t matter. A criminal is a criminal. Blackgate has a cell with your name on it.”

The train rumbles by and shakes the thin walls of your apartment, casting an eerie half glow bright enough to just barely light up your apartment.

Your blood runs cold.

Robin.

You’re moving before he has time to register what’s happening, tossing your worn knit blanket at his head as you leap from your bed, the small single’s frame groaning beneath you at the abrupt movement. You’re across the room when he recovers, hand on the doorknob. Seconds later, a vaguely bird-shaped dagger embeds itself into the doorframe right beside your hand.

“Don’t move.”

For once, despite the alarm bells blaring in your head, you listen. You fight against your instincts and the burning in your limbs as he approaches, closer and closer with every taunting step until he’s right in front of you, another stupid bird-shaped dagger nicking the soft underside of your jaw.

“You’re coming with me. Peacefully.”

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his tone. It’s so condescending, as if he thinks he’s talking to a child. If this was anyone else, you might’ve fought back, but of the list of people you avoided, the Gotham vigilantes associated with Batman were top of the list. 

They were so irritatingly self-righteous, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that they’d view you as a scum of the earth criminal, should they ever catch you. It was part of the reason you’d avoided them so religiously, and you’d done a great job of it up until this point. The only question on your mind right now, though, was-

“How?”

Robin tilts his head, mouth flat. “How what?”

You lift your chin a bit more as he raises his dagger, softly piercing the skin, as if in a warning.

“How did you find me?”

If you could see his eyes, you were sure they’d hold an incredulous look, as if to ask ‘are you stupid?’. But you weren’t. Not like this. You weren’t sloppy. And you sure as hell didn’t step on toes when you stole, especially not enough to gain the attention of a run of the mill vigilante. There was no reason for him to be standing here, in your apartment, all but pinning you to the door.

“How did you find me?” you insist, pushing forward despite the slight sting against your jaw. “What did you see?”

He sets his jaw, tilting his head down as he speaks through clenched teeth. 

“Stealing from Bruce Wayne of all people was a dumb move.”

Your blood chills in your veins.

So someone did see me then… That man. That boy. Fuck.

“It was especially dumb to stick around for four hours afterwards.”

At that moment, you weigh your options. 

If you go with him peacefully, all but turn yourself in, Blackgate would be the least of your worries. You stole from Bruce Wayne.

Wronging such an influential man would have its own set of unique consequences, and it wasn’t yourself you were worried about. Anyone you’d helped in the process would be incriminated. All those innocent people, the women and children, the elderly people who lived around you… 

No. You couldn’t go with him. 

Prison was one thing. Endangering those you swore to help was another entirely.

With your mind made up, everything else is easy.

You grab the wrought iron coat rack beside the door and swing it upwards, aiming for his head without a second thought. The moment he releases you and shoves you back, you’re out the door, sprinting down several flights of stairs.

Too slow. Faster. Move faster.

You hear him behind you, footsteps ringing out like a death knell. 

He wants you to hear him. You know he does. A vigilante like that, someone as skilled as him - you wouldn’t hear him unless he wanted you too.

Honestly, you were quite proud of yourself. You’d made it further than you’d expected. The uneven gravel stings against your bare feet as you sprint through the side alley, aiming for the main street.

It was pointless. You knew it was. Even if you could make it that far, it wouldn’t amount to anything. No one would help you. No one could help you.

Regardless, you still feel disappointed when he grabs you by the collar of your thin, old sleepshirt, yanking you back. The exit to the alley, a mere two metres away, seems to mock you.

In that moment, you think about what you’d done. You truly think, and realise that you didn’t regret a single thing. You didn’t care about what happened to you. Everything you’d taken had helped so many people, far more than it would have helped Bruce Wayne, gathering dust in his old study. 

Everyone had been so happy, so relieved at how much you’d managed to help them. The amount you’d received for the stolen goods had been enough to care for everyone in your building ten times over. 

So no, you didn’t regret your decision.

This time, Robin doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries, gripping the back of your neck tightly and knocking you out a moment later.

****

“Who is she?”

“Her name is-”

“I know what her damn name is. I mean, who is she?”

Tim pauses, eyeing Damian with a strange expression, clearing his throat and continuing after throwing a perplexed glance at Bruce.

“...well, uh, she lives in the Narrows, has for more than a decade. She went to Gotham public high school and received her high school diploma, with no further education. She’s… pretty unremarkable, to be honest. Works in a shitty diner in the East End, earns less than minimum wage...” he trails off for a moment and shrugs. “There’s not much else to say.”

Damian clenches his jaw, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Her address. What is it?”

Again, Tim throws Bruce a glance, sharper this time, choosing his words wisely.

“I… don’t think that’s necessary information. It’s not a big deal, she only took a few things. And it doesn’t seem like she kept any of it. Actually, I’m kind of impressed–”

He’s cut off in an instant, Damian’s glare sharp and filled with rage.

“It does matter. She stole from us. She–” 

The green-eyed youth sucks in a sharp breath, dropping his arms to his side, flexing his hands.

“...she was right there. She was inside the manor, ten steps away from me, and I didn’t fucking notice. It took us two weeks to notice she’d been here at all!”

His words are like venom, belying the real reason he’s so worked up, and Bruce watches him with a blank expression, stepping forward after he’s calmed down slightly, placing a heavy palm on his shoulder.

“I understand your frustrations, but you can’t allow them to cloud your judgement. Don’t allow your emotions to rule your actions. While I agree we should find her, I don’t think we need to be as… extreme as you’re suggesting. She’s just a civilian - albeit a very… efficient one. Take some time, calm down, and we’ll discuss what to do from there, okay?”

Damian shrugs the hand off his shoulder, stalking out of the Batcave with a few short, clipped words thrown over his shoulder.

“Yes, Father. Of course.”

****

A very frazzled looking man is the first thing you see when you come to, temple aching terribly where the angered Robin had decked you hours earlier. Presently, the man hovering over you sighs when he sees your eyes open, though it doesn’t seem to be a sound of relief. His mouth tugs down at the corners, brows pinching together.

“Don’t.”

He presses a palm to your shoulder, keeping you flat on your back when you try to sit up. His tone is stern, flat, accentuated by the dark bags under his eyes. His shoulders sag and he loosens his hold, fingers flexing against your shoulder.

“Just… stay there. Don’t move.”

The words seem more like a plea than a demand, but you listen regardless. Even if you wanted to move, the pain rippling through your skull makes you too dizzy to sit up, let alone stand.

“...do you remember anything?” he murmurs, bright blue eyes roaming your face worriedly.

Licking your dry, cracked lips, you avoid his gaze. Would it be better to lie, you wonder? Would he know? You had a feeling he might. And you had a feeling that somehow, being honest just this once would help you a lot more than lying ever could. 

You swallow thickly, glancing back at him before answering. 

“Yes.”

He rolls his eyes, head lolling forward as he mutters.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Before he can ask you another question, before you can say anything else, there’s a flurry of movement at the entrance to the room, several people storming in. The racket makes your head throb, and you feel faint and woozy as you lean back against the admittedly plump pillows.

You wonder distantly why you weren’t in a prison cell or a hospital. If you’d been in a better headspace and perhaps not concussed, you might’ve been concerned, but it was effort enough to focus on staying conscious at the moment.

“No, Damian! I have had enough! You explicitly went against my instructions– You kidnapped a civilian!”

Chancing a small peek at the arguing duo, you catch sight of little more than two blob-like shapes, the taller of the two yelling animatedly while the shorter stands stoically, staring off to the side, towards–

Towards you.

“She’s awake.”

That has the taller man falling silent for a moment. He sighs heavily, murmuring. 

“We’ll discuss this later. For now, I have to deal with your mess.”

With that, he turns and strides over to you, placing his hand on the shoulder of the young man at your bedside, a silent dismissal. He remains standing while the other two leave, staring down at you expressionlessly.

Bruce Wayne.

Bruce fucking Wayne.

…I’m so dead.

You jolt up, wincing at the pounding in your head as you blurt out.

“Mr Wayne, I–” 

He holds up a palm, silencing you.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

There’s a pause, one in which he looks down at you before sitting down with a sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“I don’t care that you stole from me. Usually, I'd just file a police report and go about my day, but my son… Well, you upset him.”

He leans back in his seat, unbuttoning his blazer.

“You see, he’s a prideful boy. It’s never caused problems before, at least, not like this. I mean, involving a civilian, that is. But you seem to have struck a nerve. He’s holding quite a bit of animosity towards you.”

Bruce leans forward again, elbows resting on his thighs as he regards you with a critical eye.

“And I’ll admit, you caught me too, to a degree. You broke into my home without my notice. You were right under my nose.” He huffs a disbelieving laugh, as if the very idea of you evading him was impossible. “It’s impressive, I won’t deny it.”

A strange flutter fills your chest, something that feels oddly akin to pride. Bruce Wayne of all people was complimenting you. Or, at least, it felt like a compliment. 

“Why is he so upset?” 

You regret the question the instant it leaves your mouth. His gaze, which had been slowly warming up, turns cold and flat at that.

“...because you slipped right by him. Do you understand what a feat that is? How much you’ve wounded his pride? For you, an untrained young woman from the slums of Gotham to have fooled him, a trained assassin. Robin. You understand, don’t you? He took it as a very personal offence.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. Was this some kind of twisted punishment for stealing? Did this man, Bruce Wayne, really expect you to believe that his son, the sweetheart of Gotham’s high society, was the Robin? And an assassin to boot?

He huffs a silent laugh, brows raising as he regards the expression on your face.

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s shocking. Damian Wayne, Robin? You’ll get used to it.”

Your hands are shaking now, sweaty and white knuckled as you clutch the bedsheets, and you feel your blood pressure rising. If you weren’t careful, you’d pass out soon. Swallowing thickly, you ask the question urgently gnawing at the forefront of your mind.

“If he’s Robin, then…?”

A small smile tugs at his lips. He was handsome, in an older gentleman kind of way - tall, strong, sturdy build. Even the wrinkles and lines marring his face looked attractive. No wonder women fell over themselves in an attempt to catch his attention.

“Yes. You catch on quickly, don’t you? Well, that’s to be expected from Gotham’s own do-good Robin Hood, I suppose. Yes, I am Batman.”

A choked noise dies out in your chest. 

Of course I’d steal from Batman. Of everyone in Gotham, this is who I choose? God, why is my luck so shitty?

His admission sows a seed of unease in the pit of your stomach, and your eyes dart around the room for the first time since you’d arrived. It was large, larger than what you were used to, though the only furniture was the bed, a vanity, and a small couch near the window. The window that was locked tight, covered with solid iron burglar bars. Bars you had the sinking feeling were put there to keep you in.

You turn to him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Why are you telling me all this?” 

He stands, posture straight and assertive as he eyes you callously. “Because, unfortunately, your actions, and my son’s impulsive decision have both pushed me to make a decision I have no choice in. It means that, until we decide what to do with you, you won’t be allowed to leave–”

Evidently, his admittance to essentially abducting you is what sends your blood pressure through the roof. You pass out before he finishes his sentence, praying with the last of your fading consciousness that this was all some twisted nightmare.

#yandere #dark content #female reader #dc #batman #robin hood #yandere batfam x reader #x reader #damian wayne #bruce wayne #tim drake #batfam #robin #red robin #dc robin #robin hood reader #batfam x reader

[clockwayswrites]

A Broken Sort or Normal, Epilogue

WC:1383, Masterpost

Danny glances up from his fight to fit the cufflink into the sleeve of his rich blue suit and smiles at what he sees in the mirror.

“You know, it’s supposed to be bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

Wally grins, easily, from where he leans against the door frame. “I’m the one in white so I think I’m the bride, in this case.”

“Oh, so putting the bad luck all on me?” Danny asks as he turns to appreciate how his fiancée looks. Wally really is stunning in his white on white tux. Danny hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of traditional black and white tuxes, not with Phantom still being such a raw wound. Wally hadn’t minded in the least going with a brighter color palette.

“Never,” Wally promises. “We’ll face whatever comes together.”

It’s a vow that Danny unquestionably trusts. Since the curse broke, Wally has been there for every step of it— and Danny has needed a lot of help with steps. Danny’s weakened core not only handicapped him as a ghost but as a living. Many days Danny is able to pass through it all relatively unaffected, other than the cold ache that has settled into his bones, but other days are harder. Other days Danny walks with canes braced against his arms. Other days Danny needs his wheelchair. Other days he can hardly get out of bed unless he goes ghost. And through it all Wally has done everything that he can to make things easy for Danny.

They have a house now, one story and carefully renovated so that on the days Danny needs the wheelchair he can still move around easily. There are electric blankets and soft pillows and this ridiculous massive bean bag that’s big enough for them to both sink into on the bad days.

And there are good days too. There are days where the aches are just a background note, days it all doesn't hurt so much, days where he can fly. Oh how Danny had missed flying. Of all the things that came with being a halfa, flying is what Danny had missed most– not because he could help or be a hero, he missed flying just for himself.

The first time he had felt stable enough to fly, Wally had whisked them out to that same field their first date was in and let Danny loose. Danny had flown for hours, darting around, doing tricks, and floating among the clouds. When he had come back down to earth, Wally had been there, picnic waiting and the biggest smile on his face.

So like everything in Danny’s life, it’s all a balance: the good, the bad, the effort… Danny loves it all.

He loves it not just because it reminds him of how much living means, but because of how deeply it shows that Wally cares. Wally’s love is one thing he can never question. It’s a certainty that Danny has needed through all of the aftermath.

Once Danny had been released from the Watchtower’s medical, he had started small dealing with it all. Coworkers were easy to reply to and he could trust that informing a few would spread the news to the rest. They didn’t push for more than he was willing to give, though he had known he would come back to questions and rumors.

Everyone else was harder.

He had set a video call with Sam and Tucker at the same time. It was maybe a little unfair to not give them each their own call, but he just didn’t have the energy for that. They weren’t kids anymore and hadn’t been for a long time.

“God, Danny,” Tucker started at the same time as Sam said his name.

He held up his hand and their mouths shut with a clack. His smile was tinged with sadness, but it was a smile. “Don’t. You two didn’t do anything horrible.”

“Dude,” Tucker said and for a moment Danny was back in high school. Tucker looked good, still in bright colors and with his hair expertly shaved on the sides with a little pattern. “We forgot about you.”

“We left you alone to deal with all that,” Sam said. Her hair was a more natural shade of black now and her smoky eye an expertly done wing. It was odd to see her lips red instead of purple.

“Because of a curse. You forgot because of a curse,” Danny said, “and then you just did what anyone does, you went on to have a future. It’s not like we had some big fight or anything, you both just moved on with your lives.”

“That still had to hurt,” Sam said.

“It did,” Danny said honestly. He didn’t see the point of pretending the past hadn’t happened. “But that doesn’t mean it was either of your faults. The last thing I want is anyone doing anything for me out of guilt, especially since in this case it’s misplaced. It’s okay that you both grew up. I did too.”

It hurt and it would always hurt, at least a little, but Danny didn’t want any false care now.

Sam chewed on her lip and Danny smiled a little at the sight of the old habit. “I’m still sorry.”

“Me too,” Tucker said.

“Thanks, that does mean a lot, but it’s okay, really.”

There was a level of peace from that talk. Sam and Tucker both asked if they could reach out sometimes, and Danny said yes but with zero expectations. They were different people than they were as children and Danny knew, because he had lived it, that without Phantom there wasn’t much for them to talk about. And Danny had no plans to talk about Phantom. That part of him had ended with a wish seven years ago. He didn’t want to rehash or relive it now, even with them.

Jazz… Jasmine was harder. Sam and Tucker losing touch was just part of growing up. His own sister ignoring him though, that wasn’t the same at all. If it wasn’t for his nieces, Danny didn’t know if he would even be trying with Jasmine, even as apologetic as she was. There were some things that were too hard to come back from.

“Are they here?” Danny asks and looks back down at his stubborn sleeve.

Wally steps forward and takes the cufflink from Danny. He’s gentle as he fits it into the slot and secures it. “They are. And all our friends are here too. Just remember that you don’t have to talk to them any more than you want to. It’s okay to be taking things slow. It’s okay to decide that you can’t do this with her. You know I’m with you whatever you decide.”

Danny raises Wally’s hands to brush a kiss across each set of knuckles. “I know. I’m so lucky to have you. Is it bad that part of me making an effort with them is so that my nieces have family other than their moms and our parents?”

“Nope. I think that makes you a really good uncle. I mean, where would I be without Aunt Iris? Family like that can mean a lot and if that’s the only reason you have for dealing with your sister, then that’s enough,” Wally assures him.

It helps Danny relax some.

“Okay, good. We’ll just… see how it goes. I’m not going to focus too much on them today, not when today is about me and you.”

“I think that’s all good. You’re just wrong about one thing though,” Wally says, his grin just a little mischievous. Danny loves that grin.

“And what’s that, Mister West?”

“Well, soon to be Mister West,” Wally says, “it’s that I’m the lucky one. I could have lost you so many times and so many ways and despite everything, today I get to marry you. I don’t think there’s anyone luckier than me today.”

“Well, not to have our first fight,” Danny teases, “but agree to disagree.”

“I think I can live with that.”

Danny laughs. There’s nothing funny about that, but the laughter bubbles up in him all the same, not from humor but from joy. “Living, that sounds like a very, very good plan.”

---

AN: Aaaaaah we are done!! Not everything is perfect, but Danny is alive and living and Wally is going to be with him for all of it <3. Thank you all for coming along for the ride on this! It's been unexpectedly delightful to write these two together and I'm glad to finally wrap it up with (hopefully) a nice bow.

And yes, this will be going up on ao3 but I need the brain functions to go back to the start and give it a good polish! I'll likely do it chapter by chapter weekly to give myself and my darling beta @mokulule time.

Until then or the next thing here, stay delightful, darlings!

#dp x dc #quick death ship #danny/wally #abson

[frostbitebakery]

A Disturbed State Of The Natural Environment, Gods-Fucking-Dammit

A Pada-Wan Story

for @lttrsfrmlnrrgby

“Obi— Commander Kenobi-“

“You can call me Obi-Wan, Cody,” the kid huffs. “Neither you nor I will suddenly combust into a ball of fire if you do.”

You don’t know that, Cody thinks, not liking how his voice sounds in his mind.

Four days since the incident - or, “The Incident,” how Boil and Waxer like to say in unison with the bucket lights under their chins -, two since the 104th of all Battalions received their signal and towed the 212th fleet to the nearest station within the Republic that would allow them to overhaul the ships’ electronics.

It has been exactly two point five hours since Wolffe stopped wheezing at Cody over comms. Nearly as much time as the kid had vanished from under Cody’s paranoid nose.

“Councilor Kenobi is safe and sound,” General Koon had assured him while Wolffe stood at perfect parade rest a step behind, shriek-laughing his armor off.

The kid sighs. “You have come here for a reason?” he asks, stubborn and prim. “Or is Wooley babysitting me not enough?” He points a thumb over his shoulder to Wooley popping up several yards away, waving.

“If you haven’t noticed Hook, Line, and Sinker also keeping an eye on you, my trepidations are justified.”

The kid rolls his eyes, gesturing to three empty looking spots in the distance. “I am well aware Master Koon is in league with you.”

Cody will not explain safety precautions again. He’s saving that for when the kid really sets out to stomp on any and all walls Cody had to hastily and thoroughly built when his General, his partner, suddenly turned into a child at the worst possible development stage for Cody’s sanity.

The kid studies him while Cody is trying to come up with a legitimate reason for looking for him. Direct admittance to personal concern would backfire on Cody in multiple, entertaining ways, and he frankly doesn’t want to deal with that. From the kid being smug that Cody cares about him very much so keeping his distance must mean something more. To accusations of not trusting Obi-Wan (which, correct, Cody doesn’t know him after all), seeing him as a kid (also true) when he’s sixteen and basically a stone’s throw away from becoming a geezer.

Sixteen. Cody shudders. He remembers very well that half year when he was that developmental age. He shudders again. Gods, the mood swings alone.

“I am reasonably paranoid about your welfare,” he says at last. Wooden which makes him cringe but he’s never lied to Obi-Wan and he’s not starting now.

The kid stares at him for a while. One corner of his mouth quirks up with a shrug and a shuttered look in his eyes Cody desperately wants to make better. “It’s different when they really are out to get you, isn’t it.” The Council had explained how precarious his older self’s safety was at the best of times. Cody had only seen the aftermath and the accompanying ranting about life choices with the occasional visibly happy understanding that Obi-Wan could, actually, grow a non-patchy beard when he’s got a few more years on him.

“May I sit with you?” Cody asks. Shoveling his own metaphorical grave is so much easier with mixed signals after all. But he misses the older Obi-Wan. It’s not fair of him but he needs this.

The expected blush blooms on freckled cheeks. “Yes, of course!” is the eager reply, followed by more blushing.

It’s endearingly cute and Cody would like to chew on his bucket now.

The kid scoots over, wide eyed and expectant.

Gingerly, Cody lowers himself, ignoring the armor digging into his ass and thighs. And lets the silence stretch.

This, really, is what he came here for. A self-indulgent little break to catch his breath. The High General of a Systems Army is compromised and that fact has to remain eyes only to an exclusive handful of people. Only the Jedi Council knows out of obvious necessity. So it’s up to Cody to keep everything else running, keeping the admiralty in the dark because even teenaged Obi-Wan had said he’s got a bad feeling if they were to tell the brass. So they haven’t.

Usually, when flimsiwork and war horrors keep stacking up and expand into an avalanche, Obi-Wan and Cody sit together in silence, sharing a precious cup of real tea, being together and lending support and strength they can’t find for themselves but can always, always find for each other.

Selfishly he wants that strength from Obi-Wan now, the warmth of his body nearby. He’s already breathing easier.

The kid is looking at him curiously, but Cody chooses not to say anything. Instead he turns forward once more, watching the busy night markets of the station and the stars behind it. After a moment the kid does the same.

Shoulders slowly relax and the silence becomes comfortable.

#obi wan kenobi #commander cody #codywan #star wars #star wars fanart #frostbitebakery art #padawan obi wan #what are you going to do when Jedi robes are too big #you go to a storage closet and cry #poor cody #ahhh it’s been so long since I promised to draw this! #de aged!obi wan

[areyoudoingthis]

This shot makes me completely insane. Ed's wanted to bury the Kraken and Blackbeard for so long, but now he's literally and symbolically digging himself up from the depths, he's swimming all the way to the bottom on purpose to drag himself back out.

And he does it in part because he's just been told "If you were ever good at anything, go and do that", and then rowed himself back into a nightmare, ships burning everywhere, Stede missing, and British soldiers harassing him while he's barely coping with what he's seeing. Maybe at first this is about bringing the Kraken back out of anger and dissociation, but that's why what happens next is so important. Because whatever his motivations are in this moment, he's doing something. The last time he was underwater he was drowning and Stede's presence saved him, this time he's taking action and doing whatever he can to fight back. And anger is only part of that, has always only been part of what moves Ed to violence.

Blackbeard and the Kraken have always been fueled by love, and fear, and yes, rage against unjust situations that made Ed feel helpless and trapped, and then left him feeling even worse for fighting back. And that last bit is what changes this time around and allows Ed to reintegrate, because for the first time, he's not alone anymore to deal with the aftermath, he's not a kid without a family, he's not a man crying alone in secret in an empty room without anyone to console him.

After he digs himself up, he emerges fully dressed on the shore, Edward Teach literally reborn on a beach at last, leathers back on and determined to do whatever it takes to find Stede. And it's such a powerful shot: he's all in black against the white surf, dripping wet hair completely obscuring his features and trailing tentacle shaped rivulets of water in front of his face.

The next shot we see is his shadow self, his dark, blurry reflection on the sand. The only bit of Ed's actual body we get are his feet stepping determinedly on the wet sand, making his way back to land and to Stede and towards his full self (although he hasn't realized this last bit yet).

But it's not until he finds the soldiers reading Stede's letter -and this is such a lovely representation of how the core of the show is the relationship between these two men- that all the parts of him are finally able to integrate into a single person when Ed embraces the Kraken and Blackbeard and Ed as being of equal value. It's reading the adoring, unhesitating declaration of Stede's love that allows Ed to redefine himself, to see his darker parts in a different light, the light Stede has cast on his life.

He reads the letter, realizes the depth of Stede's love for him, understands he's really committed to Ed for good (in permanent ink), that he didn't push him away by showing him his trauma as he feared, that sharing the story he's never told anyone else about his first and worst act of violence didn't make Stede reject him, that Stede loves him and wants him in his life for good. He has a short cry about it while he reads and processes.

And then he roars "you wrote me a lovely letter" and charges. A lot has been said about how angry in love the line sounds, and yes, he is angry, angry that he almost lost Stede again, angry that the British soldiers would mock the letter, angry that they'd hurt Stede and that they'd think they can do whatever they want just because they have the power, think they can separate them again after everything they've been through.

Ed has been afraid of his anger for so long, made up a tale and a whole different persona to hide it behind, but his anger has always been born of love, of the need to keep his loved ones safe, of rage against abuse and injustice, and this is what he needed to be able to see in order to start healing.

He's in love, Stede's in danger, he needs his protection, and Ed offers it unflinchingly and doesn't hate himself for it this time, sees the part of him that is capable of killing not as monster but as loving protector at last. Because the British are abusing their entirely illegitimate authority, and the man he loves is in trouble and may even be dead, and this isn't even a question for Ed, he'll fight for him.

And once he's safe he'll drop his weapons at their feet to kiss him and tell him what he's finally become able to say: he loves him. He's maybe beginning not to hate himself, and he loves Stede. And Stede reaffirms what he wrote in the letter, tells him that he knows, that it isn't Ed-Blackbeard-Kraken that's a dick, but life.

Is this arc done? No, of course not. Healing happens in stops and starts, it takes a long time, and that's why DJ has said from the beginning that OFMD was always meant to be three seasons long; the last season is going to be all about Ed and Stede dealing with their issues so they can grow and heal. But they were always meant to do it together, because that's when they're strongest, that's when they're able to shed a light on the other's darkest bits and help him see them in a kinder, loving way.

This was an emotionally charged step in Ed's journey of growth and self acceptance, but the issue will probably come back up in the future, especially now that he and Stede are slowing down and taking time to process their mountains of trauma and everything they've been through in a very condensed amount of time.

But this is still an incredibly significant moment for Ed. He's gone from panicking and hiding under a blanket in a bathtub to throwing parts of himself overboard to digging them up from the bottom of the sea towards the shore and the light, and wielding them intentionally to fight for what he loves.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #edward teach #alex watches ofmd #i can't believe i finally finished this it took me like three years

[m00nlight-ramblings]

Together

The aftermath of Elminster's visit created an implosion between Gale and Tav, but their love will help them pick up the pieces.

Pairings: Gale x female Tav/Reader

Requested: yes

Warnings: hurt/comfort, swearing, mentions of suicide. 18+ MINORS DNI.

Word Count: 1.7k

The crickets chirped brightly, their noise matching with the twinkling of the stars overhead. The air around camp was thick, heavy - weighted in a way that only came after dark knowledge was discovered. This knowledge was dropped like a bomb - which, for this situation, was an apt metaphor.

"Tav..." Gale started, his back to you. He watched as Elminster - fucking Elminster, with his awful news he brought with a smirk - left camp, no doubt happy to have his belly full with our cheese, and our bread, and our wine.

"Don't," You interrupted him, the anger rising in you. Like a simmering stew, it boiled in your heart, causing you to hear the pumping of your blood in your ears. Your hands shook slightly as you ran them through your hair, taking on a life of their own. "Don't you dare say anything."

The other companions stood around the campfire, a few feet away from you both. The news of Gale's new "mission" that Elminster delivered to us - to blow himself up for the sake of possibly all humanity - hung between you all. Gale...the kind, goofy, open-hearted wizard that filled our nights with laughter and friendship, was now expected to kill himself. Which, he agreed to.

Gale...the love of your life. The man who held you countless nights, who celebrated your victories in battles and who made you scream and tremble with pleasure.

Willingly agreed to die.

Imagining a future where he no longer existed - dead by his own hand - caused tears to spring to your eyes quickly. And not delicate, lady-like tears...hot, blobbing, uncontrollable tears. Unable to deal with the reality of the situation, you turned on your heels to take off to the woods. You heard Gale call your name, followed by a stern (but gentle) Karlach try to diffuse him.

The small stream on the outskirts of camp babbled lightly, as you finally stopped and broke down. Not only in tears, but also physically - you found yourself on your knees, a groan escaping your lips and turning into a wail, uncontrollable.

You sobbed into your hands, tears and snot mixing on your face. You hiccupped through the sobs, strangling your throat and echoing off of the trees. A few moments later, the sound of footsteps mixed with your sobs.

The only two sounds in the woods.

"Tav..." Gale's voice was low, barely above a whisper. You didn't look, but you felt him sit next to you, immediately wrapping his arms around you. You fought him, trying to push him off of you, but his strength held on strong, and he didn't let go.

"Stop! Stop it!" You tried to pull away, wriggling underneath him, "How could you?! How could you agree to this? This-this...suicide mission!" Your voice sounded like a caricature of itself as you beat your fists into Gale's chest. He allowed it, letting you strike the weak blows to his body.

"Tav, Tav - stop. Listen to me," He said gently, shaking you slightly to break your erratic behavior, "Stop it. Look at me." He slipped his arms off of you and held your cheeks in his palms, your hands instinctively wrapping around his wrists. You were mere inches from each other, and while you were a mess, you felt your face turn to stone as you looked into his eyes.

Your anger - or rather, your hurt that you didn't want to show - pulsed through your body as Gale searched your eyes, running his thumbs of your cheeks. The air stilled - suddenly, you noticed tears in Gale's eyes, his mouth turned downward into a slight frown.

You broke down into tears again, leaning into Gale's shoulder. Again, he wrapped his arms around you and let you sob in his nook as he stroked your hair, murmuring in your ear.

"How could you do this?" You asked again, in between sobs, "How could you agree to do this? Was it because of Mystra?" You pulled back suddenly, jealousy somehow pushing past your grief and anger, "Fuck, did you agree to do this so that Mystra would forgive you? Do you still-"

"If you are about to ask me if I still love Mystra, I'd advise you to not," Gale said, wiping your tears gently. A playful smile quickly appeared on his face and disappeared just as fast, "After all the nights we've spent together? All the words, and kisses, and moments we've shared, and you think I could possibly have love in my heart for her still? When you've taken up all the space there possibly is?"

"Then why, Gale? Why did you agree to this?"

Gale sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. He paused a moment, pulling away and looking up into the sky. He looked back at you, searching your face.

"My entire life, I've dreamt of something...more. I always thought I was destined for greatness. Not only because I felt it, but because I was told so. I worked so hard for everything...and wanted to do things no other man has done," He sighed, shaking his head slightly, "What a fool I was. Look where it's gotten me," Looking at you, he smiled sadly and absentmindedly felt the marking of the orb on his chest, "A mistake that easily has cost me my life in many regards. But...if I could do something to stop all this...I must try."

His words hung in the air as you looked out, past the stream and through the clearing. Tortured by the idea of never seeing Gale again, you grabbed his hand and held it tight, giving it a quick squeeze.

"I can't let you do this," You said, whispering, "I refuse to let us come this far for it all to be for naught. I refuse-" You voice caught in your throat, breaking as you spoke, "...I refuse to live in a world without you."

"Darling-" Gale started, but you quickly interrupted him.

"I refuse to live in a world where you, and me, and Tara aren't living in your tower in Waterdeep. I refuse to believe I won't have a life watching the sun set with you, a life where I don't wake up next to you. A life where you don't cook me your famous dinner you've talked about so much-" You heart lurched, seeming to break into a thousand pieces, "You promised you'd cook me dinner." The last words came out as a cry more than a sentence, causing Gale to grab you fiercely and hold on to you.

Soon, you realized you weren't the only one sobbing. A strangled, wet cry landed in your ears as Gale held you close, and now it was blaringly obvious he wasn't doing it just for your sake. You wrapped your arms around him, clutching on to his back just short of digging your fingernails in.

"Your life is not any less important than anyone you would save," You said, gently kissing his neck, "Please remember that. Please remember that you aren't alone, and all of us are here to find another solution. I am here to help find another solution."

"I cannot fail," He said, gently pulling back and looking at you. His eyes, red and shimmering from crying, were mournful. "...I cannot be a failure."

You shook your head gently and took both of his hands into yours, causing him to look down, "You are not. You are a hero....you..." You trailed off, trying to find the words. Were there any words that could encapsulate Gales heroism, the painfully wonderful mark he was already making on the world?

"You are so much more than The Wizard of Waterdeep." You finally said, smiling gently and tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. He slowly looked up at you.

"What can possibly be more than The Wizard of Waterdeep?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Leaning in, you touched your forehead to his.

"Gale," You spoke, "Being Gale is so much more than being The Wizard of Waterdeep."

A small breath escaped his lips as he chuckled lightly, a tear escaping his eye. He kissed you - passionately, his hands finding the back of your head and burying themselves in your hair. His tongue gently opened your mouth as your bodies pushed closer, your hands resting on his chest.

Your heart beat rapidly, the butterflies caused by the kiss fluttering at the same speed as your pulse. You loved this man so ferociously that sometimes it hurt. You'd do anything to protect him, to help him...to save him.

Eventually, he pulled away and looked into your eyes.

"We will find another way," He said finally, gently. "I...will find another way."

You nodded encouragingly, a smile playing on your lips, "We will. The world cannot lose you because the 'Mistress of the Weave' says so. I won't allow it."

Gale laughed at his, running a thumb down your cheek, "Bold words."

"Bold words that I plan to force into action, if necessary." You spoke, matching his smile.

"You are fierce, my love," Gale said, gently rising and offering a hand to help you up. You accepted it and he pulled, wrapping you in his arms, "You are a fierce thing. There is no one like you."

"And there is no one like you," You retorted, inhaling his scent as he held you, "World famous or not." Pulling away, you took his hand and started to lead him back to the camp, "Life will not be complete until we are back in Waterdeep. Together. Forever."

Gale nodded. "You're just saying that because you want me to cook you my famous roast dinner."

Laughing, you looked at him, his eyes twinkling. You felt at home as you searched his face, the familiar lines causing your heart to speed up.

Gale was your heart, your home. Your present and your future, and where there was him, there was joy. Notoriety or not, nothing on this planet could make you happier than him.

Elminster and Mystra be damned, you would fight this thing tooth and nail.

The two of you. Together.

-----

Thanks to the anon who requested this! I'm an unabashed Gale lover (tm) so I was so glad when this popped into my inbox!

Reminder: my inbox is open for requests!

#bg3 gale #bg3 #gale oneshot #gale headcanon #gale fan fiction #gale fanfic #gale headcanons #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #gale dekarios #gale x reader #baldurs gate 3

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

In My Time of Dying

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of injury, kidnapping, held hostage, mentions of suicide

Words: 2.9k

Synopsis: The clock is ticking...

You are currently reading part 12 of The Roommate Series

You’re not sure how long you’ve been stuck here.

Here, you assumed, had to be some abandoned building. The air was humid and filled with mildew that filled your nose. The must and mold made your headache worse and the more you sat against the cold concrete walls, the more it felt like it seeped into your skin.

You sniffled, hot tears continuously running down your face as you struggled to breathe. You had been stuck in a state of panic since you woke up in the SUV but it got worse when they tied you to a rusted pipe in the dark room you assumed was going to be your tomb.

Everything in your body hurt. 

The men who had kidnapped you weren’t friendly in transporting you from your apartment to wherever you were right now. They had shoved you and pulled you in every direction while demanding something of you, all while you had a bag shoved over your head so you couldn’t see where they put you.

Pain split from your temple and made you dizzy. The man had hit you incredibly hard and caused blood to pour down the side of your face. You were sure the amount you had lost contributed to the dizziness, though you were sure he had caused a concussion too. You could hardly move in your spot without feeling so nauseous that you were sure you were going to throw up. 

A whimper escaped your lips as pain struck you and you keeled over, more tears falling as the pain worsened.

You weren’t entirely sure why they wanted you, you suspected that it was because of who you lived with, but you still didn’t understand why. You weren’t someone special, you had no significant amount of money and you certainly didn’t have any valuable information about Simon’s line of work. You didn’t even know what his job was until two weeks ago. 

Simon. You wished he was here, if he had been none of this would have happened. You wished you were in the safety of his arms, to feel his warmth against you and to hear his voice. If you had known that it would be your last time, you would’ve savored the moments longer, would’ve told him you loved him more, would’ve done something more.

Your chest hurt and you let out a soft sob. 

The thought of Simon being left alone after everything he told you, the possibility that he may never even find your body when he gets home made you want to scream sob into the empty room. 

You didn’t deserve this and he didn’t deserve to deal with the aftermath. 

Tears blurred your vision and yet crying didn’t make you feel any better. Your head still hurt and you were still trapped, waiting for your potential slaughter. 

You had to get out. You had to escape. They had left you hours ago…or what you assumed was hours ago and made no indication that they’d be back any time soon. You had a chance to run, to get help and call Simon.

You tugged on your restraints and the pipes groaned. You gasped and blinked away the tears as you stared up at them in the darkness. You focused on the pipe you were tied to and tugged as hard as you could, watching it shake from the force and nearly come loose.

Hope grabbed your throat and between your labored breaths you began to continuously pull against it despite the ropes biting into your skin.

For a split second you thought it would break, but then you heard voices.

Your heart stopped and you froze, fear taking over you once more. 

They were coming back and who knows what they would do to you if they saw you trying to escape. You missed your chance by being terrified and your mind conjured up the worst scenarios of what was going to happen when they showed up.

The door to the room opened and you instinctively pushed yourself against the wall. You watched them walk in with wide eyes, your attention jumping to the floodlights they turned on that blinded you to the man who had taken Simon’s gun.

He still held the gun but in his other hand was your bookbag. One of his men set down a foldable chair where he set the bookbag on before he opened it up.

The silence was deafening as you watched his rifle through your belongings, occasionally throwing items onto the floor with no care. He threw your phone on the ground, almost as if to taunt you with the idea of safety before he glanced up at you.

“I’m sorry about the-” His voice made you jump as he gestured to the side of his head to mimic the wound he gave you. “But I did warn you.”

You couldn’t find your voice as you watched him continue to go through your things. Instead you sat there shaking uncontrollably while your eyes never left him.

Just a prey caught in a hunter’s trap.

He pulled out the burner phone and your mouth went dry. He inspected it and tossed your backpack on the ground, taking its place in the chair.

“Why?” Your voice was broken and small, shaking to the point you were surprised you even got the word out.

The man looked at you with raised eyebrows as if he was confused by your question. He leaned forward on his knees and thought for a moment before he shrugged as if this was something entirely normal.

“You were the only way to get what I want.” He scoffed. “Well…not the only way but you were closer, easier than the others.”

Others? Your heart hurt more and your stomach dropped about the thought of there being more who had to go through this, more who might die for whatever  he wanted. 

“What do you know?” His voice was calm but the intent behind his eyes meant he wouldn’t take much to anger. 

You shook your head frantically despite the pain. More tears threatened to fall at the thought of him not believing you about the fact that you had no knowledge about Simon’s line of work.

“N-Nothing! I don’t know anything.” You pleaded frantically. “Please, whatever you think I know, I don’t. I’m just a college student.”

You were prepared to beg and plead until you lost your voice. Anything to keep him satiated enough to keep you alive until you had another opportunity to escape. You hoped your panic would make it believable because you were telling the truth.

He stared at you, his eyes scrutinizing you as you struggled to keep your breathing under control. For a moment you thought he didn’t believe you until he held up the burner phone. 

“Tell me, does this phone reach Ghost?” He asked and it was your turn to look at him with confusion. 

You had never heard of that “name”, especially from that burner phone. The only two numbers in there went to someone named Laswell and to Simon. There wasn’t a Ghost…unless he meant Simon.

It was the only thing that made sense. The phone connected you to Simon and it seemed like the man wanted to get to him but knew him as “Ghost”. You had no clue why he wanted him, what the reason was but it only made more fear build up inside of you.

What was he going to do when he found Simon?

He didn’t seem to like your hesitance because he sent you a warning glare, a look that sent a chill to your bones and made your heart beat faster.

Simon had to be Ghost to you now. For the sake of your life and his privacy…though if the man saw the dog tags hidden underneath your shirt, it wouldn’t matter.

“It does.” You nodded and he turned on the phone. 

“Which number?” He demanded and you paused.

Your life was on the line but what if Ghost’s was too? You couldn’t be the reason he’d get hurt again, you couldn’t be the one who would get him killed-

The man backhanded you with enough force that your sore head hit the pipes behind you. He didn’t care as you cried out in pain, the sting from his slap radiating off your skin, before he grabbed you by the hair and made you look at him.

“Which number?” He repeated, his voice ice cold and deadly.

“The second one.” 

He let go of your hair with a shove and stood up. He called the number on the phone and held it up to his ear, his eyes glaring at you as he flaunted the gun he stole. 

A reminder of your fate.

~

Ghost followed closely behind Price to the extraction point. He listened to Price call in the information they worked the last twenty-four hours on and kept his eyes trained on the area surrounding them.

It didn’t take long for him to get back into the routine of work, in fact it was only hours after he had gotten back to base that they were shipping out to the next target, right where they left off two weeks ago.

Price had been a little worried. Ghost saw him keeping an eye on his lieutenant but he proved to him quickly that there was no reason to be worried.

“Couple more days and we’re done.” Price told them as they settled down at the extraction point. He made an effort to look at Ghost as he said it. “Laswell will need to look over the intel we got before we can make our next move.”

“Bet you’re thrilled, Lt.” Soap teased as he sat down on a rock. 

“Who would’ve thought he’d be the first one out of all of us to have someone waiting for them.” Gaz joined in and sent a smug smile his way.

Ghost sent them both a look that didn’t deter either of them so he just rolled his eyes. Though, he wouldn’t outwardly admit to them now but he was incredibly happy to be able to get back home to you sooner rather than later.

Between the fact that he only had those three days and then two weeks to spend with you, he was really starting to crave the many months of interrupted time with you. He was waiting to get back into the regular routine of being deployed for a couple months and then coming back for a couple months just so he could have the time to actually spend with you.

No wounds to be healed, no calls from Price, just you and him alone like how it had been for three years.

He was ready to do whatever you wanted and ready to take on more dates.

“Cheeky.” Ghost grumbled and they snickered. “I won’t be thinking of either of you when I’m in bed, not alone.”

Soap and Gaz groaned, causing Ghost to snicker to himself while Price shook his head. He set his gun down and pulled out a cigarette, begrudgingly giving Soap and Gaz one when they began to beg for one of their own. 

“Should make you run for them.” He tossed them the lighter.

“Don’t be cruel, Lt.”

“Yeah, Cap wouldn’t make us run for them.”

“I wouldn’t?”

They shared a laugh and for a moment, even after the atrocities they had seen, things were good. But then a ring tone sounded out from a pock on Ghost’s tactical vest and his heart dropped. 

The others looked confused but Ghost had gone completely serious. He threw the cigarette on the ground, not even taking the time to extinguish it before he scrambled to find the burner phone. 

“What’s that?” Soap wondered.

“Burner phone.” He explained, his voice having a slight edge to it. “She’s supposed to call only if there’s an emergency.”

That made them perk up and they gave each other serious looks. 

On the outside Ghost was calm like he usually was but on the inside there was a slow building anxiety that began to spread across every part of his body. He hoped that this wasn’t an emergency, that maybe this was a butt dial or was you calling him because you missed him. He didn’t want to listen to the thoughts that maybe something was terribly wrong as he answered the phone.

“What’s wrong-”

“Nice to finally speak to you, Ghost.”

His blood went cold. His heart stopped and he immediately tensed up, his body going so rigid that his muscles ached. He felt bile in the back of his throat while his mouth went dry and adrenaline coursed through his veins. All sense of ease had been ripped from him and now he was back in his work mind, back on the field and ready to find the bastard who spoke through your phone.

You wouldn’t give the phone to anyone and the fact that the man knew his callsign meant it had been taken from you. 

They got to you and this time they were mocking him. This time they were going to tell him and this time there was going to be more hell to pay.

“Where is she?” 

Ghost spoke in a cold tone that made the rest of the 141 freeze. The anger was palpable and their expressions fell into their usual seriousness as the situation laid itself out plainly, though behind their eyes he could see their own fear about it.

“Alive for now.” The man didn’t try to assure him and he swallowed hard. “I want to speak to the captain as well.”

Ghost put the phone on speaker, his hands gripping it with enough strength to possibly break the phone while the three stepped closer. He glared at the screen as if he could see the man and force the thoughts of your dead body, you beat and bloody body out of his mind.

“Speak.”

“I have a proposal,” the man got straight to the point but he hated the sound of his voice. Vile like a snake. “That information you took from us months ago was valuable and I’d like something in return.”

“Your business is with us.” Price grunted out. “Whatever you’re planning-”

“I never would’ve been able to reach you. Her life isn’t in my hands, Captain, it’s in yours.”

The guilt that struck Ghost in the stomach made him grip the phone even tighter. The love of his life had been taken from him, like his family had been all those years ago. All of his past mistakes hit him and he found it hard to not keep his emotions under control.

If it weren’t for Price he’d panic, if it weren’t for the sergeants he’d be in an inconsolable rage. 

How could he let this happen again?

“What do you want?” Price kept his cool and he was thankful he was doing the talking or else you’d probably get shot.

All of his training for this seemed to go out the window. He was too blindsided that he couldn’t get control of himself when you most needed it.

“Plans. Intel on what your next missions will be, what weapons you, everything about what you do and what you plan to do. I want to be repaid for what you stole from me and if you don’t give it, she dies.”

Ghost thought he may have heard you cry in the background but maybe that was his mind playing tricks on him. His mind was already tormenting him about letting you get captured and if you died, he’d follow.

“What’s the time limit?” Price demanded. “Eight hours. You’ll meet my men at the location I give you. You give me the intel, you get your hostage. Try anything and she dies.”

The call ended and the words hung in the air. Ghost could hardly think, his mind overcome with the realization that just getting back would take a couple hours which was too slow for him. He was starting to lose himself in the images of his butchered family, your own corpse mixed in with them.

The nightmare, you clutching onto him, he’d be too late-

Price placed a hand on Ghost’s shoulder and squeezed it tight, enough to ground him back in reality. His blue eyes were serious and cold, enough for everyone to understand it was time to get back on business, especially as the helo came into view.

“We will get her.” He said with no doubt in his voice.

All they had to do was their job. Your life was in an hourglass and every second counted.

“Yes, sir.”

Price nodded and gave him a firm pat. He immediately radioed to Laswell, filling her in on the situation and asked her to search for your phone location, your real phone, and anything else. A missing persons report, a break in, any suspicious activity around your neighborhood.

Ghost followed him to the helo and with every step he took, more and more of the panic fell underneath the fire of pure rage that coursed through his veins. There was no doubt the lengths he would go to get you back. 

He’d be covered in blood, a mangled, hollow version of himself just to have you safe in his arms. The world would burn if you died and the men who took you would beg him just to end their lives. 

A side of himself that he had long forgotten about would see the light of day again but he didn’t care.

Ghost would do anything to get you back.

Link to part 13

a/n: unhinged Ghost who's going to kill everyone is my favorite

The tag list is closed!! I am so happy that so many of you want to be tagged for this story but I will not be accepting anymore requests to tag people in this series since this list has gotten long and it's hard to keep track of how many I have to add! Sorry for the inconvenience!

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#the roommate series #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #mw2 ghost

[mysacredmuse]

Heyy, could i perhaps request some hc's with aventurine and nightmares? Seeing how his past was so rough, i can only imagine he has nightmares frequently, and i wonder what he would do if his s/o caught him having one. I also sometimes think; would he perhaps not initiate living together because of his nightmares, not wanting to show his fragility? Thank you, i love your writing!

yes, of course!! I would love to write this for you :) I definitely agree and as someone who also has nightmares almost every night, this was interesting to write :) as for not living together, quite possible. I definitely also feel like he would have some trouble and shame to let his partner witness such a "weak" or an "embarrassing" moment of his vulnerability :/ and thank you so much !! I am so glad to hear that, you are very kind :) <3

alexa play class of 2013 by mitski (or any mitski song tbh)

aventurine & nightmares, mentions of slight panic attack, written with gender neutral reader in mind, angst & fluff, spoilers (?)

dividers by @/cafekitsune :)

his nightmares used to be much more frequent before he met you. Now, he has them occasionally, but they are intense nonetheless. At first, he doesn't tell you about them in fear of looking weak or stupid for being still affected by everything regardless of gaining so much with you and on a personal level. Which is also why when he spends the night over, he makes sure for you to fall asleep first and he doesn't get much sleep himself, worried about possible nightmare occurring

eventually, as the topic of living together gets brought up, he is quite hesitant to make a move about it. You don't take it to heart, but he becomes even more worried that you might think it's something he doesn't desire, so he opens up slightly to you. He explains that he has nightmares from time to time that can be a bit hard to deal with and he doesn't want you to feel pressured into comforting him or responsible to take care of him in such moments

truth to be told, you knew and expected such thing. The way he lived was a life worse than a slave, stealing the light in his eyes for a good time before he looked at you. You reassure him that it would never be an issue and that the two of you are in this together, nor he could ever be perceived as weak by you in any shape or form which gives him some peace

so, the two of you finally move in together, enjoying all the things that couples usually do as they arrange their living space. The comfort and excitement of buying new things, decorating the space to fit both of your tastes really pushes back his fears and nightmares...for a while, that is

the first couple of times are a bit less intense nightmares, mostly accompanied by him twitching and shaking in his sleep from which he wakes up fairly quickly afterwards. Those usually don't wake you up, so he just leaves to get some fresh air, trying to contain himself and calm down in order to be able to sleep a bit more peacefully. Usually, he cuddles up closely behind you after those, the warmth and closeness of your body providing enough comfort for him to fall asleep again

however, the first time that a more intense nightmare occurs - it wakes you up. He mumbles and talks in his sleep, a bit louder as his body becomes quite shaky and tense. You can't quite catch everything, but you can make out that he talks about his mom, asking where is she, talking about an older sister - each question bringing more panic into his body. He finally wakes up with a chain of sharp gasps as his hand wraps around his throat, the nightmare reminding him of the heavy chains that once used to mark his neck

he gasps for air, fingers tracing to his tattoo as his eyes become wide in the aftermath of panic. You slowly settle next to him, gently making him aware of your presence as you try not to startle him. He turns his head, eyes glistening with light tears as he meets your gaze filled with worry. He swallows, turning away from you as a weak voice apologizes for waking you up

"You should go back to sleep..it's nothing, really." he whispers weakly, clearing his throat as his shaky hand remains on his neck, slightly picking on the tattoo.

You pause for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts as you speak carefully.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of. I do not pity you if that's what you worry about. Of course that I feel sad that you have to go through this, but I do not pity you or deem you as weak." you tenderly reassure, hand falling on his bare back, trying to provide more comfort.

"I did say that we are going to handle this together and I meant it." you whisper, slightly leaning towards him.

he finds some comfort and peace in your words. He just nods, teary eyes finally gazing at you as his head falls onto your chest. First couple of times are like this as you try not to overstep the boundary or make him feel forced to talk about anything. Some nights are harder than the others as the nightmares are more violent such as the hot metal marking his neck forever, leaving him to sob on your lap. Some nights you prepare the tea for him to help him fall asleep more easily and he usually asks you to play with his hair until he does so

every time after that, he begins opening up more. He tells you about the nightmares and when the specific event happened. A lot of his memories are hazy, but talking to you allows him to also remember some good times, regardless of the heavy pain coating those moments. He talks to you about his mother and father, his sisters and brothers, friends and people he remembers. The pain will never go away completely, but talking about his experiences to you helps him greatly. Especially because he gets to speak about his family and get a sense of honouring them while doing so, feeling a bit more like a normal person during those times and making his own head a bit more nicer place to be at, all while he receives endless support and reassurance from you :)

#aventurine x reader fluff #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #aventurine x yn #aventurine x you #hsr angst #hsr fluff #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader #muse's writings