#you are the epitome of privilege blind

[pluvialpoet]

how to disappear

Summary: a reunion ten years in the making serves as a reminder that absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder- especially when history has a tendency to repeat itself 

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!vigilante!reader

Requested: no

Warning: nsfw!!! (18+ MDNI), porn with plot, lovers to enemies, unprotected sex, implied breeding kink, choking, angst, minor barbara gordon slander (for the plot, I swear)- do not read if you are not comfortable with the warnings listed above!!!

Word Count: 12,874

masterlist

Light reflects off the crystals that hang from the chandeliers above, and like a moth drawn to a shiny flame, you bask in the warmth of their glow. For as beautiful as the crystalline teardrops twenty-two feet overhead are, they dull in comparison to the- equal parts blinding and mesmerizing, simultaneously gorgeous, yet gaudy- diamonds that dangle from earlobes, rubies that rest against décolletages, and the pearls placed upon dainty fingers in an over the top display of money, power, and status. It’s the epitome of wealth, and though meant to allure, you find yourself disgusted by the flashy exhibitions of greed and corruption.

Every smile is artificial. Every laugh is humorless and diluted. Any feeling beyond complete and utter misery is a hoax. Yet, they play their parts. Each and every one of them continues to mingle, boast, and feign genuineness, but it’s obvious what they are, even beneath their disguises, you recognize the vultures circling the fresh carnage of the innocent- with blood on their talons and a hunger that’s never truly satiated. Do they even know what they’ve done? Do they even care? Given a chance to make amends, would any of them take it?

Revulsion counters amusement as you watch the elite interact with one another. It’s pathetic. In a room full of affluence, not a single person knows pleasure beyond material possessions, and that’s an injustice in itself. Amongst thieves, you’re the honesty that rivals them all- and that’s a scary revelation, all things considered.

Taking advantage of the large crowd, you continue to bump elbows with the rich- literally- as you weave your way through the opulent mass. A tight-lipped smile is granted when you pass an older woman, and an even wider flash of teeth catches your attention from a man around your age. Mimicking the gestures seal your fate, damning you- even if only temporarily- to this game of confusion, a game in which approval and disgust are indiscernible. Having had years to grow accustomed to the tricks of this elitist trade, it’s almost impossible to recall a simpler time. Back when you still thought there might be a modicum of authenticity behind the action, back before you were close enough to spot the invisible strings controlling the marionettes, you believed- and even hoped- that you had it all wrong. There was a time, long, long ago, when you were desperate to believe that there was still some good left in these people, but you grew out of your naivety. Now older, and wiser, you won’t make the same mistakes you once made. Under the influence of optimism, your purpose became convoluted. Not anymore.

Without anyone to dissuade you from reaching out- to challenge you from swiping a few bejeweled tennis bracelets, engagement rings, or even one or two watches and calling it a day- a thrum of urgency spreads through your fingertips. It’s an impulsive electricity you can’t deny. Besides, it’s not like social dynasties would crumble if a few diamonds went missing. If only it were that easy…

Wealth doesn’t doom these poor, unfortunate souls, but their greed- coupled with the blood on their hands- paints a distinguishable target on their backs. If you look closely, it’s impossible to miss that they’re all cut from the same cloth. A hundred different reflections of the same privileged archetype imitate the same gestures, mannerisms, and movements to a tee. An amateur would operate under the guise of distraction- causing a small scene and offering their apologies before making off with their prize- but you’re not an amateur. Not anymore. Not by a long shot. 

A few women- four or five, at most- nurse flutes of bubbling booze a few feet away. The sound of their laughter is a little too joyous to be feigned and when one of them waves a manicured hand towards a waiter, signaling another round of drinks, you start to put the pieces together. Perhaps, the ladies in your sights are the most genuine in attendance- even if they’ve lost themselves to their cups. Matching their demeanor is child’s play. Once equipped with a half-empty glass from a server on their way back to the kitchens, you stumble towards the group, plastering on the same elated- intoxicated- grin, and hope that they’re inebriated enough to be welcoming towards a newcomer. Masking the bitter taste of insincerity with a sip of prosecco, a greeting rises from the mix, but it never has the chance to come to fruition because a large hand wraps around your wrist- effectively halting your heist before it even really had a chance to begin.

You should’ve known better.

As you turn to glare at the idiot who dared to put their hands on you, your breath catches.

Two birds die from the blow of one stone, and he takes advantage of your stupor- finding that you’re more pliant in your daze- leading you away from the women you intended to rob, and into the crowd. More witnesses make it less likely for you to cause a scene. At least, that’s his logic, anyway.  While it’s not exactly flawed, it’s not all that accurate, either, but for old time's sake, you’ll play along. His hold on you remains firm, and he reaches for the flute in your hand with his other, placing it on a tray and discarding the prop. Your surprise begins to morph into anger- especially when he pulls you closer towards him as the orchestra starts to play a tune. Remembering the steps forced upon you as a child is muscle memory, and you glare daggers up at him- though, they don’t pierce nearly as deeply as the blue of his irises.

“Nice hair,” Dick revels in your obvious frustration of being thwarted, his lips curling into a smirk when your frown deepens, and he asks, “I thought you were blonde, last I saw you?”

“I was,” For the sake of maintaining appearances, you don a phony expression of your own and respond with as much benevolence as you can muster- even though you’re filled with animosity- as he leads you through the steps of the dance. “And you didn’t have a five o’clock shadow,” You note, allowing yourself a split second to take in everything that’s changed since the last time you saw him, before pressing your lips together tightly with a huff.

“Things change.” 

 As if he needed the reminder…

Chance has never meddled in your relationship. Coincidence doesn’t exist within the realm of precision both you and Dick operate from. Everything has always been on purpose, calculated and planned, never left blindly to fate or possibility- which is why this meeting isn’t an accident. As if he can feel you about to pull away, he flexes his fingers against you, tightening his grip and holding you in place. Ten years later- ten years too late- he’s found you. Not destiny, not a fluke, but with his own intention, and you wish that he would’ve just stayed away.

“What are you doing here, Dick?” As you abandon your costume, your smile falls away to reveal genuine loathing as you force the question from behind gritted teeth. Still, despite your obvious disdain, he doesn’t let you go. “Last I checked, you were in San Francisco- and more recently, Blüdhaven. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You keeping tabs on me?” His amusement contradicts your revulsion, and a shallow breath purges the threat of an outburst. Dick has always had a way of getting under your skin, of pushing your buttons and doing everything he possibly could to make you tick, but the sudden onslaught of such juvenile taunting fills you with a fire not even he can extinguish- not anymore. Despite his charming exterior, the steady flow of his breath, and the easy grin of confidence that was once impossible not to mirror, dampness swells where your palms meet, and you feel the rough, raised reminders that he’s kept busy during your time apart- that he’s evolved into a stranger despite how familiar he still seems- and you wonder if he can feel it too, if he can tell just by touch, that you’re not the same girl he once knew.

“I keep tabs on everyone who might get in my way,” Your eyes narrow accusatorially, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re not special.”

“That’s not what you said the last time we-“

“Yeah, well, the last time was when we were teenagers, and a lot has changed since then.” Any attempt to remain cordial flies out the window when he dares to mention the last time- like it hasn’t plagued you for a decade. Not even he possesses the antidote to the venom your words carry, and he winces slightly as your rebuttal shakes. He clears his throat softly, the sound filling the lull where an apology should sound, and he takes a look over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again.

“Any chance I can convince you not to go through with whatever it is you’re planning?” It brings little joy to watch his smile dissolve into something more serious. His face hardens, and you notice lines and creases that you aren’t well acquainted with- unable to distinguish battle scars from the divots of age- and you quickly shake the thought away. Instead, you stare at him blankly, not revealing an answer. Though, he takes your lack of conversation as a reply, and with a heavy sigh, he shakes his head, “Yeah, I figured.” 

He dares to express melancholy. Stunned by his nerve, after everything, not even shame or regret could rattle his courage enough for him to reconsider such a crestfallen expression, and the discouraged twist of his lips and the downcast slant of his eyes are so pronounced and dramatic that you’re unable to discern whether or not this is part of a ruse, or his genuine reaction.

“Did you think that would work?” Your skepticism is muddled with ridicule, a mocking scoff filling the line meant for his counter. It’s almost laughable- the nerve he has to look dejected by your questioning. To be fair, it’s been a while since he’s danced this dance- a routine once familiar, consisting of bite and bark, push and shove, before simultaneous defeat and victory-  but he’s smart enough to know that that’s not how this works. “I mean what did you think would happen, birdy? I’d take one look at you, all grown and handsome, and reconsider my plans?”

Even in heels, he’s taller than you remember. He’s always been pretty- all mesmerizing eyes, slightly crooked smile, and sunkissed skin- but not even he was immune to the awkwardness brought forth by puberty. There was a time when he thought his shoulders were too broad, his ears too big, and the angular structure of his face too sharp and strong for a boy. It didn’t look right. Features that were admirable on their own, looked out of place on his face- or so he feared. You always thought he was beautiful- especially when he didn’t know it.

Now, Boy Wonder is all grown up, exuding confidence and oozing charm. He knows he’s attractive, but he doesn’t parade his arrogance- not anymore. His early twenties were a never-ending roller coaster of trying to find himself, his purpose, and where he fit into the grand scheme of things. Conflicted by right and wrong, tempted by lust and surrender, divided by good and evil, he’s had a lot of time to awaken from the grogginess inflicted by nightmares of freedom and liberation. Still, his eyes are just as mesmerizing, his teeth are straight- but his smile is still crooked- and he’s truly grown into himself. The man before you is a boy evolved- still a bird, but with a different set of wings. Robin is an old friend, a fond recollection of a different time, and though the stranger before you mimics the familiarity you’ve longed for, he’s not Robin, anymore- he’s Nightwing.

“Look, they’re anticipating for you to strike,” His warning is low and hushed, but even in whispers you’re able to detect his plea. Call it concern, or at the very least interest in serving justice as quietly as possible, but his timbre urges you to reconsider- if not for his sake, then for the sake of those around you. He really doesn’t want to cause a scene. “Security has been tripled, and you’ve grown sloppy-“

“Did you ever consider that the trail I was leaving behind wasn’t for anyone else but the one person I wanted to find me?” There’s no affection behind the way your fingers thread through the dark tresses at the nape of his neck. Without any fondness, without passion, or care, the action is mindless, meaningless, and merely muscle memory. There’s no repressed feelings you wish to convey, no animosity you’re trying to diffuse. With no hidden agenda, the gesture serves no purpose- except to unintentionally torture you both. Old habits die hard, and something undefined urges you to reach for him. He flushes, and the sight is so droll that you can’t bring yourself to stop. His lips part once, twice, three times, trying to produce an answer, but he’s at a loss. When you cock your head to the side, he tenses. “Of course, you didn’t,” You purr, and he clears his throat softly. 

Dick’s no stranger to berating. He knows what it feels like to be chastised, scolded, and reprimanded. This exchange feels similar. The only difference is that you don’t raise your voice, your eyes don’t darken and you don’t threaten him- not with words, at least. If anything, the remark feels like a gentle rebuke, but the sting left from the impact of your insult brands him with shame. You’ve always seen right through him. Easily able to discern real from fake- truth from falsity- under both his domino mask and the hardened mask of his stoic expressions, you’ve always had a knack for exposing his most vulnerable self- welcoming his flaws, humility, and weaknesses to light. Even though he’s not the same kid he was when you first crossed paths, he feels just as naive and guileless as the boy he once once. 

“You and the bat were never really known for considering every angle,” Spoken so thoughtfully, he’s almost able to forgive the verbal assault. As intended, the blow lands- precise, heavy, and unforgiving in the center of his chest- and the muscles in his jaw tighten with thinly veiled frustration. It seems, that in the moment he needs his voice the most, it evades him. He swallows consonants and vowels, a jumbled mix of letters that sit heavy atop his palate, and focuses on maintaining his composure- though, his steps are a beat behind and his footing seems, suddenly, unsure. You’ve struck a nerve. Whether or not you intend to wound, the damage is already done. Picking at scabs that should’ve scarred a long time ago cause his insecurities to bleed- a punch more lethal than brute strength and weaponry combined. 

Blindsided by the truth, he feels utterly defenseless.

“Can I ask you something, Dick?” Your brows barely pinch together, your voice calm and steady as something softens in your gaze. Dick should know better than to let his guard down- especially when you lean in, and your lips brush against his ear, “If you’re the hero, here to save the day, does that make me the villain?” 

“No, you’re not-“

“How about this, which is the lesser of two evils- knowing that you’re protecting a corrupted establishment because it’s what you believe to be morally correct, or taking back what was wrongfully stolen and returning it to its rightful owners?” As you tilt your head to the side, he hates the way that you look up at him through your lashes. It’s not a demure move. You’re demanding an answer, and a look like that- a look meant to allure, tempt, and bait- would have a weaker man spilling his deepest darkest secrets. With a sharp inhale, he reminds himself that the tricks up your sleeve aren’t new. He knows all of the cards you’re going to play- albeit, he’s unaware of the order in which you’re going to play them- and he won’t allow history to repeat itself. Purposely, your thumb caresses the back of his hand- the touch feather-light, but far from hesitant or accidental- and his breath hitches. Dick doesn’t undermine the small, sinister smile that threatens to spread into a victorious grin when he fails to answer your question. Perhaps, he doesn’t know the answer. Or, perhaps, he’s just distracted. Either way, your voice fills the absence of his own. “We’re not on different sides of a playing field, Grayson. You and I aren’t on opposite ends of a spectrum, we’ve always been right in the middle- dancing on a thin line.” 

Prompted by the soothing symphony of strings, Dick twirls you- delicately extending his arm and leading you into a spin before pulling you back in- and it’s fitting, the push and pull between you so familiar it almost feels as choreographed as the steps of the waltz you’re dancing.

History repeating itself, just one more time.

“We both know you’re not here to turn me in, because if you were going to, you would’ve done it by now.” Your arrogance causes something to snap within him. Clarity comes rushing back as he breaks free from your spell. Without meaning to, his grip on your hand tightens.

“Look, I understand why you’re doing this, but-“

“No, you don’t.” Like a switch being flipped, your façade shatters- revealing a face so unbridled with emotions that not even a mask could obscure. He’s defensive. Tired of grappling for control over the situation, he tastes power as he parts his lips with a clever retort, but you don’t allow him the space to get a word in. “Did you know that last year, the city council held a vote to refurbish a few run-down parks on the south side of Gotham with the hopes of restoring the communities destroyed by violence, or increasing the GCPD budget?” The heat behind your accusation pokes and prods at his curiosity, coloring him intrigued. Admittedly, he’s not the most up-to-date on Gotham’s politics, but something this large shouldn’t have slipped under his radar- or the watchful eyes of those who swore themselves to protect the beloved city.

It’s deeper than that, though.

Your frustrations, however warranted, seem to extend beyond such an injustice. Between the lines, amongst all the words you haven’t said, there’s a decipher hidden in every twitch, gesture, and glare. From the way your eyes narrow, to the sharp exhale and tightening grip of your fingertips. To sweaty palms and clenched teeth, all the way to flared nostrils- there’s something just beneath the surface that he can’t crack. Too much time has passed for him to unscramble tacitness when he no longer understands the codes in which you speak, and, unfortunately, he needs you to paint a clearer picture than the vague abstract before him.

“When it came down to it, do you think that the citizens of the south side had a say in the matter?” Dick’s smart. He’s not just a pretty face or a nice body- he’s actually got brains to match. You know- deep down- that sooner or later, shapeless pieces will fall into place to reveal the completed puzzle, but you need him to come to the conclusion all on his own. It would be easy to simply reveal your motive, and while a straightforward approach may have been less complicated than the mental gymnastics you’re forcing him to perform, it wouldn’t have been as impactful. Dick needs to understand, and to understand, he needs to feel- the same anger, outrage, and upset you felt. “Do you think the people on the other side of the tracks were given a chance to speak in front of the council?” 

“They can’t segregate who speaks publicly-“ The gears are turning- some slower, some faster, and others completely out of control as he struggles to make sense of your elusiveness. When the current song fades out, a scattered round of applause takes its place before a new song begins. Hardly anyone else is dancing, save for a handful of couples who look just about as miserable as you and Dick- without the coordination or grace, the two of you share. It takes him too long to jump to the conclusion, and you tire of waiting for him to put the pieces together on his own. He always did work better with a helping hand- though, the quality of his work declined greatly whenever your hands were involved.

“You’re right,” Your agreement further confuses him, until an additional explanation provides the last bit of clarity he’d been seeking. “But they can change the date, time, and venue of the meeting without alerting the other parties involved, parties that spent weeks building the foundations of a strong claim, and vote on the matter without them being present- subsequently, granting them access to funnel more funds back into their pensions.”

“That’s not possible,” His argument is backed by disbelief instead of reason, denial influencing his refusal to accept such an absurdity, even in spite of proof, and every ugly, undesirable, nasty feeling you’re not supposed to have swirls together in the pit of your stomach at his incredulity.

How can he still be so blind? How, after all of the evil that he’s witnessed, how can he deny the truth in favor of possibility? He may be a man grown, but he still lives in a delusional state of boyhood- where he still clings to hope and the prospect of good intentions even when the jury has already delivered a conviction.

“Why not?” You seethe, simultaneously demanding an answer without allowing him the chance to speak. Unfortunately, whatever’s been brewing amongst your insides finally bubbles over and your own reluctance to accept an outcome where he doesn’t justify your point of view sharpens the words at the tip of your tongue until they’re as lethal as any weapon. “Because good old Commissioner Gordon wouldn’t let that happen?”

It’s resentment- the concoction without a name- but it’s also envy, pain, and perhaps a bit of fear. At the very least, it’s petty, to bring her into this and force him to pick a side, but it’s been corroding your logic- eroding a place in your chest that’s been dormant ever since he last filled it with life and meaning- and you watch his demeanor shift when his lips part to defend her. You can’t bear whatever praise he’s sure to dole out in her defense, especially when she’s just as guilty as the rest of them, as far as you’re concerned. Before he has a chance to tear you to shreds with his ire, you interrupt.

“Look, just because the commissioner has a heart, doesn’t mean that the animals working for the force do.” Without any conviction, you start to claw at the mire on either side of you, closing you in. “It’s always been bad, but it’s gotten a lot worse.” He can’t argue with that. Worse doesn’t even come close to how downright doomed Gotham is now that someone’s poisoned most of the police force. The one group of people who are supposed to remain impartial to power and abide by the laws they’re sworn to uphold, have turned their backs on the people who needed them most, and the people hurting- the ones without flashy jewels or the stomachs for caviar and champagne- don’t have anyone looking out for them. 

Not the way they used to, anyway. 

“You don’t get to come here and lecture me about what’s right and what’s wrong, just because she asked you to.” Bittersweet tips towards bitter and a sour taste settles in your mouth at the suggestion that she had even the slightest part to play in your reunion. “You’re a few years too late for that, birdy.” This time when the song ends, you take a step back- though, his thumb brushes against the back of your hand before you pull away, the phantom of a silent prospect lingering even when the warmth of him is gone. Once, it was what you sought. He was what you sought. Years of desolation turned your desire for that same heat- tender touches and gentle caresses against skin- into favor of bleakness. You don’t regret pulling away from him, not as much as you did back them. This time, it’s warranted- a choice you make unobstructed by what you’re feeling, now that you know the outcome of what was fated to happen between the two of you.

“I appreciate the dance,” You swallow, your throat tightening with words you won’t allow yourself to say. Instead, a retort finds you, though it feels foreign as you speak it into existence. “Maybe we’ll do it again in a couple of years,” 

Without waiting for a reaction, you head off down the same way you came, and this time, without any intervention, he lets you go.

The bathroom door shuts behind you, and the sounds of lively chatter and the hum of instrumentals fade away until you’re consumed by a silence so stark that it buries you. It doesn’t feel real. The soft tapping of your heels against the glossy marble floors cuts through the nothingness- even the slightest echo in the void registering as an alarm, coaxing panic and fear from the rusted, forgotten cells you banished them to long ago- and when you finally take a look in the mirror, you don’t recognize the face that stares back at you.

Your reflection is plagued by guilt, and haunted by ghosts of the past. Well, one ghost, in particular.

Running into Dick Grayson was something you’d prepared for. Since the day you last parted, you always knew that there was a possibility your paths could, and inevitably would, cross again. It was destined to happen, and you were doomed from the start. He makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak. Back then, before everything that drove a wedge between the two of you, you had a bit of a soft spot for him. He was the only other person in the world who truly understood the life you lived because he was living a different version of the same life. Both protégés, both headstrong and zealous- attributes recognized as both strengths and faults- and both dancing a choreographed routine in the shadows cast by the bat and the cat. The two of you were fated. It was only a matter of time before you started pulling your punches, and he started letting you get away.

The chase was always the best part- second only to the capture.

Still, it’s been years since he left. You’re not the same girl he once knew, and he might as well have been a stranger. More than a decade apart will do that to two people. For everything that’s changed, one thing remains the same- the chase and the capture are unavoidable.

With a shaky exhale, your chest tightens. Resting your palms on either side of the expensive stone washbasin, you attempt to focus on regaining your composure- but another heavy intake of breath punches your lungs. You haven’t come this far just to let him swoop in and gain the upper hand. You’re done pulling your punches. Flipping the golden faucet on, you allow trickling water to interrupt the unbearable silence that surrounds you- a lull so loud it sounds like buzzing static without the interruption of something mundane. With a few more deep breaths, in and out, you begin to fumble with the clasp on your clutch, opening the small bag to retrieve a tube of lipstick. The color has started to fade from your lips, and you use the moment of stillness to touch up your makeup. If nothing else, maybe your reflection will look less distraught with a signature swipe of dark red. You long for a sense of familiarity that you can control.

Above the trickling from the luxurious spout, the door squeaks- or perhaps, it cries- as it’s pushed open, revealing a mirage basked in artificial light and a custom-tailored suit. As your fingertips graze the fixture responsible for the steady stream of distraction, a thud sounds, and seconds later, the unmistakable click of a lock latching into place seals your fate. A wave of emotion- a tsunami of feelings- brings forth a myriad of everything, all at once. Just as you suspected you always would, you’re drowning- caught in a riptide of your past and present, finally merging in a deadly current that threatens to pull you below the depths of your worst fears and direful imagination. You swallow thickly as you close your eyes. It fills your mouth with delusions of saltwater.

This isn’t supposed to happen- at least, not like this, it’s not- but the one thing you’ve been running from has finally caught back up to you. Now’s the time to set the record straight. No more ties. No more draws. Tonight, the victory is yours- regardless of his intervention. He’s taken too much from you to take this too, and you’re done letting him.

“I already told you that this is pointless,” You don’t even look at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of meeting his overbearing stare. A swirling sea of darkening blue attempts to sail back to shore- pleading to find refuge within familiar comforts and intimacy- but you cast your gaze back to your reflection, focusing on fixing the corners of your lipstick and leaving him afloat. “You’re not going to stop me.” The promise is backed by conviction- though, you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him, or yourself.

The muscle in Dick’s jaw flexes as he grits his teeth- forcing ivories to clench and grind against each other, creating a perfect, white prison to cage the words he wishes to speak. Stifling his emotions is conventional. It’s a routine he’s perfected through years of reluctant practice. Though uncomfortable and daunting, the void in which he sentences all that’s repressed is secure. It’s safe- if only in the sense that it’s familiar.

You’re familiar- rather, you were once familiar- but he can’t cross a bridge that’s been burned, molten ash still ablaze amongst the rubble, and expect to be welcomed back with open arms. Not after everything that’s changed. Not after everything that’s happened.

Not after what he did.

“I need a list of names,” The determination in Dick’s voice contradicts everything he feels inside. His face hardens- a mask, a shield, protection- and he stands a little taller, fixated on resolving the one problem he could actually solve. “Names of the officers involved in whatever this is,” He clarifies with an uneasy edge to his voice- like he already knows he’s bit off more than he can chew, but he can’t stop himself from going back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.

For all that’s changed, Dick remains the same. A phantom- a spirit, a memory, a ghost- of the boy you once knew disappears just as quickly as your imagination teases familiar red, yellow, and green. He’s not the same. You know it to be true, and yet, you find yourself distracted by glimpses and figments from a different life entirely.

“Grab a pen,” A scoff, an eye roll, and the gentle shake of your head, disbelief and credence existing in tandem- contradicting each other when your eyes finally meet his. “It would be a shorter list if you started with the people who aren’t guilty of committing some type of fraudulent activity.”

You’re not a bad person. Despite varying beliefs, you’re not evil. Mayhem doesn’t bring you joy. Confrontation doesn’t get you off. There’s little pleasure to be found in being the itch that people can’t scratch. You’ve never sought out violence or peril, and you seldom plan on causing either. Just like Dick- just like Bruce- you operate under a different moral code, but a moral code, nevertheless. Even if the only thing it provides is an excuse to justify why you do what you do, you still hold yourself to a standard. Unlike the vile, chaos-thirsty cravens that would happily light the match and watch the world burn, you’re selfless- bound to your morals, if nothing else.

What you do, the sacrifices you make- everything that you’ve lost and everything you’ve fought for- is fueled by benevolence. You’re in a position to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, to speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves. The power to defend those who have had their rights stripped from them- those who have had their power stolen by greed corruption and profit- is in your hands. You’ll be damned if you let anyone stand in your way and prevent you from doing what you know is right.

Through the reflection in the mirror, you recognize the face that stares back at you. Gone is the fear and doubt that mangled your features unrecognizable. With a heavy sigh, you unclip the earrings that dangle from your earlobes- and the buzzing sound of static fades away completely.

You know what you have to do.

The sound of your heels against the tile might as well have been deafening in contrast to the silence that follows your remark. As you cross the room, your resolve sharpens. Dick Grayson has taken so much from you, you won’t let him take this, too.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me-“ You feign saccharine, your tone phony and filled with counterfeit regret, as you reach for the locked door handle, but Dick blocks the latch, stepping in front of you before you have a chance to wrap your hand around the lever. He knows exactly what buttons to press and genuine annoyance, anger, and frustration fill the space where your poor imitation of remorse once occupied. Through gritted teeth, you command him, lowly, “Move, Dick.”

“You know I can’t do that, sweetheart,” He says it so easily, with a sorrowful sigh and undisputed repentance, that you almost buy the sincerity he’s trying to sell. Unfortunately, for him, you’re not in the market for his misery. He’s a few years too late. Dick can turn his charm up to ten thousand- he can say all the right things and plead with his perfect crystalline eyes- but you won’t risk everything you’ve fought for for a few crocodile tears. You know, now, that you’re better than that. One way or another, you’re getting out of this bathroom- and if you have to go through him to do so, then so be it.

“And you know I’m not above fighting you, right?” He’s entirely unprepared for your snark, the bite that fuels your reply nearly nipping his sense of control straight from the palm of his hand. It’s obvious that this isn’t the same game that it once was, but something much more dangerous. “The dance wasn’t enough?” With your arms across your chest, you challenge, and he hates the way you’re looking at him- like your eyes are piercing straight through him instead of actually looking at him. If you bothered to look closely enough, you’d be able to decipher all of the blatant emotions he’s never been the greatest at hiding. One look and you’d see him- and his heart beating proudly on his sleeve. It’s why you don’t spare him a glance. “You still feeling nostalgic for old times? Because this feels awfully familiar, doesn’t it?”

“What are you going to do with the money?” He asks, fighting to keep his voice stern. His poker face was never the best- or, maybe you could just read him better than most people could. Still, as he stands before you, he grapples with his devotion to whatever this competition is. This clash will never see a winner- only two losers- and he knows it. You do, too- but unlike him, you’re not willing to back down without a fight.

“Give it back to those who rightfully deserve it.” He doesn’t deserve your honesty. He has no right to the truth, but you don’t have it in you to scheme an elaborate lie. However gratifying it might’ve been to feed him false information and watch him fly in circles, you’re too exhausted for mental gymnastics. Like clockwork, you give, and he takes- his stare narrowing, almost accusatorially.

“And who are you to decide who rightfully deserves it?” There’s an edge to his question- like he can’t fathom justice without his divine intervention- and it’s grating, the way he can make you feel so small, and worthless with a single sentence. His arrogance is astounding. Who was he to seek vengeance against Slade Wilson? Who was he to target Heartless? Who was he to sentence Tony Zucco to his death- by placing him behind bars, and granting other enemies easy access to the crime lord, which ultimately led to his demise? The self-righteous guilt trip nearly gives you whiplash from how fast it makes your head spin. He’s no different than you are- no better or worse, since you operate on the same playing field. He doesn’t get to act like he is. Someone needs to knock him down a few pegs, and you’re happily up for the challenge.

“Who are you to try to stop me?”

“Someone who knows you,” He replies, instinctively. “Someone who’s a friend, not a foe.”

“Hmm,” With a bitter laugh, your stomach churns- twisting, clenching, and swirling with swells of irritation, regret, and sorrow- and although it’s a familiar discomfort, it’s been years since you’ve felt the threat of splintering cracks, chipping away at the stone-cold facade of your exterior. Come to think of it, the last time you felt this way was when Selina had told you that Dick left for San Francisco. The reminder fills you with a bitterness you’ve long tried to suppress, and as it bubbles to the surface, so do all of the repressed thoughts and emotions that’ve haunted you for years.

For a moment, you ache- chasing forgotten remembrance plagued by wistfulness. Then, you burn.

“Friends call every once in a while, and if they can’t make it to a phone, they send a postcard to let you know that they’re still alive and well.” Vexation forces your eyes to narrow, the color of your eyes morphing into something much more bleak. With a heavy exhale- filled with frustration and a semblance of humility- you remind him, “Friends don’t disappear into thin fucking air without letting you know why- especially, after those friends, were always a little more than just friends.” There’s a darkness behind your eyes that Dick’s not familiar with, and a weight settles in the hollow emptiness of his chest before sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. His jaw clenches and he swallows thickly- the tastes of bile, rue, and shame all indiscernible from one another as he forces them back down.

He knows you’re right.

While his absence was abrupt, it had nothing to do with any ill will towards you. There was never a falling out- no crossing a line of no return or being pushed past a point that shattered a shared fantasy. Though the bullet posed no real threat of death by passing through his arm- beyond the phantom agony of lead tearing through flesh, and the hot, wet feeling of crimson pouring from the wound- a part of Dick Grayson did, in fact, die that night, at the hands of the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime set off a domino effect when he fired at the young Boy Wonder, inevitably altering the course of his life forever. Acts of violent intent seldom harm a single soul, and as if it were fated, you became another casualty from an attack that was never meant for you.

When Bruce fired Dick, he was angry. Back then, thoughts of hanging up the cape never, ever, crossed his mind. Back then, he was content with fighting crime alongside his mentor, and never really considered what would happen next- or if there’d even be a next, or an after. He felt betrayed, abandoned, and filled with cynicism. As selfish as it was, you weren’t even really an afterthought in the downfall of his life caving in and swallowing him whole. He needed time to heal- time to rebuild- and prioritize who he was when he wasn’t hiding in the shadows left behind by a cape and cowl. Years passed, and with time to reflect, Dick’s bitter resentment morphed into a new kind of devotion to himself, and the few that started to look to him for guidance.

Before the Titans, he never really considered himself to be a leader. He spent most of his life abiding by rules and plans- roles and paths- that were set for him by another. Had he been hungry for control before, his first real taste solidified an insatiable appetite for the very thing he felt himself deprived of for too many years. Though, he’d come to learn that there was an ugly side to the power he wielded. Some days, the responsibility felt like a burden, and others, he felt like his guilt and uncertainty would swallow him whole. He bottled up all of his doubts, packed them somewhere deep inside the closed-off caverns in his heart where darker demons haunted, and forced them elsewhere- out of sight, and out of mind, but never truly gone.

It’s not fair that, somehow, you’ve come to possess the key that matches the lock on his Pandora’s box. Every emotion, every feeling, and every thought meant to be suppressed and banished to a place where they couldn’t torment or harm him, refuses to go gently when one simple, magnetic look threatens to release them from their cages of skin and bone. The most daunting realization of all, however, is that he’s the one to blame- for everything.

For all of it.

Selfishly, he’s hoped for an ember amongst the carnage he’s created. He’s held onto some convoluted idea of hope that whatever was once alight could be reignited again if he fully committed himself to an apology, but he failed to acknowledge the amount of ashes he’d have to sift through for a hint of a spark. There’s too much disappointment, too much duplicity, regret, and time passed between the two of you for things to ever revert back to even a semblance of what they once were.

He looks to you now, and he sees it- your anger is a mask for your pain. It’s so faint he almost misses it, but your lip threatens to wobble. Beyond the wrath you try to convey with the narrowed glare of your eyes, he watches as thinly veiled yearning mingles with what’s left of the color of your irises- simultaneously faint, yet prominent to the only other person who knows what it’s like to push away the person you love. What Dick and you shared wasn’t love, but it could’ve been and that’s what you’re both mourning- what could’ve been.

“You and I aren’t friends, Dick.” He hates the finality behind your conviction. It’s so cold, and void of the warmth he associated with you once upon a time. A split second threatens to expose the façade, and you blink back tears instead of allowing them to fall- swallowing emotion and banishing it elsewhere. Feelings have no place here. Instead, you grit your teeth, clenching them together so tightly that your jaw begins to ache. He watches you struggle to commit to the act- because that’s what your rage is, an outlet for your passions- and as you take a step closer toward him, his breath hitches. “Now, get out of my way,”

Toe to toe, you meet his gaze, and no matter how hard you try to fight it, despite your best efforts to disguise what you truly feel, Dick sees right through you- recognizing the parts of you that you try to mold and shape into something else. After all, he’s your greatest weakness- and you’re his. You always have been, and he always will be.

He dares to move. This close, he resists the urge to reach out for you and never let you go again, but this isn’t about him. It’s about you. Hesitantly, he raises his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as the shaky tips of his fingers graze your chin with a tenderness you’ve sought since the last time you felt it. The air is tense, passed back and forth by sharp breaths and thundering pulses- intimate with warmth and affection that mimics that of a simpler time- and when his palm rests against your cheek, cradling it with such gentle endearment in the face of betrayal, you let him. Dick’s throat bobs, and he pours everything he can’t bring himself to say into such a delicate touch. Every apology he wishes he had the courage to speak aloud, every declaration of devotion he was too afraid to voice, and every inevitable truth he attempted to ignore lingers, and you can feel it- in every shy stroke of his thumb across your cheek.

“You’re not going to distract me,” A single tear merges with the pad of his thumb- a testament to your resilience, but no match for the broken, battered, beaten bond you share with the man before you- and your certainty begins to dwindle. There’s a string that ties you to him- an invisible thread strong enough to stitch the two of you back together when you should remain apart- but you’re destined for him, the same way he’s always been destined for you.

It was foolish to believe any differently.

“I’m not trying to distract you,” Barely above a whisper, he pleads, desperate to make you understand, “I’m trying to apologize.”

He hangs his head with defeat, his shoulder slumping forward as he peers down at you. He’s never known such cruel torture. Such sick and twisted suffering is self-inflicted. The past erodes his future, but he can’t stop himself from resurrecting his demons. Foolishly, he invites them to haunt him further- and you’re no exception. His tightrope is stretched taut, and it’s a long way down. How much longer can he balance between anemoia and actuality before tipping one way or the other? It’s insanity- repeating the same act and hoping for a different outcome- but Dick can’t bring himself to accept that this time won’t be different. If nothing else, the possibility that this never-ending game could crown two winners is enough for him to play the martyr, and suffer whatever repercussions might follow after barring himself whole. What more does he have to lose, if not everything he’s already lost, again?

It would be so easy to reach past him and turn the lock in your favor, granting your escape. Hell, with the way he’s looking at you now, you know that he wouldn’t even put up a fight. He’d let you waltz right past him, slipping through his fingers for the umpteenth time because he knows that this time won’t be the last. It never is. Visions blurred by uncertainty flash before your eyes- infinite possibilities, each with consequences and punishments, rewards and sacrifices- but the unknown doesn’t elicit the same adrenaline-filled excitement that it once did. Maybe because this time, Dick isn’t fighting back. Surrendering his shield, he abandons resistance- instead, entrusting you with the vulnerability that spills from his heart, blood crimson against his fingers as he squeezes it with each thump and thud- crumbling before you, and submitting everything he has to give to you. Even if he can’t bring himself to support your cause.

You lean in closer, drawn to him- the same way you always have been, and likely, always will be- and your palm hovers over his chest. For a second, it’s unclear whether or not you’re going to reach out for him or push him away, but when your hand meets the fabric that covers hard muscle, you know you’re done for- because in the same ways he’s willing to fall before you, you’re willing to fall before him, too. Over and over again. Repeatedly and infinitely.

“Well, you have impeccable timing,” Your reproach is close enough for him to taste. It wavers against his lips and slips past his tongue, allowing him to savor parts of you he hasn’t been allowed to indulge in for so long. There’s no mistaking the invitation of your reprover, and Dick’s palm rests against your lower back, coaxing you closer towards him as his nose brushes against yours. It’s dizzying, and your arms find their way around his neck to steady yourself when he rests his forehead against yours with a soft sigh. The irony of the situation isn’t lost upon you- even when the two of you have ceded to one another, you’re still fighting to see who will give in first. As if he’s come to the realization at the same time, a large hand- rough and callused, but soft and tender in the way that it trembles against your cheek with anticipation- encourages you to tilt your head back, and you follow his lead. You hold your breath as your lips part, and Dick surges forward, slotting his mouth against yours in a kiss that’s fueled by the release of years of pent-up longing, need, and want. The gesture is foreign, yet familiar. Reminiscent of the past, yet entirely new. Everything you remember and everything you’ve ever dreamed of merge together in this moment and bring life to what had only ever been fantasy before his lips found yours once more.

It’s exhilarating.

“I missed you,” The affirmation rumbles against your skin, warm with fervor and urgency, and it’s completely unnecessary- considering that each movement acts as a balm to soothe wounds of time, fear, and doubt- but he vows with each breath, relying on words to convey what his actions can not, and vice versa. Masks are off. Shields have been abandoned. Capes remain long forgotten at the door. This is no longer about duty or morality. No, this moment is about two people seeking confirmation for what they’ve always known to be true- that a love unspoken, but never absent has always existed between them. Two people- not vigilantes or heroes- two hearts, beating to guide the other back, are bare, open, honest, and raw without the theatrics of a chase or the pretense of a game. Surrender invites you to balance on the edge of a precipice, and you’re the first to lose your footing.

Desperation is an influence, and his lapels wrinkle with the severity of your hold. Through the haze of everything unknown, he’s the only thing that’s clear, and you reach for him- blindly, but intentionally- clawing at the fabric that keeps him from you. Clashing teeth and bruising grips don’t elicit pain, not when real suffering exists in the absence of the other, and you allow him to paint you violet, blue, green, and red with desire, becoming the embodiment of his want. Your only regret is that the evidence of this divine crime will eventually fade away to nothing more than a memory- another ache that will never dull, a moment so unique that it can never be replicated. As you rejoice, you mourn.

“Sure you did.” His blazer drops to the floor as you follow your script, hardly taking a moment to realize that the page you’re reading from is blank- without word or direction- as you venture into unknown territory. Even when you don’t mean to be, you’re combative. Even when you don’t want to be, you’re still on edge. This is different. This already feels different than before, and maybe it’s because there’s a lot more at stake now that both of you have already lost one another, but for as overdue as this homecoming is, something subconsciously prolongs it further.

“No, really, I-“ He begins, ready to mold rhetoric and force it to take on a form that would allow you to see just how much you mean to him, but that would make this real, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for this to be real yet- because if this is real, if this isn’t just a cruel imitation of memory like so many variations before or a concocted fantasy so vivid you can feel yourself shaking, then that means you can lose it all, again. Just like last time. Within your grip, one minute, slipping through your fingers the next.

“Don’t.” Fear sounds different when there’s a bite to it. It could almost pass as annoyance, if you’re able to keep your voice just steady enough, and he mistakes the command for irritation, rather than the timidity it actually is. Whatever you’ve intended and he’s interpreted gets lost along the way, and he takes a hesitant step back. It’s impossible not to lunge for him as he retreats, but you remain still- your breath hitching when he holds both hands out to you, surrendering his palms while he shows he meant no harm.

“Can I…”

“You don’t have to ask,” You silence his fears quickly, closing the space between you before you even realize that you’ve taken a step. This self-sacrificial eagerness to light yourself on fire just to keep him warm has always been one of your greatest downfalls, but a most ardent gesture, and with ash on your tongue and soot in your lungs, you strike a match the minute he begins to second guess himself. “Just pretend it’s like before.” The suggestion sounds just as unsure as you are, but with a heavy breath, you encourage, “Pretend that nothing’s changed…pretend that we’re still…” You can’t even bring yourself to say it, because the kids you were back then are gone. They’re never coming back. You can’t avenge them or try to seek vengeance for what they’ve lost. It’s over for them, but this is just the start of this new beginning for the two of you. “Just for tonight.”

He moves promptly, gathering the skirts of your dress in one hand, fisting the fabric- a blue so dark he mistook it for black, or perhaps it was, until his fingertips were close enough to paint the illusion with light, making it appear different than it was- without any regard for creases or lingering proof of your affair. Support rests at your back, his chest firm and protective as you lean into the rippling muscle, and Dick continues to illuminate shadows of the past with each touch- eager to help you forget all of the agonies suffered at his hands in favor of remembering glimpses of peace. He’s ready to give you more than just a taste. Now, he wants to gorge you with the pleasure he’s reserved.

His hands shake- not with hesitancy, but anticipation, and when you catch his eye in the mirror, you shiver. You’ve never seen a blue so dark it looks black- until now. Without warning, he mouths at your neck- kissing, sucking, biting, any part of you he can get his lips on- reacquainting himself with parts of you that were once so familiar, and you allow him to explore. Blindly, you reach for one of his hands, taking it in your own, and he begins to intertwine his fingers with yours, but you gently guide his hand where you want it most- and he lets you, following your lead just as impulsively. You jolt at the first brush of his fingertips between your legs, even though you were expecting it, and he lets out a few ragged breaths against the back of your neck. It’s paradoxical, the chills that contradict the flush of your skin, but this relationship has never really made sense before. Why should that change now?

Almost as if he’s in a trance, Dick is overwhelmed by the twists and turns of the evening, but the whiplash is starting to subside in favor of something much more exhilarating. He never thought he’d have this again. He believed moments like these to be lost to time, and he wasted years grieving memories he could never replicate, only to feel the weight of your body against his once more. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything he never knew he wanted or needed until it was stolen from him, swiped right out from under his nose by his own negligence. He won’t make the same mistakes this time. No, this time, he’s going to do it right. He’s going to-

“Fuck,” When you grow tired of his stalling, you force his hand, again. This time, when your fingers meet his wrist, you press your palm on top of his- coercing him to mimic the shape- and maybe you’re the one in control, or maybe he finally rises to the occasion, but with a newfound determination, he cups your cunt- a choked sound catching in his throat when he feels how wet you are. You briefly wonder how something so vulgar can sound so pretty, but you already know the answer- it’s him. It’s always been him. Had it been anyone else, the effect would cease to exist, but it’s Dick, and that desire- that pull that you can’t ever deny- will always bind you to him.

You can’t help yourself from rutting against his palm, and he presses himself further into your back, allowing you to feel the hard outline of his cock against your ass. The hand that isn’t between your legs rests on your arm, and when he tries to hold your hand, you don’t deny him. There’s just too much fabric for you to hold in just one hand and some of it drapes over his forearm, but you manage to keep most of it from obscuring his movements. It’s a strange angle, and both of you are fumbling to make it work, but you crane your neck in search of him, and he answers your call with an eager kiss. Your tongue caresses his, savoring the feeling and committing it to memory, just in case-

He swallows your surprised gasp when he nudges your panties aside and begins to circle your clit. With just a bit of pressure, a crease forms where your eyebrows pull together, and you untangle your hand from his hold to brace yourself against the counter. It’s been a while since someone else has touched you, and it’s been even longer since the last time Dick had, but it’s so much better than evocations of pleasure. You swear figments are tangible. Spurred on by the reaction his touch has coaxed from you, he’s torn between making the moment last as long as possible or picking up the pace. He settles on the latter, considering that if this is heading the way he hopes it’s heading, he’ll have all the time in the world to make it up to you, but right now, he’s on borrowed time. You both are. With the reminder looming overhead, he adjusts his hand so that he can continue to work your clit while lining up a finger with your pussy. You’re so wet, and warm when he curls his middle finger inside, and he can’t remember why he ever left in the first place. What persuaded him away from Gotham when you were always right here? Would you have waited for him? Would you have followed him if he asked you to? He supposes none of that matters now, but he can’t help but wonder…

He adds a second finger, and even though your body gives little resistance to the intrusion, you groan at the feeling. His fingers are so long, reaching that spot inside of you that your fingers are just too short to reach, and they’re thick enough for you to feel yourself stretching around him with each thrust- not enough to cause pain, but an ache that serves as a reminder that it’s been too long since the last time you’ve had him like this. You vow not to let another ten years pass before you let him have you, again.

He continues a steady pace, curling his fingers in such a way that sweat begins to glisten across your chest, and when a third finger threatens to join his others, you wrap your hand around his wrist- abruptly halting his movements.

“N-not enough time,” He doesn’t even get the chance to ask before you supply him with an answer, but he nods in understanding once you offer an explanation. He’s already reaching for his belt, unbuckling the clasp and roughly shoving his slacks down before you have a chance to catch your breath, and you’re grateful- if the speed in which he undresses is any indication of his own eagerness- that he’s just as desperate for you, as you are for him. Taking a moment to adjust your skirts so that you don’t have to hold them, you bunch them above your hips and lean forward, resting your forearms against the counter while Dick frees himself from his boxers, and when you look back in the mirror and catch sight of his cock behind you, you can’t help but swallow thickly.

He strokes himself a few times, smearing the pre-cum beading from his slit down his shaft as he prepares to take you. This doesn’t feel like last time. As he reaches for your waist and lines himself up with your cunt, this doesn’t feel like last time at all. This is new, and different and everything he’s wanted ever since the last time he had you in his grasp. This time, he won’t let you get away. With as much self-restraint as he can manage, you feel the tip of his cock against your opening, slowly splitting you open, and your back arches. Your own strangled cry prompts a groan from him he sinks into you, inch by inch until his hips are flush against you. You’re so full that you’re not sure if it’s too much or not enough.

“I’ve got you,” Dick assures, his grip on your hip tightening when he feels you struggling to accommodate him. He tries to be a gentleman. He tries to give you a few minutes to adjust- even though he wants nothing more than to take what’s right under his nose, what’s always been his- but his restraint snaps when he feels you begin to rock back against him.

“Move,” You command, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. With your permission, he’s happy to follow orders and obliges with a sharp thrust upwards. The sound you make is a mix between a sob and a moan, and his fingers flex against your hip as he repeats the action.

“I forgot…” Through clenched teeth, he confesses, and you don’t think anything of the admission, too lost within your own feelings to attempt to decipher his. Instead, he wraps an arm around your waist, offering thick muscle to serve as a buffer between your body and the stone he has you pressed up against- relying on intimate gestures to make up for words lost in translation. Even now, when you’re not on the same page, you still know. Somehow, you know, and he does, too. Every time. Without fail. Always. Your head rolls back to meet his shoulder, and your fingertips claw at the back of his neck awkwardly, with transparent desperation to pull him closer. Within reach isn’t close enough. Near is too far. With a muted gasp, you push back to meet his next thrust, and he hisses softly before elaborating, “I’m so sorry if I made you forget.”

“Dick-“ Realization begins to splinter the mirage of bliss, and you manage to say his name with enough caution to serve as a warning. You don’t want to think about the past. Not right now. Not when you can see your future so clearly in the foggy reflection of the vanity. He wraps his hand around your neck, encouraging you to bare your throat to him and he licks at the vein that calls out to him.

“I won’t let you forget, not this time.” He vows, bucking his hips faster and faster as you whine in his hold. In some sick twisted way, he loves that he’s the only one who has this power over you- that he’s the only one who could ever elicit such a reaction- and it’s a testament to how much the two of you care for one another; the influence both of you have over one another. “This time, I want to remember.”

It’s going to be impossible not to.

“I-“ He can barely get a word out with how good you feel around him, and he takes a breath before trying again. “I know you want to pretend, but fuck…I can’t.” Dick wraps his arm around you, guiding your back to rest against his chest, and one of his large hands splays across your stomach, where he can feel himself inside of you. “I really did miss you,” Somehow he manages to find his voice. “Not just like this, either,”

“I-I missed you, too.” You don’t seem certain, not with the way you stutter, but your reply is genuine. It only appears dubious because Dick’s palm begins to press against you, and you all but choke on your confession. He can’t help himself, but neither can you.

“I’m close,” He rasps, brokenly. “Shit,” His thrusts begin to falter, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Are you-“

“Yes!” You yelp when his fingers start circling your clit, and he doesn’t relent, even when he feels you start to tremble beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by him, in the best way possible, and as eager as you are to chance your release, a part of you never wants this moment to end. “Dick, please d-don’t stop,” Your muscles grow taut, and when his thrusts lose their precision, you know that he’s almost there. “Just like before,” You encourage him, clenching hard when he bites your shoulder and your orgasm washes over you. “J-just like before.”

He knows what you’re asking for. He understands what you’re practically begging for, and in a fleeting moment of clarity, he catches a glimpse of the faded scar on your arm- his only regret being the fact that an implant still stands in the way of what he truly wants with you- but the thought disappears as quickly as it materializes.

A few seconds more and he grunts against your neck, pulling your hips to meet his and spilling himself inside of you. It’s even better than you remember and your body shakes with aftershocks of pleasure. Luckily, he’s there to keep you upright. Your vision starts to blur and the only sound you’re able to make out is both of you struggling to catch your breaths. With a heavy sigh, he pulls out, and you can feel his cum start to leak from you, but you’re too disoriented to clean it up. Instead, you lean forward, relying on the countertop for support as you hang your head and try to come back to your senses.

Dick leaves a trail of soft kisses down the back of your neck and his forehead is both warm and damp when it meets your shoulder, resting comfortably against your skin while he takes a minute to catch his breath, and these sensations- these tiny little reminders that he’s here, this moment is present and real- ground you. Where your mind is a mess, reeling with indecision, emotions, and thoughts you can’t yet process, your body is at ease.

As your eyes flutter shut, greedy gulps of air fail to satisfy your lungs, and you swallow thickly, allowing pressure to build up in your chest until you simply can’t take it anymore. Darkness saturates all that you can see, and you’re caught in a void- trapped, without any light to guide you back home. The gentle caress of his touch along your arm brands you, flush enough to make you burn with reminders of this fleeting moment- when embers of devotion inevitably fade into ashes- and you stiffen in his hold, not that he’s coherent enough to notice.

He seems to be in his little world as he tucks himself back into his pants and presses another gentle kiss to your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you. Violent delights really do have violent ends and it’s not fair that you let it get this far without thinking about the consequences of your actions. None of this would’ve happened if you just let yourself love him- without fear, without judgment, without regret- and if you had just been honest with yourself all those years ago, this mess would’ve never spiraled so far out of your control.

Whatever repercussion await you, you’ll brave. Regardless of what happens next, you know that you have to tell him the truth- even if it kills you. The thought is often more daunting than the action itself, but as you turn yourself around in his arms so that you’re facing him, you’re petrified.

“I’m sorry,” The magnitude of your apology isn’t supported by the handful of letters that arrange themselves as they slip past your tongue. There has to be a better way to express your remorse, but if one exists it evades you. Over and over again, the same words come to mind and it’s not fair that you know exactly what you want to say, but you just can’t find the right words to absolve your shame. At your inability to voice your regret, frustration overwhelms you. Your lips part, ready to divulge your sins, but only a pathetic, meek sigh comes out. Why is this so difficult? You know the answer, and yet, you play the part of the fool- leaning on ignorance as a crutch for what you can’t bring yourself to brave. He deserves it, doesn’t he? The truth- not something partial, but whole. Transparency is the only piece left of a nearly complete puzzle, the only thing keeping this tragic tale of two lovers who break each other’s hearts only to stitch them back together again from reaching its inevitably doomed end. When your lip begins to tremble, Dick reaches for you, pulling you into his chest and embracing you in a hold that’s absolutely suffocating. You don’t deserve his kindness. You don’t deserve his love or affection- his tenderness or his forgiveness.

You don’t deserve him.

“Me too,” He sighs into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before resting his head on top of yours. You can hear his heart- how steady it beats- and the sound rivals the racing of your own where it threatens to burst straight from your chest, and your eyes flutter shut, savoring the gentle lull of his own serenity before you poison his relief with your own disruption. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how difficult it may be, you know that you have to tell him. With a breath, you prepare for carnage.

“No, Dick, I-“

“Dick? Are you in here?” Barbara’s voice seeps through the wooden barrier that separates the two of you from the rest of the world- from reality- and as soon as she calls out to him, the illusion of tranquility is broken. Of course, it’s her. Of course, she’d be the one to interrupt you before you had the chance to speak, and of course, it would be her that drives a wedge further between the two of you with one simple revelation, “They’re getting away!”

It’s almost impossible to miss the sounds of commotion that follow her declaration. Faint screams and chaos replace the background of symphony strings and he turns to you then, a divot dividing the smooth skin of his forehead while his eyes narrow. Blue is black. Dark, and unmistakable. The muscle in his jaw looks like it’s about to burst with the severity of his clenching and his nostrils flare with a shallow exhale. It’s excruciating to watch him slip back into consciousness after being caught up in a dream, but a nightmare unfolds before you, twisting your stomach into knots so intricate they threaten to snap. You can’t breathe, and when you gather enough courage to finally take a step forward, he takes a step back. He’s never looked at you with so much hostility before, and you open your mouth to explain, to shower him with honesty and desperate pleas to make him understand that this wasn’t meant to happen like this, but no sound comes out. Not even a sigh. Not even a huff. Not even a pathetic, broken whimper. Nothing.

Unfortunately, Dick’s left to draw his own conclusions- to fill in the gaps in which your silence fails to atone for your crimes- and he paints a picture so drastically different from the truth, relying on his interpretation to establish a story so vivid he believes it to be real- even if it’s a figment of his own imagination, a product of his own devastation. Dispelled doubts come rushing back, and he allows them to influence the narrative- since you still can’t seem to find your voice- and everything left unsaid becomes louder in the silence. He mistakes your tears for guilt, instead of recognizing the regret and shame that mingle with saltwater. As gutted as he is, he looks to you for an explanation, but you can’t bring yourself to justify what you’ve done- even if it wasn’t your intention. Distracting him was part of the plan. Keeping him occupied was your mission, but confessing your true feelings and allowing yourself to fall back in love with him- not just the idea of what it would be like to love him- wasn’t part of your job description.

The second your paths crossed again, you were done for. It was never about seeking vengeance or getting even for the hurt that he caused you, because the minute that Dick waltzed back into your life, you knew you were doomed- because he makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak- and you let him. Every single time. Always and forever. Infinitely.

When he looks at you, he looks past you and towards your belongings on the counter. No. You shake your head, vehemently encouraging him to look away. If his eyes would just meet yours, if only for a second, you know you could save this. If not for the sake of putting broken pieces back together you could at least salvage fragments amongst the wreckage, but he doesn’t spare you a glance. No, no, no. His attention is solely on the expensive stone behind you, and when you reach out for him, your fingertips shaking as you grasp his bicep with all of the strength you can muster, he shakes you off of him.

Everything splinters.

When he reaches for your earring, you know that this is the end. It’s all over. A new moment will erase everything you thought you knew about pain, heartbreak, suffering, and betrayal. This moment, as it unfolds before you, will plague you until you meet your demise, because the second that he dares to bring the jewel up to his own ear, the exact moment that he hears Selina’s command through the gravely static of the earpiece you discarded earlier in the evening, you know that any hope for a future together vanishes- ripped straight from your fingers before you even had the chance to hold onto it and guard it with your life.

Even with his back towards you, you can see his face harden in the reflection of the mirror. Through the thin material of his crumbled dress shirt his shoulders tense and when he finally looks up to meet your stare through the glass, all traces of red, green, and yellow are gone. A piece of him- the piece of him that you’re most familiar with- dies, sprawled out and oozing across the marble. It’s too late to try to revive him. All that’s left in the wake of his slaughter is blue and black.

Blue and black, forevermore.

There’s nothing left for either of you here. Not anymore. Hope begins to decay, and the hollow hole in your chest that only he could ever fill begins to die from rot. Nothing will ever be the same. Not after this. Perhaps the final thought passed back and forth between a glare is the last thing you’ll ever share- beyond moments of destruction and beautiful chaos- but it’s clear to you both, that not all ghosts are meant to be resurrected.

Some ghosts should just stay ghosts.

a/n: hey, I’m raen and I’m down bad for this man lol…anyway, I’ve been working on this story for months. I literally poured bits and pieces of my soul into this (so if you wouldn’t mind interacting or providing feedback I’d be forever grateful) but I just wanted to write a tale of doomed lovers who care about each other in such a way that it leads to their downfall. I wanted this to hurt, and I hope it did- in the best way possible! I’m not above begging, so please, please, please feel free to send some feedback- as this is my first time writing for Dick and I would love to hear what people think! that being said, requests are also open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! 

everyone who requested to be tagged: @js-favnanadoongi @kalulakunundrum @1lellykins @octodog17 @novelizt @nesta-houseofwindfantasy @corgiqween576 @whiteglovemanor @godcreatoreli @lassmich1 @consternat1on @deffnotnia @haloney @iananiko @noodlesketchbook @thescarletcryptid @obsessedwthdilfs @vanice-e @taintedmaroon @holybatflapexpert @whatismypurpos @heylookwhoitis @corpseflower6 @heavenlym0chi @lokiwannacry @boywondergrayson @tetzoro @oiztsy @naf3211

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#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson smut #dick grayson fanfic #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson angst #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing smut #batfam #batfam smut #batfam angst #dc titans #dc imagine #dc comics imagine #dc smut #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n

[shanieveh]

“ forget me not... ”

synopsis: neuvillette, too late to confess his love to you, is drowning from the suffering and regret that came along with it, especially after knowing that you felt the same all along.

tags: gn!reader x neuvillette, depression and low self-esteem, bittersweet ending, mentions of freminet, lynette and melusines, heavily implied reader death and neuvillette also kinda wanting to die

a/n: people want this and i have came to deliver (hopefully) enjoy~ this is my first long fic that i published

How can this be….?

Neuvillette sat in the corner of his office, all your letters in his right hand. How can you say you loved him… how dare you describe the love, the passion, everything you felt for him when he can't even say it back.

How can you love someone so unlovable?

His silent cries can't match up to the violent outbursts of the skies outside. Days went by when he first found out, the melusines were scared to death about who would report it to him. The way you dissolved into water, not even seeing you for the last time—not having the privilege to have a proper funeral.

He failed you… the monsieur wasn't too sure on many things but this one was certain.

Reading your diaries, knowing your thoughts and hopes for the future. It was an invasion of privacy but also in a way… the last remnants of your existence. One such entry was that of three years ago where you first met.

Encountering this, a profuse blush colored his face. The adjectives being used "handsome", "tall" and "kind" for your first meetingwith the chief justice. Far from the truth really, although Neuvillette knew you meant every word.

You always did.

You always were an honest person.

The very first day his lavender eyes met yours, to the very last. There was never a trace of impurity or a hint of a liar. Of course, the verdict went in your favor, because to him a precious rose like you can never steal and the plaintiffs were wrong.

Reading it now, not even a slightly negative comment was made to those who wrongly accused you.

"Maybe they had their reasons, after all, I was also in need of money at that time." you wrote. Adding on that you defended the "Monsieur Neuvillette" when people called "such a man of honor and kindness" a "merciless and arrogant man".

A man of honor and kindness? Your words became running thoughts in the hydro dragon's head. That day was one of the only days he didn't cry after a trial. Neuvillette was just happy that such a person of integrity was cleared of their name.

He turned through the pages of the diary, how you taught him to socialize and even mend his relationship with the hydro archon.

"Monsieur Neuvillette was too adorable! Being with a person of lowly status and treating me with such respect and humility, he truly is the epitome of mercy and loveliness."

How can you be so blind? Anyone with eyes will know that it's a privilege to be with someone so beautiful, especially to be with someone like Neuvillette. A cold and repulsive soul. You make him sound like a good person, when in fact he isn't both good and human.

He was a monster… these words of humanity you always used to describe a monster. Why do they sound so genuine? Why do they look so real? Maybe only you can make him like that, you and only you.

A few pages later he finally saw the words…

Words that should've made him scream in euphoria… tore him to a million pieces. Because even before this he already loved you… because you had so much time to confess but never did… and never will.

"I think I'm in love with the chief Justice."

And after that, he couldn't even get himself to read, he couldn't. His eyes got so blurry to see, his heart became too heavy to feel. Why were you… why you? In a world filled with monsters, they chose an angel. They chose a soul that still wanted to live, love and give. Those demons… despicable.

Remembering his shortcomings, maybe in some way he could've avoided all of this. Neuvillette shouldn't have given you his blessing to investigate the serial disappearance case.

But that glint of adventure in your eyes… he was too soft to reject you.

It was all his fault.

Wiping his tears he looked at the last entry of the diary… Oh.

Oh.

"After this investigation, I'll finally confess to him… I surely hope Neuvillette feels the same way, I even planted some forget-me-nots to give him in the backyard so that he'll know when it rains and he weeps. I will always be here."

The chief justice didn't know what was coming to him but he started running… and only then can he see the state of Fontaine. Many flowers have wilted and only a few people were outside. What had he become..?

"What's up with this weather? It isn't even the rainy season yet?!" A shop owner complained.

"I know! My crops have been drowning these days, at this rate if it doesn't stop we'll have a famine!"

It was all his fault, his running turned to a slow walk taking in all that he had done. This was all because of him. The lonely streets, the lowered morale. This was all because—

"Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, please don't cry!"

He turned to the voice and saw a young boy in the distance. Neuvillette remembered now, his name was Freminet. That child on which you doted extremely, giving him sweets and hushing his tears. The chief justice quickly let go of his gaze and continued to walk.

"You see Freminet, it didn't work... let's go inside."

The response was that of a stoic young woman, but he just continued his legs even if they wanted to rest all to see the last thing you cared for… those flowers. And when he finally was at the destination he saw it immediately outside.

It was in the bushes, he couldn't miss it. Every corner of your house was haunted, every tiny thing was a memory. The chairs you painted, the drawings pinned in the cabinet of you and him with the melusines. It was precious. All of it. Just as you are.

He finally saw them, most were almost to bloom and some were wilted. Picking one he unconsciously kissed it, perhaps mistaking it for you. These flowers were made to remind him he was never alone, but now he is.

More alone than he can ever be in one lifetime. Your scent still filled every corner, a remembrance of the biggest "what if" in his life. Your will stated that every single thing of yours is his just as you were always his. Bittersweet was he when reading it.

Neuvillete forgot that too included your house, maybe he was too consumed with your thoughts to visit this place. He was twisting the poor flower that looked so tiny compared to his hand. Perhaps that's what it's like to be with him. It's a curse…

He continues to caress the flowers, to treat them as if they were you. You were wrong on one thing about this, even if there were no flowers he will never forget you. Never, no way! The love he has for you can destroy nations and can cause millions of sacrifices. Just to keep you, to see your smile again.

But he can't even do that, you didn't give him the privilege to do something for you. If only he knew, he would've… done everything for you. The love that can create the strongest of floods failed to protect the one person he was supposed to protect.

At that moment, he felt the waters, the ocean, his home… you. It made his crying bearable, somewhat. Grief that could surpass a lifetime, wasn't enough. Nothing he can do will ever be enough to have you again. Perhaps he should also leave this world to stop being a burden to the people… and maybe to see you again.

"Neuvillette…"

Now he was even imagining your voice, or was he? Maybe he was delusional but he still followed your voice even if it took him to an unknown path. But the end was in a small pond, where you used to keep the fish, all of which were alive and well.

"Neuvillette…?"

At this he didn't even care if was going insane, your voice sounded like a melody even if it uttered his name. It sounded like a rare jewel, a myth, a prophecy too good to be true.

"Darling?" He replied in a hopeful tone. He looked through his surroundings, no longer was he in a pond but a terrain of boundless water. In the middle was a flying Oceanid, a spirit. Was it—could it be?

"Even I could feel the heavy pouring of rain, monsieur… don't be sad."

It was indeed your spirit, a part of you that remained before that bastard—he'll make whoever did this pay. It wasn't for justice anymore, this one is for revenge.

"How can I not? When I have failed you over and over again, I couldn't even get to say…"

"That you love me?"

His eyes widened, looking at you. Even if it didn't look like you, he knew… he always did. A nod soon followed after that, it was barely noticeable even at this rate the chief justice was a bit shy saying it.

"I just don't know why you could ever say you love me, how you could even think of me so kindly. Why? How? How can you love me back?" He was clueless to what you mean.

"How can I not?"

The reply you uttered was one of a teary-eyed person. Even to this moment you still haven't accepted you had died, not when he was still alone needing you.

"Just as you said… how can I not? You out of all people my dear… know of the sacrifices we make for the person we love."

It was that moment where you took your normal form, you looked beautiful as the day he lost you. As beautiful as the day you met. And as you walked towards him, the clock ticking until your final goodbye, it was time.

"I love you Neuvillette, i always had and continue to do so." For the last time, you cupped his cheek and kissed him.

"I love you, darling from the very beginning and every single lifetime to come." He let go of the kiss and hugged you tight, closing his eyes, until you disappeared not knowing he was hugging his own.

Opening his eyes, the rain was long gone, and what remained were the flowers in the bushes, the ponds, the fish, and him. Maybe… just maybe he will bring you and the other victims to light.

Until then, this one last encounter and goodbye will make him content. He was sure… that finally his love will be at rest.

#neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x reader #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette x gender neutral reader #neuvillette #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin neuvillette #neuvillette angst #neuvillette imagines #neuvillette drabbles #genshin angst #genshin imagines

[makismei]

❝ ANGEL

♡ gn!reader x gojo satoru

cw: hurt/ comfort, established relationship

synopsis: gojo is so unserious, but he loves you more than you’ll ever know

wc: 1400+

notes from mei!

hello guys it’s been so long! i’ve rewatched jjk AND WATCHED JJK 0 FINALLY and felt very inspired to write lol (i fully believe gojo is a ginormous piece of shit)

i’m very rusty but i hope u enjoy!

you’ve always known satoru was far different from what people portrayed. he’s so conceited that it’s painful, but you know it’s just because he has insecurities of his own that he feels the need to hide.

he’s not as much of a ladies man as people say—of course, he can have anyone he wants, but he's only ever wanted to be yours.

i’m your perfect match, satoru says, no one can compare!

he’s scared of never-ending cycles and repeated mistakes—of things he should be able to control but somehow can’t—frankly, satoru is the epitome of bullshit.

it’s only now you’ve realized that satoru is the most flawed human you’ll probably ever meet—he’s a wuss who never stops complaining, his mouth going on and on like a never-ending siren. his favourite hobby is to get on people’s nerves then treat himself to that expensive bakery downtown.

satoru is so excellent that his flaws are dimmed by the blinding lights of his perfections.

he can get away with just about anything work wise—but with you and your relationship, there’s a line he constantly loves to jump over, even when he knows you'll never let it slide.

“satoru come on,” you say, hand reaching for his, but as you draw closer you feel a slight resistance, unable to touch him. you draw your hand back, taken aback from his behaviour.

you sigh, quiet and drawn out. gojo feels a chill run through his body as immediate regret pumps through his veins.

"baby—"

"save it, satoru."

he bites his tongue, watching as your eyes glaze over. you turn away from him, crossing your arms as if you were giving yourself a much needed hug. it's silent in his... very large and luxurious penthouse living room and you're once again reminded of the social gap between you and satoru.

for a moment, you can hear the voices of everyone mocking your relationship—criticizing you, laughing at you for even thinking special grade sorcerer gojo satoru could have a soft spot for someone like you.

and you feel played. not by him, but by yourself for believing someone born from money and blessed with strength, could love someone like you—someone who came from nothing and had to work their way up and up, kissing ass and developing thick skin.

you don't think gojo will ever understand how privileged he is.

you also don't think he'll understand how bad he is for you.

"where do you think you're going?" he calls. you think carefully, sliding on your shoes as you undo the lock on his door.

"home."

it's been two days and as your tidying up your apartment, you hear a knock at your door.

you pause, already knowing exactly who it is.

a minute—maybe five passes as you don't hear another knock. you're unnerved because you still see the shadow of him through the very bottom of your door, stubborn as he always is.

you try not to breathe too loud or move too fast, but satoru's always a step ahead and as you're opening your window to escape through the emergency stairs, he's already there.

"that's cold, my love." he says, but it's missing his usual satoru-flare and you know he's not in usual mood.

you don't think you can stomach him being in front of you.

he's wearing his sunglasses, hair down with his hand making sure your window stays open. his other is stuffed in his pocket, casual and uncaring like he always is.

"that's rich coming from you."

satoru loves you.

and it's all he can think about as he looks at you.

he knows you're more hurt than angry, and it's taken him great restraint to not harass you—lovingly—over these past two days. and when he sees you, he realizes he definitely should’ve harassed you instead.

his eyes trace your frown, your posture that shuts him out. he wonders if he'll be able to fix his big mistake.

with you in front of him, gojo doesn't feel like he's the strongest anymore. all the words he prepared to serenade you back into his arms sounded like gibberish and no longer felt right.

"why are you here, satoru?" he doesn't miss the way your voice breaks, "why do you always do this to me?"

tears begin to clump in his your lashes, throat tightening as you stare at him in disbelief. the air is so tense. you feel like you've been stripped bare as a tear rolls down your cheek.

"you make me feel so loved," your voice shakes, "you lift me up so high and make me feel so proud to be me."

satoru wants to tell you that loving you feels so natural.

"but you're so mean," you cry. the tears are falling freely now and you're choking on your words. "you do all these—all these things, making me feel special and—and seen, only for you to neglect me and twist my words a week later, because you can't handle being treated the way you treat me!"

he wants to tell you that seeing you like this is eating him alive.

"you're so ignorant—are you kidding me? thinking i'm overreacting for getting mad th—that you cancelled on like, the third rescheduled date to take on a low-level mission? and when i confronted you about it, forgave you for it, you turn on your infinity when all i wanted to do was hug you?"

your arms fall to your side, sick of his face and the way he’s just standing there silent. "it wasn't even about the date. i feel like you're bored of me and everyone who said we wouldn't last—"

"don't finish that sentence." he interrupts, no longer able to bite his tongue. his lanky figure climbs through your window and you feel even more vulnerable now that he's in your space.

"i'll never get bored of you, you keep me on my toes too much." he lays his cards on the table, knowing this is the last chance he has to prove he loves you more than anything on this earth. "i know how harsh you are to yourself, so i celebrate your tiny achievements because i'm genuinely proud of everything you do. i'm aware that being the best at work doesn't mean i'll be the best boyfriend. i forget that sometimes...” you glare, “most times." he corrects.

satoru takes a careful step toward you. "i care about you—more than you know, i think. you don't deserve to be neglected at all, and you don't.." he inhales through his teeth, "you don't have to put up with me if you don't want to anymore. i know how hard i make it, and i know a sorry isn't going to make it better."

you don't think you've ever seen satoru look so small.

"i can't ask you to stay with me, but we both know how selfish i am, so i'll beg you to stay with me anyways."

he doesn't miss the quick upturn of your lips. but it disappears as fast as it came.

you break eye contact and he feels his world shatter.

"how are you going to fix this?"

"...by reminding you i'm your perfect match?" he squeaks.

you sigh, "you're so unserious."

lanky arms wrap around your figure, caging you against his chest. you close your eyes, naturally sinking into his embrace. "i won't blame you if you break up with me, but i'll just let you know i'll definitely drop dead and you'll be responsible for killing the strongest sorcerer in the universe."

"that doesn’t sound that bad. everyone would know me and fear me—you know how popular i’d be?”

he's silent for a good, long second. "that's cold, my love."

it's so childish, in the way that he speaks. but in a way, he just revealed more to you than his semi-serious little monologue could ever do.

satoru is such a wuss, but he's never had someone love him like you do and he malfunctions. he can't fathom the thought of losing you, but also can't stomach the fact he's not good for you.

but he's trying. you know he is just from the way his knuckles brush against your cheek during the early hours of the morning; you know he's trying when he sneaks off during work to join you on your lunch break.

you know he’s trying because his students say he seems so gentle when he looks at you.

you know he's trying because he's here right now, after showing you he’s not the strongest despite everyone (and himself) proclaiming he is.

your arms curl around him and satoru gets his answer.

he's home.

#angel by beabadoobee ! #i was writing my debut speech for my best friend and i had the strongest urge to write for our beloved old man #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #gojo imagines #jujutsu kaisen gojo

[macabrecravings]

Question about Cain: how did he get his angel tf? And how does Sydney react to it? Because from what I've seen Cain is not doing a good job of keeping him pure...

Question about Seraphina: was her friendship with Cain always rocky? Does she hate Cain out of jealousy and envy for his seemingly privileged lifestyle and purity?

- uhm 🧙‍♂️ anon because i think its funny

GHSHEJEJEEJ OMG. Taking a break from drawing Fifi to answer this (IM SO EXCITED !!! THANK YOU FOR THE ASK :3)

Statistically speaking, Cain got his angel TF pretty easily bc the first thing I did in his save was go to the temple & become an initiate. He’s been chastity belted & anal shielded up since the first week 😭 Never had a chance to get that purity meter down LOL! Like Sydney, he works himself to the bone with temple duties & school. His grace at the temple is almost always full, but lore-wise, with the molestation and close encounters he experiences, he’s kind of worn down & his heart isn’t really in it anymore :(

When he & Sydney started dating, it said “will you keep each other pure or fall from grace together?” the second one. Sydney is absolutely corrupt and once Cain’s promiscuity is high enough they’ll be sinning like fucking crazy 😭 I’d totally get his chastity stuff removed eventually when it fits my storyline. I think Sydney feels really guilty about it sometimes- Once i had this scene where he saw Cain’s halo in the reflection of his eye and he got all guilty n his purity went up 😨

As for Cain & Seraphina!!! I def have not developed them together much hehehe but it’s so fun to think about ty for fueling it >:3

I’ve never had a set in stone reason for why any of my characters are in the orphanage, but based off of vibes alone as i’m writing this? Seraphina’s been there since she was ~6 & Cain feels like he would’ve been sent there around 11/12. (Damn!! Actually developing lore ? crazy 😨 i don’t do that hehe) I imagine they had little to no interactions growing up just bc they had nothing in common

Her disdain for him is completely one sided & yes it stems from envy & jealousy. She’d start noticing him at high trauma and start despising him for being what she thinks is the epitome of purity while she’s out here, tormented. It’d kind of be like a Kylar-watching-from afar situation, where he’s unaware of her fixation at first. She hates him because he makes himself the center of attention all the time & doesn’t seem to reap any of the consequences that she does. He’s definitely more socially & physically privileged than she is and that blinds her from the reality that— he struggles in that town as much as anyone does 😬

#i love the 🧙‍♂️ emoji i kinda feel like ik who this is 🫣 #oc: cain #oc: seraphina #dol pc #original post🍓💌 #my writing📕💌 #I GUESS #oc lore

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

1, 20, 39 for Downey and 9, 16 for Krennic?

Ooooh yes, Downey and Krennic!!

1. Canon I outright reject

Downey is a hard one because there's relatively little with him. However, there are scenes intending to paint him as an absolute idiot and that I reject. (They can be read as being refuted by other scenes. Pratchett was never good at consistency in side characters)

I can see him being blind to certain things - since he is the epitome of privilege. But which of us doesn't have massive blind spots? But to survive Snapcase, while living in Ankh-Morpork, is no small feat.

(As I always point out, Vetinari got to leave during this horrid time. To the best of canonical knowledge, we don't know if Downey left! He might have! But it's equally valid to assume he didn't. It's a literal "who knows" moment. What we do know is that he is a "jumped up" lord according to Venturii/Selachi. So he's a class climber. He is the utmost Gentleman. He is doing Class Drag and has been since he was ten. We know Downey comes from a rich family, but what kind of richness are we talking about? Ramkin wealth that could sink the Disc with gold or average wealthy merchant who can propel their son into the lordly class sort of wealth? One of these has no limits, the other has finite limits that are clear cut. I hedge bets on Downey being part of the latter option.)

Then, having survived Snapcase, he was savvy enough to climb the ladder to position himself as the head of the Assassins' Guild once Cruces' carked it. And he's remained head of the Guild for years? I recognize falling upwards as a thing, but it just doesn't fit for the Assassin's Guild. Especially as TP has drawn Ankh-Morpork and Vetinari's very evident iron-tight grip over City institutions. Which includes the Guilds.

Vetinari is a relatively ruthless dictator with standards. If you don't meet them, you're fucked. If you do meet them, you're fine.

Essentially, I reject Pratchett's crappy world building in favour of consistency and what Makes Sense. (since there are scenes when we're shown he's not a fool. Pratchett is just a bad writer at times and it shows when you look too closely.)

20. scars

I have a head canon that Downey has quite a few on his hands and forearms from a mix of accidents over the course of his life (who doesn't have scars on their hands from Life Happening?) and also defensive/job-related wounds.

I am sure he has a few scars here and there on legs as well - again from Life Happening and also due to his job. Nothing major, though. Because he's always written as physically able-bodied, and with no clear aches/pains/favouring one side over the other etc., I presume he's been lucky/skilled enough to avoid major injury.

39. favourite game

Lacross. I know TP didn't incorporate lacrosse into Ankh-Morpork games but since he never did racial minorities terribly well, it's probably a blessing we don't see him attempting to explain how a First Nations game came to the city.

However, I've decided through colonization and other sordid aspects of Ankh-Morpork's past, all of which are canon, the city has lacrosse and it is now been appropriated into being a posh white person sport. So, Downey plays it.

As it stands, it is the perfect combination of true technical skill with men being idiots and hitting each other with sticks. Downey embodies both of these things perfectly.

----

ooooh now on to Krennic!!

9. Scene that first made me love (or hate) the character

I mean, the first time he walked onto screen as a flamboyant, evil villain come to give great zingers and one-liners to all and sundry in his presence. Amazing.

This was cemented by his work-place drama with Tarkin over who gets custody of the Death Star. (Krennic was robbed, obviously.)

Overall, I prefer Krennic in the books to what they did with him on screen. He's a much more competent and a worthy adversary for the rebels and a credible rival to Tarkin in the books than what we saw in Rogue One. But still, he Worked It on screen and I love him for it.

16. Deepest darkest secret they won’t even admit to themselves

oooh God I don't know. I think part of him did want something like a relationship - however that might have looked - with Galen and was truly devastated when Galen betrayed the empire. Which Krennic read as a personal betrayal of him rather than Galen jumping ship whole-hog ideologically.

Mostly because I don't believe Krennic has ideology outside of belief in himself and his work. Therefore, a full betrayal must be personal and cannot be understood in the broader context of Empire.

Like, I know we get Krennic giving some good lines that are, to great ironic effect, echoes of Tarkin's own views, about the role of Empire in creating a sense of calm and peace and control and stability etc. But he happily would have said as much for the Republic, or whoever was footing the bills for his projects. He obsessively wants to create, create, create. Empire is incidental.

Therefore, I understand him as a person who does take things in a weirdly personal manner.

Like for Krennic it's very, "Yeah, sure, ok Galen fuck the Empire, Whatever. Who cares. But how dare you betray me and my work? The work we did together? How dare you seek to destroy what we created?"

And he is hurt by it! He'll never admit it. He'll never look it in the face and call it by its proper name: griefanger.

(The two words are supposed to be super-glued together there. Griefanger is what Krennic feels and will never, ever admit it. At least, he'll not admit the grief part. Anger he can work with. Grief? That speaks to vulnerability and emotions and stars, hasn't Krennic said, he does Do Any of That.

----

Oh man my friend, you caught me in a Spicy Mood(tm)! Just letting it rip out here lol

Anyway - thank you so, so much! :D :D

#ask game #ask meme #lord downey #krennic #orson krennic #ask #reply

[shoujoboy-restart]

you are so right though. terfs are drowning in privilege and its obvious through the way they see twitter trolling as the epitome of oppression and not like, being stalked by the CIA or the taliban. its a staple of right wing ideology to regard groups of people as political talking points instead of like, living beings who lead complex lives.

terfs are fucking losers if not dangerous and violent people. theyre so white and privileged it blinds them to their ignorance.

Yup, and in conclusion:

[danpuff-ao3]

for the Snape ask 22, 25, 27 💖

Hi there anon! Thanks for the asks! (I do so love these ask games!) (And I especially love Severus!)

22.) Do you think Lily was a good friend to Severus?

I'm so glad you asked this one! I'm curious about a lot of people's answer to this, actually.

As for me...yes-ish.

I don't think Lily was a bad friend. I also don't think she was the epitome of friendship, either. And with Lily being such an idealized character in so many respects...it's as if she's seen as perfect. And if a flaw is spotted...it's this terrible sin. The marring of what was once perfection. A greater sin than had you been flawless from the start.

Lily was a person just like everyone else; but she had the misfortune of being idolized in so many people's eyes. James was smitten from the start; saw her as a prize to be won. To Severus, she was his first friend, his first real connection to magic outside of his mother. Both were drawn to her, and built her up in their heads; and their love blinded them, in ways.

She was charming, popular, pretty; of course Lily drew people to her. She was part of the Slug Club (quite the honor, right? LOL.) She also had a sense of right and wrong; a sense of justice and honor and bravery. She was part of the Order.

And worst of all (for her image), she sacrificed herself for her son. And that sacrifice protected him. Not bad, of course, but another strike against her humanity. Lily was a Lover, a Martyr, a Mother, a Saint.

Okay I've rambled about Lily, so let's wrap it back around to the point: for all that people saw her as being other, as being above, she was truly only human. She was just a girl.

Again: Lily was charming, popular, and pretty. And she befriended a boy who was the opposite of those things. Severus was poor and strange. Petunia didn't like him. (Further separation from her sister.) Their classmates didn't like him. (Outright despised him, in case of the Marauders.)

Lily was young. Young people can be ignorant, insecure, and selfish. She could have steered clear of that awful Snape boy. She could have judged him for being poor and strange, or been worried that people would judge her for associating with him. Not that it would be right, but it could be understood.

Surely she was judged for their friendship. Maybe Lily's "greatness" was enough to maintain her status in spite of this. That doesn't mean it would be easy to hear.

She stuck by him for a long time. Meeting up at Cokeworth. They clearly hung out at school some. In spite of Petunia's snobbery, in spite of her peers' opinions, in spite of their separation into Gryffindor and Slytherin. She put up with his questionable acquaintances for a while, too.

To me, Lily valued loyalty and friendship. People mattered to her. Doing what was right mattered to her. And she valued Severus. Her first magical friend. She could appreciate his intelligence and his curiosity; I think part of her even liked his intensity. I like to think she saw the good in him, too, buried under the bitterness and darkness. She respected his loyalty, his dedication, his hard work. They delighted in magic today, in learning and practicing.

But again...Lily was just a girl. I think she could be self-righteous a bit, and arrogant; maybe a part of her, one she didn't acknowledge, but deep down she saw herself as above and better. She had a stable family and home life, she had more money and resources, she had her looks and her charm. And maybe part of her liked being above him in that way. Especially if she saw him as being above her in others; more intelligent, more skilled, more powerful. And the farther they go, and the more he falls into the wrong crowd, the more that self-righteousness comes through. Her privilege bleeding out, however much she fought against it, and to be better than that.

I think she was self-absorbed, too, in ways; between her youth and her privilege, how could she not be? Caught up in her own woes, her own drama, her own brilliance. Delighting in Severus' attention. She respected his loyalty and love, yes, but she also enjoyed what it gave her personally. And perhaps his attention felt safer, more comfortable, than James Potter's.

Perhaps there was resentment, too, over blood status. Severus might be a half-blood, but Lily was Muggle-born. So, perhaps some level of envy that Severus had connection to a magical family. And half-blood was surely a step up from Muggle-born, in the eyes of blood purists. Maybe she resented all of her good qualities being tainted by her birth: "she's so pretty for a Muggle-born, so gifted for a Muggle-born, so smart for a Muggle-born!" Resentment that grew when Severus began falling in with the wrong people.

Lily was spirited. Bold, and honest. She may have been direct with Severus in ways that he needed to hear, but other times...maybe too brutally honest. They probably butted heads at times. And maybe she was prone to getting her way. Maybe she knew Severus wouldn't really argue with her over much, and maybe she took advantage of that without meaning to. Maybe she made mistakes. Said and did the wrong things.

But I think her heart was in the right place. I think she tried. I think she loved him, truly. That she was a genuine friend to him, however imperfect she may have been. I think when he called her "Mudblood" it was the straw that broke the camel's back. I think it broke her heart.

So...yes. I think she was a good friend, between her values (of friendship, loyalty, compassion, kindness) and her love for him (his mind, his heart, his soul.) I think she tried to do her best by him. And I think she failed sometimes, as all people do. Between Severus' baggage, and her own. She wasn't perfect. She wasn't the best friend who ever existed. She was just a human person, trying her best, living and learning as she went.

25.) Is there any other character you love as much as Snape? Do you think they'll get along?

Harry friggin' Potter. I adore that boy. What a precious ray of sunshine, what a delightful little mess.

Do they get along? Absolutely not. Not at first, anyway. Except...they're soulmates. Hate turns to love, or hate exists alongside love, and it's an explosive and scorching and powerful force to be reckoned with.

They're angry, and bitter. They're good, and brave, and strong. They're intense, and obsessive. They're curious. They have trauma. They have history. They have love. And dedication. They're stubborn. They'll butt heads and challenge each other. They'll hit each other where it hurts. But once they find their way together, they'll never give up on each other, no matter how hard life gets. No matter how difficult the other can be.

For more of my very passionate Snarry feels you can read Why I Ship Snarry and/or Snarry Synastry: the Astrology of Love.

27.) Do you think Snape was close to his mother?

Not really, no.

I have very strong, very specific headcanons about Eileen and her relationship with Severus.

In my mind, Eileen is a pureblood witch. She's from a pureblood family who had fallen on hard times. Eileen felt trapped and weighed down by expectation. Her family hoped to marry her off to improve their standing, on top of general pureblood beliefs and she suffocated on them. She couldn't make her family proud. She was shy and quiet. Her great love was Gobstones. And she harbored dreams of escaping and rebelling that she never actually expected would happen.

Until she met Tobias. Tobias was a Muggle and he swept her off her feet. I see Tobias a a musician with visions of grandeur that are never realized. All of his passion and his hopes draw Eileen to him. He's intense, charismatic, possessive. And Eileen is a bit strange, and not very pretty, but Tobias finds her to be mysterious and intriguing. They have a whirlwind romance. They marry. And everything goes to hell.

Eileen and Severus love each other, but they also resent each other.

Had Severus not been born...maybe Tobias would still love her. Maybe Tobias' dreams would have come true. But they had a family to take care of. Responsibilities. Tobias' dream died. And when Severus showed signs of magic, and Eileen had to break the news to him, Tobias' love died, too.

As for how Severus feels about Eileen...well, it's her fault he's trapped in Cokeworth. She chose to give him a Muggle for a father. He grew up poor. He grew up away from magic. He grew up with his magic being hated by his father. He grew up in violence; whether just witnessing it, or being a target himself.

Between seeds of resentment towards her son, and the horror of what her husband put her through, Eileen couldn't be a proper, good mum. She tried, but she often failed. She was depressed. Abused. She tried to make the best of her circumstances, but she never left. She still loved her husband. And she did love her son, in her own way. She was stubborn. She was determined to make it work. She also had nowhere else to go. She had been disowned by her family. All she had was Tobias, and Severus.

Also...I often see people who headcanon Eileen teaching Severus all she knew about potions, but I don't care for that myself. I don't really jive with the idea of interests being passed down the family line, and I like the idea of this subject being Severus', and Severus' alone.

Instead, I like to think part of the problem is...Severus is too dang smart for both of his parents. Not that Eileen and Tobias are dumb, but Severus is just...he has a voracious appetite for knowledge that puzzles them at times, and threatens them other times. How do you handle your child being so dang brilliant?? How do you handle a child that makes you feel like a total idiot? Not only does he thirst for knowledge, but he picks up information and skills very quickly.

Any strain caused by circumstances is further exacerbated by the fact that there is so little for the family to connect on.

So no, I don't think Severus was close to either of his parents, though I think he was closer to Eileen than Tobias. He went to her to ask questions about magic, and questions about her family. He went to her for protection from Tobias, until he learned she couldn't protect him. Eileen is who he went to to sign permission slips for Hogwarts. Maybe on a good day he would proudly tell her of his accomplishments.

And Eileen was terribly confused by her brilliant son, but also insanely proud.

And scared, I think. Because she sees a lot of Tobias' intensity in him. She sees his darkness and his bitterness. And she isn't surprised when he becomes a Death Eater, but she is disappointed.

All this to say: it's complicated. There is love there, deep down. There were good moments between them. But were they close? Not at all.

Snape asks

answered: 22, 25. 27

#asked & answered #ask game #snape asks

[o-wyrmlight]

I WOULD LIKE TO HEAR YOUR GATSBY OPINIONS

Okay okay so like.

Spoilers, first and foremost.

Tom is an idiot. And I think that it's funny that the rhetoric that he reads and follows as 'all science-based stuff' is actually all propaganda bullshit and legit isn't treated as serious. He's also racist and that also is dismissed in the same manner as parents nodding toward a child trying to get attention before carrying on with the conversation that they were doing.

Daisy's not a good mom. Like, the only interaction we have with her and her child is dressing the little girl up to 'show her off'. She also seems to have some Opinions about being a 'foolish woman' and how that's the 'best way to be', probably because it's the easiest way to get by. But Daisy's not. Really that great of a mom.

Gatsby is a fucking simp pining after a married woman.

Daisy is a fucking bitch for cheating on her husband with Gatsby.

Tom is a fucking bitch for cheating on Daisy with what's-her-face... Myrtle.

Myrtle is a fucking bitch for cheating on her husband.

Literally none of these people ought to be married to each other whatsoever.

Gatsby went so far out of his way to do what he could to impress Daisy, making it essentially his life's dream to be with her. He bought a large mansion and hosted a wide variety of parties in the hopes that she would come to one, and when she finally did after he invited her to one and he realized she didn't like it, he stopped with the parties altogether.

Gatsby is so much of a simp that when Daisy ran over Myrtle on accident and killed her promptly, he even said to the narrator that he would say that he did it.

And what did Daisy do when that happened at the end of the book? She and Tom just fucking left. No departing words, no final farewells, no attempt to figure out what to do. Gatsby was so convinced that he and Daisy would run away together that it got him killed waiting for her.

I understand why Myrtle's husband killed Gatsby, to be honest, overcome with grief and the stress of struggling and failing to keep together some stray remnants of his relationship with Myrtle, but god damn.

Now that I'm thinking about it, I think I realize why Myrtle ran out in the way she did after the yellow car. It was likely because she thought it was Tom's car, having only ever seen him in it from a distance, and she rushed out because she wanted Tom to take her the fuck away from there. An unfortunate misunderstanding.

It is incredibly sad, though, that Gatsby had nobody at his wake and funeral aside from Nick and his own father. All of those luxurious parties filled with the faces of strangers, who spread rumor after rumor of falseties and gossip that doesn't exist. And at the end of it all, when he died, there was no one there. And Gatsby wasn't the greatest person, I'm sure, but it's incredibly... incredibly lonely.

Jordan's all right, I suppose. She and Nick, I think, were just kind of caught up in all this mess, pulled into it by Daisy and Gatsby and everyone else and what-have-you.

Daisy and Tom really are the fucking epitome of 'The consequences don't mean anything because we grew up in a place of privilege and can just run away from it'. Fucking hell. Can't imagine the kind of mental anguish Gatsby was in after Myrtle's death. I feel bad for him because after he met Daisy, his life has been blinded and revolved entirely around her, like she's the sun and he's the planet. I hope he would have gotten over it at some point, if he had ended up living, and realized that he can't dedicate his life to a dream that will never happen. Life's more complicated than that.

Lowkey shipped Nick and Gatsby before I even listened to the book because of Vibes and Clips I've seen from the movie and lowkey can still sort of ship it shh shut up

The entire fucking book is just a cavalcade of horrible and selfish people being horrible and selfish people.

Some of the language of the book, by the way, would be frowned upon in modern-day times. I will associate that as a product of the time for when the book was published (1925).

I really want to watch the movie now to see how it compares with the book because wow. The last thing I expected was a brutal death. Or two. Or three. Haha wow holy shit

#the great gatsby #i almost answered a different ask with this that had nothing to do with the great gatsby lol glad i caught that!!!

[simstagramstar]

Me: goes into the genderfluid pride tag because I want some euphoria

Also me: is bombarded by posts from actual children who think that being pro or anti shipping is genuine activism

#pixie chatter #genderfluid #genderfluid pride #there are actual trans people being murdered Chad #and actual children being trafficked #but no please continue to think bullying someone on this app over fictional characters who don’t exist #you’re really accomplishing something Karen #discourse #also all these kids are clearly so privileged #like if you have the space to worry about pro or anti shipping instead of idk #mass homelessness sex trafficking abuse rape starvation fascism etc #you are the epitome of privilege blind

[taylorswiftstylequestions]

i am seeing so many people on twitter dragging taylor for “peak white feminism” and for swifties harassing the (black) lead actress from the netflix show she called out. i specifically saw someone say that taylor was “silent during black history month, but chomping at the bit to post this on march 1st.” what are your thoughts on the situation, if you don’t mind sharing?

--- 

I think one’s thoughts on the matter basically come down to: 

Did you think Taylor did enough during the 2020 Election and are you still a fan of the documentary Miss Americana. - If you are both those things, you’re probably incredibly supportive and view the situation as Taylor no longer silently accepting her romantic life being the butt of a joke and continuing her contributions to being politically vocal. 

Did you think Taylor’s contributions to the 2020 Election, particularly after she stated in her documentary Miss Americana that the ‘muzzle’ was off and she was going to be more politically engaged, comparatively minimal and didn’t go far enough? - If you are both those things, you’re probably reeling from Taylor not acknowledging Black History Month and generally feel disappointed that she seemingly hasn’t learned how to engage in issues that do not directly impact her as a privileged white woman. 

Whether you are (1) or you are (2) I don’t think makes you a better or worse fan. Neither blind adoration nor universal panning of all of her decisions are sustainable (imo) stances to have. But this is going to come back to people in the (1) camp believing that our ‘duty’ as fans is to be supportive as Taylor has enough critics and the (2) camp believing that realistically as humans, we have the right to valid criticisms - even and particularly of someone you admire. 

The below are my thoughts: 

This could have faded away into obscurity, but with Taylor drawing attention to it it’s now a Thing. 

Harassing the actors who are just trying to do their jobs is not okay.

It’s a shitty, stupid, tired, and lazy joke that wasn’t funny to begin with and definitely isn’t funny now. 

Taylor invoking a documentary that centers on her purported ‘political awakening’ after doing relatively little during the 2020 election and Black History Month is also an outfit that doesn’t look cute on her. 

Netflix greenlights and produces hundreds (thousands?) of shows and films a year and their business relationship with Taylor (Reputation Tour movie and Miss Americana) does not make them responsible to clear every single script to ensure that it doesn’t contain offensive jokes to her or anyone in particular. 

I’ve never watched the show but have heard that there are a plethora of questionable lines in it, least of which being the Taylor line. 

That tweet epitomized a woman who has been unfairly ridiculed and slut shamed her entire career and is Really Fucking Sick of it. Which is understandable.

I’d be interested to know if Taylor has any further comments or plans to bring attention to and highlight Women’s History Month. 

#opinion #Anonymous

[princess-unipeg]

It’s Father’s Day and I felt like it’s the perfect time to rank the dads of Fox Animated Shows I have seen from best to worst

Beef Tobin

The guy is basically Ron Swanson when you take all his positive attributes with a mix of emotional issues and a hint of blindness to social cues and put them in an animated character. He’s an Alaskan father of four who makes a living as a fisherman. Even though The Great North has been on for only one season so far I could tell he’s a quality father figure. He represents positive masculinity and isn’t afraid of being emotional nor of shedding tears in public. He’s very accepting of his middle son Ham for being gay and the fact that he’s the town “cake lady” and very supportive of that fact. His eldest son Wolf absolutely worships him. His youngest son Moon, only daughter Judy and daughter-in-law Honeybee have shown to respect him as well. The fact that they all enjoyed being on the fishing boat with Beef helping him work pretty much states that his good parenting more then made up for his ex-wife Kathleen’s terrible parenting.

Bob Belcher

Even with his struggling business and his refusal to compromise on how he runs things he’s always made sure that his kids have good lives. As a child who grew up with a tough homelife (an overly criticizing father and a dead mother) he made sure to give his children the best things in life even if they can’t be luxury goods or even third hand goods. All of his kids have rooms that reflect who they are and they aren’t ashamed of who they are. He’s an accepting and open-minded human being and will do pretty much anything for his family even if gets hurt and/or humiliated in some capacity. You can tell Linda is pretty content and happy with him even though it all started from a simple high five in lieu of an engagement ring.

Jack Harris

He’s pretty much the standard bumbling dad you would see on cartoons but is a little more emotionally open. As someone who had a terrible father growing up he’s made sure to break the cycle with his own kids. Jack gives his adopted child the same amount of love and care he gives his own flesh and blood kids. He’s shown to make sure his kids are loved although it does tend to make him too lenient at times.

Hank Hill

He’s a pretty rigid father figure. He has a tendency to be scared off by new ideas especially if they tend to be of a overly sexual nature. Hank does the best he can to make sure his son Bobby is raised properly especially since he gets influenced pretty easily. He’s had a pretty terrible father growing up but even then he’s been better about raising Bobby without utilizing the harder aspects of Cotton’s parenting. Though ironically his father thinks more highly of Bobby then he does Hank.

Homer Simpson

Over the seasons he’s been a flip flop between worst parent and parent of the year. Though that might be mostly because of how many writers the show had gone through in its decades long running. He’ll choke Bart when a joke calls for it, he will have wronged Lisa then learn to make up for it in the most asinine way and even forget that Maggie exists to emphasize what a flawed father he is. Though when it comes down to it he loves his family and will go to hell and back for their sake.

Stan Smith

It’s a given that he’s pretty terrible especially to his family. He’s the epitome of right wing fascism and white male cisgender male privilege. He forces his toxic beliefs on his kids and tried to mold them to his standards of wholesome American families. Though there’s still a part of that cares about his family. Even though he keeps learning the same lessons over and over (as a given for long running shows that adheres to status quo) he’s capable of being open minded.

Peter Griffin

I don’t even know where to begin. For a show that says Family Guy he’s not really for his family. Always thinking of himself and not considerate of how he treats people it’s a wonder why he’s still a father at all. Don’t even get me started on the way he treats Meg. Not that his wife is any better.

#my posts #my post #my thoughts #thoughts #father’s day #fathersday #fox animation #bob’s burgers #the simpsons #king of the hill #the great north #duncanville #seth macfarlane

[hologramcowboy]

Idk why but I tend to side eye Bri Jenkins, because she’s a fan girl, and is fan of Danneel. She’s said that she loves OTH and could talk about it for hours. I’ve seen it one too many times where people will disregard their fave celebs actions, give them the benefit of the doubt, and defend them, because it’s their fave. I don’t want to think like that but I honestly can’t help it, ever since I learned that fact. Someone also told me she’s on the random acts board as well. Maybe she has called Danneel out, in a subtle nice way, without making it look like she’s attacking her. Since it’s known Danneel can’t handle criticism well.

Fully agree. Any authentic activist watching that live surely noticed Bri drooling over Danneel and ignoring her comments about the whitewashing. She disregarded it all in favor of Danneel. In the end, the live just ended up looking like a white woman bragging about how special she is because she's an "activist" and how she knows better than everyone else (but the people who were attacking her were doing so due to her whitewashing so...), they achieved the exact opposite of the live theme and it was embarrassing to watch. I hope Bri will get a chance to do things outside of interacting with Danneel, for now she seems to be blind to the dynamic that is being created, it's the exact opposite of everything she stands for. She basically allowed a white woman to twist the narrative however she wanted and ignored something as serious as whitewashing MLK. I guess when you're famous because you're married to Jensen you can be as privileged as you want, to the point of getting to whitewash MLK with no consequence? I just have no words, Danneel is the epitome of ignorance and arrogance.

#anti danneel ackles #anti danneel #anti elta #anti elta graul

[nerdythebard]

#14: Ao Kuang, Dragon King of the Eastern Seas

Gods and Goddesses!

We return from our journey, to once again bring divinity to your D&D game! We take our first look into the Chinese pantheon, with the Great Dragon King – Ao Kuang! This violent dragon, associated with storms and seas, may be known to some of you Journey to the West readers as the one from whom Sun Wukong received the Ruyi Jingu Bang (aka Power Pole, for you Dragon Ball weebs ;D). In SMITE, Ao Kuang is a melee mage, so let's see what we can do!

Next Time: Hey, Tumblr staff, please don't ban me. I swear there is a reason she's almost naked!

So, what do we need to play as the world's most dangerous wet noodle?

A MIGHTY SWORD: Ao Kuang is a melee fighter with magical powers and a sword that channels electricity and summons dragons to fight on his behalf.

Water Illusionist: As the dragon of storms and seas, we need to command those particular forces of nature. Ao Kuang also has the ability to set decoys and disappear from sight.

A GIANT F**K-YOU DRAGON: Ao Kuang's Ultimate lets him transform into his draconic form and rain death from above. I'll tell you right away, we won't be able to transform fully into a dragon, but we'll get the very best close second.

---

When it comes to Ao Kuang's race, I don't see any other option than Dragonborn. More specifically, we're going to use the 2021 Draconic Options Unearthed Arcana and play as a Metallic Dragonborn. We get to choose two of our abilities to boost (+2 Charisma and +1 Dexterity), and also pick our Metallic Ancestry; although the Dragon Form in the picture above is shown as green, we're going with Bronze ancestry for its Lightning damage type. We also get a Breath Weapon, a dragon standard. We can replace our melee or spell attack with a 15-foot cone of energy burst. Each creature within the cone must make a Dexterity saving throw (DC = 8 + our Constitution modifier + our proficiency bonus), or take 2d8 lightning damage (half damage on a successful save; damage increases as we level up).

Metallic Dragonborns also get Draconic Resilience, which grants us resistance to damage type associated with our draconic ancestry, in this case, lightning. We also know Common and one language of our choice (most likely Draconic).

The regal and powerful Ao Kuang is definitely a Noble. We gain proficiency in History and Persuasion, one type of gaming set, and we learn one more language of our choice. The Position of Privilege feature grants us enough clout to walk around like we own whatever place we're in... because we probably do. It lets us secure an audience with another noble, better accommodation than others, or perhaps convince locals to fight on your behalf.

ABILITY SCORES

We'll start with Dexterity, as it's going to be our primary damage-dealing ability. We're flowing like a river, but striking swiftly like a lightning. Charisma is next, we've gained our title of the Dragon King by being intimidating as all hells and by keeping our subjects' loyalty (spoiler alert, it's also going to be our spellcasting ability). Follow that up with Constitution, we're a dragon, we need to be tough enough.

Wisdom is next, once again - we're a dragon and we're Chinese - we're practically the epitome of that trait. Strength is a little lower than I would like it, but it's fixable. Finally, we'll dump Intelligence; we're not stupid, we just need other abilities more.

CLASS

This one was another tough one. Ao Kuang is a swordsman primarily, but there are several high-level spells that fit his style and abilities. I think I've arrived at a satisfying conclusion, though, so sit back and enjoy the ride:

Level 1 - Fighter: We begin as the generic damage-dealer. Starting with a d10 Hit Dice, [10 + Constitution modifier] initial Hit Points, and proficiency with light armour, medium armour, heavy armour, shields, simple weapons, and martial weapons (I suggest going with a shortsword, because of its Finesse property). Our saving throws are Strength and Constitution, and we get to pick two class skills (Intimidation and Athletics).

Fighters begin by choosing their Fighting Style. Since Ao Kuang uses just a sword and no shield, Duelling is the style we're going to go with; while wielding a weapon in one hand and no other weapon, we gain a +2 to damage rolls with that weapon. We also get Second Wind, which lets us recover [1d10 + our Fighter level] Hit Points as a bonus action once per short or long rest.

Level 2 - Fighter: Starting at this level, we get Action Surge. It lets us take one additional action on our turn once per short or long rest. The number of extra actions we can take increases as we level up.

Level 3 - Fighter: We get a secondary racial ability, the Metallic Breath Weapon. Similarly to the other one, it covers a 15-foot cone, but this time we exhale a magical gas (Save DC = 8 + our Constitution modifier + our proficiency bonus). We get to choose one of two effects:

Each affected creature must make a Strength saving throw or be pushed back 20 feet from us, and be knocked prone;

Each creature in the cone must succeed on a Constitution saving throw or be incapacitated until the end of our next turn.

At this level, we also get to pick our subclass - our Martial Archetype. Now, I decided to go with Matt Mercer's Echo Knight to at least get the taste of Ao Kuang's duplicate ability (since we won't get access to the Mislead spell). Simply re-flavour the 'summoning yourself from another timeline' into 'creating water & vapour illusions' and we're good to go.

Echo Knight's signature ability is Manifest Echo. We summon one magical, translucent shade of ourselves that lasts until it is destroyed/we dismiss it/we're incapacitated. Our Echo has the AC of [14 + our proficiency bonus], 1 Hit Point, and is immune to all conditions. During our turn, we can move our Echo up to 30 feet in any direction (any further distance destroys it). We can use our Echo in the following ways:

As a bonus action, we can swap places with our Echo, at a cost of 15 feet of movement, no matter the distance between us;

When we take the Attack action, it can come from our Echo's space, essentially giving us 30 feet reach for our attacks;

If a creature that's within 5 feet of our Echo moves out of its melee range, we can make the attack of opportunity against it.

We also get Unleash Incarnation. When we take the Attack action, we can make one additional attack from our Echo's position. We can use this feature a number of times equal to our Constitution modifier.

Level 4 - Fighter: Time for our first Ability Score Improvement. We're not going to raise any numbers, however. Instead, we'll take the Dragon Hide feat from Xanathar's Guide to Everything. As we manifest draconic scales on our body, we get to increase one of three abilities (let's make it Constitution), and our AC while not wearing any armour becomes [13 + our Dexterity modifier]. We also gain a natural weapon in the form of our long dragon claws; we can use those to make an unarmed strike that deals [1d4 + our Strength modifier] bludgeoning damage.

Level 5 - Fighter: We gain Extra Attack. This lets us attack twice instead of once during one Attack action.

Level 6 - Sorcerer: Time to mess with some magic. In-game, Ao Kuang is not a ranged caster, so all the spells we choose here will be more in the support category. Sorcerers start with picking their subclass, their Sorcerous Origin. Since we are the Dragon King, it's only natural to pick Draconic. Sike. We're the storm lord, we're going with Storm Sorcery from Xanathar's Guide to Everything.

The Wind Speaker feature teaches us how to speak and read Primordial, the language of elementals. Tempestuous Magic gives us a flying speed of 10 feet, any time we cast a spell of 1st-level or higher. If we use this flight to escape the enemy, we do not provoke attacks of opportunity.

Sorcerers are creatures with the innate ability to control magic, therefore they start with the Spellcasting feature and know both standard spells and cantrips. We start with four cantrips:

Blade Ward gives us resistance to bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing damage until the end of our next turn;

Minor Illusion creates a sound or an image within 30 feet of us and lasts for 1 minute. The image cannot be interacted with, and a successful Investigation check reveals the illusion.

Shape Water grants us control over a 5-foot cube area of water within 30 feet of us. We can choose from several different effects: we can change the water's flow, create small shapes on its surface, change the water's colour and opacity, or freeze it for 1 hour.

Shocking Grasp sends a jolt of electricity into one target we touch. On a successful melee attack (we get an advantage if the target's wearing metal), the enemy suffers 1d8 lightning damage (damage increases as we level us) and cannot take reactions until the start of its next turn.

We start with two 1st-level spell slots, and we know two 1st-level spells:

Fog Cloud creates a 20-foot-radius sphere of dense mist within 120 feet for 1 hour (concentration). The fogged area is considered heavily obscured, effectively blinding all creatures within.

Shield can be used as a reaction to when we're being hit. Until the start of our next turn, we get a +5 bonus to our AC.

Level 7 - Sorcerer: We gain the Sorcerer's signature ability, Font of Magic. We get access to Sorcery Points (currently 2), which can be spent on our Metamagic abilities or to create spell slots. We also gain another spell slot, and we learn one more 1st-level spell: Feather Fall greatly decreases the falling speed for us and up to five falling creatures within 60 feet for 1 minute. If we reach the ground before the spell ends, we take no fall damage.

Level 8 - Sorcerer: We unlock the previously mentioned Metamagic. This allows us to burn Sorcery Points, in order to modify our spells in a variety of ways. We learn two Metamagic options from the start:

Quickened Spell: Spending 2 Sorcery Points lets us change the spell's casting time from Action to Bonus Action;

Subtle Spell: Spending 2 Sorcery Points lets us cast a spell without using verbal or somatic components.

At this level, we unlock 2nd-level spell slots and can learn one more spell: Magic Weapon gives our weapon magical properties for 1 hour (concentration), for the purpose of overcoming resistances. It also gains a +1 to both attack and damage rolls.

Level 9 - Sorcerer: We get another ASI. Let's raise our Dexterity by 2 points, to get some better AC.

We also get another cantrip: Frostbite causes numbing frost to appear on one target within 60 feet of us. The enemy must make a Constitution saving throw or take 1d6 cold damage (damage increases as we level up) and the next weapon attack roll they make before the end of its next turn is made with a disadvantage.

We learn another spell: Warding Wind creates a 10-foot-radius sphere of strong, howling wind centred on us and moving along with us. The wind lasts for 10 minutes (concentration) and has the following effects:

It deafens us and all creatures within;

It extinguished any unprotected flames;

It hedges out vapours, gases, and fogs;

The area becomes difficult terrain for creatures other than us;

The attack rolls of ranged weapons coming in or out of the wind are made with a disadvantage.

Level 10 - Sorcerer: Halfway through the build, and we unlock 3rd-level spell slots. One more spell enters our repertoire:

Tidal Wave creates a rolling mass of water that crashes down on an area within range (120 feet). The area can be up to 30 feet long, 10 feet wide, and 10 feet tall. Each creature in the area must make a Dexterity saving throw or take 4d8 bludgeoning damage and be knocked prone (half damage on a successful save and no knockdown).

Level 11 - Sorcerer: We get our Storm Sorcery upgrades. Heart of the Storm gives us resistance to lightning and thunder damage. In addition, whenever we cast a spell that deals lightning or thunder damage, storm magic erupts within 10 feet of us, dealing [half of our Sorcerer level] either lightning or thunder damage to all creatures of our choice within range.

Storm Guide gives us the ability to subtly influence the weather around us. If it's raining, we can use a bonus action to stop the rainfall in a 20-foot-radius sphere. If it's windy, we can use a bonus action to change the direction of the wind within a 100-foot-radius sphere.

For this level's spell, Lightning Bolt creates a stroke of lightning blasting in a 100 feet long and 5 feet wide line. Each creature in the line must make a Dexterity saving throw or take 8d6 lightning damage (half damage on a successful save). The lightning ignites any flammable objects.

Level 12 - Sorcerer: We unlock 4th-level spell slots here and gain one more spell:

Greater Invisibility renders our body (along with clothes and weaponry) completely imperceptible for 1 minute (concentration). Unlike regular Invisibility, this ability does not end when we attack with weapons.

Level 13 - Sorcerer: We get another ASI here. Let's get +2 to our Constitution for better Hit Points and our racial abilities.

For this level's spell, Dimension Door lets us teleport to a spot within 500 feet of us. It can be a place we can see or visualize. We can also bring objects with us or one willing creature. If we were to arrive at a spot already occupied by a creature or an object, we take 4d6 force damage and the spell doesn't teleport us.

Level 14 - Sorcerer: We unlock 5th-level spells, and we can finally take the one spell I've been waiting for:

Summon Draconic Spirit lets us call forth a spirit that takes the form of a giant f**k-you dragon! For 1 hour (concentration) a Large dragon spirit appears in an unoccupied space within 60 feet of us and obeys our commands. This is the best we can get to portray Ao Kuang's Ultimate ability.

Level 15 - Fighter: Having obtained our dragon summon, we can come back to swinging our Mighty Sword! And we return to an ASI! Let's get a +2 to our Strength score.

Level 16 - Fighter: We get our Echo Knight upgrade. We can temporarily see and hear through our Echo's eyes and ears thanks to Echo Avatar. We can use this ability for 10 minutes and during this time we can move our Echo up to 1,000 feet from us without it being destroyed.

Level 17 - Fighter: We get another ASI. Let's get a +2 to our Intelligence to avoid negative modifiers in our sheet.

Level 18 - Fighter: We gain the Indomitable feature. Once per long rest, we can reroll a failed saving throw, but we must use the new result even if it's worse than the original one.

Level 19 - Fighter: We get our final subclass upgrade, the Shadow Martyr feature. Once per short or long rest, we can make our Echo protect another creature by sacrificing itself. Before the attack roll is made, we can use a reaction to move the Echo in front of the targeted creature. The triggered attack roll is then made against our Echo instead.

Level 20 - Fighter: Our capstone is Fighter 11, which gives us an upgrade to our Extra Attack feature. We can now attack three times whenever we take the Attack action.

---

And that is Ao Kuang, the Dragon King of the Eastern Seas. Let's see how well we've portrayed him:

I gotta be honest with you guys, I'm pretty proud of this build. I might have to pat myself on the back for this one. We have a very nice combination of sword and sorcery, with draconic flavour and good survivability. We have an Unarmoured AC of 17 (going up to 22 with the Shield spell), +4 to our Initiative rolls, and 148 Hit Points on average. None of our abilities reaches 20, but we don't suffer from negative modifiers so I consider that an absolute win. The only downside I can see is, we have very few skills and only two related to an ability we're good at.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this one, and I'll see you for the next one!

- Nerdy out!

#smite #smite gods #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d 5e #character building #ao kuang #ao guang #dragon #dragonborn #metallic dragon #sorcerer #fighter #echo knight #storm sorcerer

[mca-attack21]

The Final Problem

Sometimes you questioned why you couldn’t have dated someone more ordinary.

You were especially questioning this now and you, John and Sherlock were being held hostage by Sherlock’s forgotten and psychotic sister, on a secret prison that Mycroft Holmes had so tenderly described as the epitome of hell. You didn’t know what was worse, the fact that no one knew you were missing and even if they did figure it out, they’d no idea on how to find you, or the fact that you were at the mercy of Eurus who was revealed to have an alliance with Jim Moriarty. 

Sherlock had tried to assure you that everything would be okay. He would find a way out, he always did. But you could see through his fake smile and hopeful words. You knew that he was just as anxious as you were.

You were going to sarcastically ask about his brilliant plan when a voice filled the room.

“Hello? Is anybody there? I’m stuck on a plane. Everyone’s asleep. Please help me,” a small child’s voice filled the speakers.

“Hi, can you hear me? I’m here. I can help you, just tell me your name,” Sherlock answered softly.

“Mommy told me not to tell my name to strangers,” she replied, fear evident in her voice.

“Oh, that’s alright. I’ll just tell you mine then. I’m Sherlock and my friends and I are here to help you,”

“I’m scared,” she informed.

“It’s okay, I’m-” he started before the call clicked off.

Eurus spoke up, “That’s better.”

Sherlock snapped, “Put her back on, let me help her.”

“Not so fast brother mine, you have to play along if you want phone privileges,”

“Play along?” you asked.

“Yes, I have developed a series of tasks for the three of you to complete. Each one testing your morality and character. And believe me when I say that time is of the essence,”

The three of you had no choice, not when lives were at stake. You proceeded into the room the Eurus had revealed. 

First, Sherlock was made to choose between you or John to kill an innocent man. The incentive? If you did not, his wife would be killed. John protested, but Eurus reminded him that your only chance for survival was to play along. Sherlock took the gun from the hatch and thought it over briefly before handing the gun to John. His logic is that John was a soldier, he had killed before and was better equipped to handle the emotional kickback of it. John nodded in agreement as the man pleaded with him to do it. John asked him if he wanted to pray, and assured him that he was doing a truly honorable thing. 

He aimed the gun and prepared to shoot, but at the end of the day he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. So the man took the gun from him and waved it around frantically before shooting himself, hoping that would be enough, but either way he wouldn’t have to watch his wife die. You looked away and John cursed. Sherlock waited, curious about what his sister’s next move would be.

Eurus was bored by the reaction and didn’t hesitate to shoot the wife

“Why? Why’d you do that?” John demanded.

“You didn’t follow the rules. The condition of her survival was that you or Y/n had to shoot her husband. You chose to save your conscience and now the blood of two people is on your hands,” Eurus answered.

“Now then, off you go to the next room, and Sherlock collect the gun, you will need it later on” she said as one of the doors opened.

“On the table you will find a file with three pictures. One of the men murdered someone with the gun that is hanging up. Figure out who the murderer is and condemn him to his fate,” Eurus instructed. 

“Oh and to add some suspense-” she said clicking on the tv in the room that contained a video of Moriarty making ticking noises.

“Okay,” Sherlock muttered before taking in every aspect of the photos, quickly eliminating one of the three brothers.

Eurus then spoke up, “At this point I would like to add some emotional context.” She then opened the blinds to show the three brothers each chained to chairs over the side of the ocean. “You have one minute Sherlock.”

“John, tell me everything that you can about this gun,” Sherlock ordered.

John listed off facts and that was when Sherlock realized who the killer was. Everyone was relieved when Eurus revealed that he had correctly chosen. She then forced him to condemn the man to his fate. Sherlock struggled momentarily, then remembered the little girl and the plane, easing his conscience with what he had to do next. He said the words and condemned the man to his death, but instead of dropping him, Eurus proceeded to drop the two innocent men.

Sherlock protested and she responded by dropping the guilty man as well. “You see Sherlock a life does not weigh more considering guilt or innocence,”

“Fine, whatever, I played along Eurus, now let me speak to the little girl,” Sherlock requested.

“Fair enough,”

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Sherlock questioned.

“Yes, I can, you went away,”

“I’m sorry about that, can you tell me where you are?”

“I-I don’t know”

“What about the plane? Is it big or small?“

“It’s big,”

“Okay, now,  just do me a favor and look out the window. Is it day time or night time?”

“It’s nighttime,”

“What can you see? Is there land or water?”

“There’s water, with lights in the distance,”

“Very good, now are you sure that there is no one to help you? Have you really really checked?”

“Yes, everyone’s asleep,”

Before he could continue, the call clicked off, and Eurus spoke, “Okay you three off to the next one, it’s time for John and Y/n to have a turn.”  

A door opened and as the three of you walked through you saw a small table with six glasses on it and a bottle in the middle.

“What is this?” John asked.

“It’s spin the bottle with higher stakes,” Eurus replied.

“And what are the rules?” you asked.

“You and John take turns spinning from the bottle, drinking from the glasses. One of them is poisoned. Also, Sherlock is not allowed to touch any of them. If you refuse, he dies. If he intervenes you both will die,”

“So we’re basically playing roulette,” John realized.

“Yes, but we have no choice, I’ll go first,” you answered, taking a step forward and spinning the bottle. You hesitated to take the glass it landed on and downed the contents reluctantly. Sherlock and John looked at you with concern.

“I think I’m fine,” you said, smiling fakely.

John stepped up next and spun the bottle, repeating the process, and also coming out seemingly fine. 

You stepped up again, knowing that there was now a 25% chance that you would receive the poison. 

“Sherlock, I-”

“No talking, just spin the bottle,” Eurus interrupted.

But one look at Sherlock told you that he knew and that he loved you too. You spun the bottle and emptied the glass, not feeling any different.

“I’m fine,”

John spun the bottle, and downed the contents of the glass.

“I’m okay,” he spoke.

There were now only two left. You could feel Sherlock’s anxiety as you picked up the glass, a fifty fifty shot of it being the one that had been poisoned. You closed your eyes and paused for a moment before downing it. The realization that you were fine came with little relief.

John’s expression went blank when he realized what this meant. 

“That-That’s okay. We’ve had a good run. Sherlock, you were the best man I’ve ever-” he started but was cut short as he saw you reach across the table and grab the glass downing it without a second thought.

“What? Why would you do that?” he yelled.

“You have a daughter. And Eurus don’t you dare retaliate because I followed the rules, and vagueness always falls to the side of the informed,” 

“Remarkable Y/n, you’ve proven your loyalty,” Eurus said.

Sherlock came to your side and pulled you into a hug both waiting for the worse. Then he realized that for something that was ingestable and rapid-acting, you’d already be dead. 

“So, none of the drinks were poisoned? Otherwise, she’d already been dead,” he deducted

“On the contrary, dear brother mine, all of the glasses were poisoned. It’s slow-acting, and the only way to get the antidote is to finish the trials and come find me. Even then, they might not make it.” 

“Wait,” you said as Sherlock and John were already to the next door.

“We played along, let Sherlock speak to the girl on the plane,” you spoke.

“Fine, fair is fair, you have another two minutes,”

“Hello, is anyone there?” the girl asked through the phone fear even more present in her voice. You could easily tell she’d been crying.

“I’m here again,” Sherlock replied.

“Why did you leave me? Why do you always leave?”

“I don’t want to, but we haven’t got much time. I need you to go to the front of the plane-”

“Where the driver is?”

“Yes, where the driver is, very good,”

“Are you in the front of the plane?”

“I am, it’s very loud and there are a lot of buttons,”

“Do you see the radio? Like a walkie talkie? Can you hear anyone talking to you?”

“No, there I don’t see one,”

“Okay look out the window, tell me what you can see now,”

“The lights, they’re getting bigger,” she said before letting out a short scream.

“What? What happened?”

“The whole plane, it’s shaking,”

“That’s just turbulence,”

“I’m scared,” she whimpered.

“I know you are, but I’m here and I’m going to help you,” Sherlock reassured.

The call clicked off again and the three of you had no choice but to proceed to the next room. Your mind was racing with the realization of what you just did. You were going to die. Even with Sherlock being Sherlock, you couldn’t expect him to be able to save you. Not this time.

“Hey sis, don’t mean to complain, but this one is empty. What happened? Did you run out of ideas?” Sherlock asked.

“Not at all Sherlock, it’s time to pull out that gun I had you grab earlier. You have one bullet and one choice to make, John or Y/n. Only two of you proceed from here. You have to choose one or the other, lover or friend. And remember you are limited on time, between the poison and the plane in the sky” She gleamed.

“Okay, alright then. Thank you Sherlock, for everything. Make sure that the quote on my gravestone isn’t something stupid. And no flowers.” you said taking a step towards Sherlock.

“What are you doing?” John demanded.

“I’m making his choice simple. You are a doctor who saves lives, and you have a daughter. Sherlock will learn to love again, but he cannot orphan a child,” you explained voice wavering ever so slightly.

“You can’t-” John started as you turned back towards Sherlock.

“Now then, you can not blame yourself, this isn’t your fault. And no turning to drugs, a promise is still a promise whether or not I’m here to hold you to it. Just make it quick. I love you,” you said, turning your back to him trying to make it easier for him. You really hoped that he wasn’t going to make it any harder than it needed to be.

Sherlock raised the gun, he needed to think.

“Sherlock, you can’t actually be serious. You can’t do this,” John pleaded from the side.

“Jim Moriarty said you would make this choice,” Eurus said as she watched the scene unfold before her.

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you waited. Sherlock’s face changed and John watched, fearful of what was about to happen, just as Sherlock lowered the gun.

“What are you doing? They’ll both die if you don’t shoot her,” Eurus shouted.

“Not on my watch,” he muttered.

You turned around just in time to see him placing the gun under his own chin.

“No, no, Sherlock you can’t,” Eurus complained.

“10” Sherlock started,

“9”

“8”

“Sherlock,” you warned

“7”

“6”

“You don’t know about Redbeard yet,”

“5”

“Sherlock, stop it at once!” Eurus called as she sent darts into the room.

“4” Sherlock whispered, focus draining.

“3”

“2” 

But then darkness consumed him completely.

When he awoke, he was confused on where he was. His mind completely blank for a moment before allowing him to remember. He scanned his surroundings. He was in another cell, this one was much smaller and the walls were covered in pictures of him from childhood to the present. He was thinking through an escape plan when he was interrupted.

“Sherlock? Are you there?” the little girl on the plane called out.

“Yes, I’m here,” he answered.

“You said you would help me and you went away,”

“I’m sorry, I got cut off. But I’m here now,”

“Why don’t grownups tell the truth?”

“I am telling the truth, I promise, you can trust me,” he said trying to calm her.

“You were gone for such a long time, where did you go?”

“I’m honestly not quite sure. Do you know how long I was gone?”

“No, I don’t”

“Are you still in the front of the plane?” he asked

“No, it was scary.”

“Well I need you to be super brave and go back to the front of the plane,”

“I’m going,” 

“Are you there?” he asked.

He heard a gasp and then John answered, “Yes, I’m here,”

“John? Are you okay? Where are you? Is Y/n there?” Sherlock questioned.

“I’ve just woken up, but I think I’m okay, and Y/n’s with me, she’s still asleep. Where are you?”

“I’m in another cell and I’ve spoke to the girl on the plane again, she says we’ve been out for a long time,”

“She’s still up there?”

“Yeah, the plane will keep flying til it runs out of fuel. Now, tell me everything you can about where you are,”

“It’s dark, cold, the walls are rough, stone I think,” 

“What are you standing on?”

“Also stone I think, there are like 2 feet of water and chains, Sherlock my feet are chained,” he replied.

“Okay, that’s alright I’ll find you. Focus on Y/n, see if you can wake her. Also be aware that between the weight difference and the amount consumed she is going to be affected by the poison significantly sooner than you. I can’t know the specifics without knowing what it was or how much the dose was, but it’s very important that you keep her lucid for as long as possible,”

“I will,” he said moving to your side, stepping on something. “Sherlock, there is something else in here,” he added.

“What?”

“Bones,”

“What kind of bones?”

“I can’t tell, but they’re small,”

Then the realization hit him, “Redbeard…”

“Who is Redbeard?” the little girl chimned in.

“Oh, hello again, did you make it to the front of the plane?”

“Yes, but I still can’t wake the driver up,”

“That’s okay, what can you see now?”

“I can see a city and a big wheel,”

“Okay, that just means that you and I get to drive this plane together, just you and me,” Sherlock explained.

“Look again for the radio, it should be in reach of the pilot,”

“I still don’t see it,”

“That’s alright, keep looking, we have plenty of time,”

“My ears hurt,” 

“Does the city look like it is getting closer?”

“Yes, a little bit,”

“Alright, that means that you’re nearly home,” he said, beginning to feel helpless.

“Sherlock,” John spoke, “We’re in a well. Y/n and I are in the bottom of a well,”

‘There aren’t any wells in the prison, and why is there a draft?’ Sherlock thought. Then he figured it out and pushed one of the walls out to reveal that it was a trick and he was really back at his childhood home.

This is when Eurus chimed in, explaining his final task. 

Meanwhile:

“Come on Y/n, wake up,” John urged as he was checking your pulse.

“John?” you asked groggily.

“Yes, I’m right here.” he smiled, taking your hand.

“Where are we?” you asked, trying to stand.

“We’re at the bottom of the well. Now take it easy,” 

“Where’s Sherlock? Is he okay?” you asked, realizing the severity of the situation.

“He’s fine and he’s coming to help us,” John reassured.

“That’s good,” you replied lightly, feeling the exhaustion of the day taking its toll.

John noticed your shift in demeanor, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” you yawned.

“Seriously Y/n, tell me how you are really feeling,” he prompted.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s not like we can do anything about it,”

“Humor me,” John insisted.

“Well obviously I’m tired, wet, and cold. My head hurts, but everything else is kind of numb,” you replied unaware that Sherlock heard every word.

“Check her breathing and keep her talking,” Sherlock ordered lowly, before turning his focus back to Eurus. She told him to discover the truth about Redbeard, solve the puzzle, and save his friends. She then began to sing the song from their childhood.

“Eurus I went through that song, every line. Every word. There was a beach tree out on the grounds and I dug and dug and dug, and there was nothing. No one,”

“It was a clever little puzzle wasn’t it Sherlock? I think it’s time to up the stakes.”

“Sherlock!” John called out, “The….filling….water”

“John! Are you okay? You’re breaking up.” Sherlock asked to receive no response. 

The comm was failing, and you and John tried your best to move away from the water.

“Eurus, I don’t understand, what am I missing?” Sherlock pleaded.

“Hello? The plane, it’s tilting!” the little girl screamed into Sherlock’s ear.

“The bones....Y/n…..they aren’t dog….they’re human…..hear me?” John’s voice came through in pieces, but it was enough for Sherlock to figure it out.

“Finally Sherlock, it took you long enough. Dad was allergic to dogs, so no matter how much you begged we could never have one. Redbeard. Wasn’t. A. Dog.” Eurus revealed.

And then Sherlock remembered. He remembered his young friend with red hair, Victor Trevor, who he called Redbeard when they would play pirates. He remembered how he went missing. He remember searching for him and trying to reason with his sister to tell him what she did.

“You and Victor were inseparable. You always played pirates, but I wanted to play too,” Eurus recalled.

“You killed him, you killed my best friend” Sherlock realized brokenly.

“I never had a best friend, I had no one. No one to play with. And soon, you will have no one too,” she replied falling back into song.

“Okay fine, let’s play,” he said intently, dashing out of the room and towards the gravestones with the funny dates realizing that they were the key to the puzzle. He worked to complete the cipher and crack the code once and for all. He was finally going to solve his first case. 

Meanwhile:

The water was now at chest level and still rising. You were struggling more and more to maintain your grasp on consciousness. Only registering bits and peaces of what John was saying. Your mind was foggy, adrenaline being the only thing aiding it.

John came to your side, checking your pulse again, as it became harder and harder for you to focus.

‘John....Sherlock.....Eurus....The Girl.....Sherlock....The Plane...’ your mind was struggling, but then you put the pieces together.

“You-you have to tell Sherlock,” you said taking John’s arm and staring at him as if the fate of the world relied on it.

“Y/n you’re fine, you can tell him yourself when we get out of here,” John replied with a fake calmness to his tone.

“No, the plane, you have to tell him about the plane,” you urged.

“What about the plane?” John questioned.

“It’s not real, it’s all in her mind,” you explained, “Please John you have to tell him. It might save him.”

With that, you felt a rush of dizziness and sort of stumbled forward into John who had to reposition himself in order to keep you both upright.

“Okay, hang on Y/n, I’ll tell him. Just stay with me,” John promised.

“Sherlock?” he called out,

He shook the ear piece trying to get it to work. “Sherlock?” he repeated.

“John! Are you okay?” 

“Yes, but the water is getting higher and we’re running out of time, where are you?”

“I’m solving the song,”

“Is that strictly necessary?”

“Yes, it’s the key to all of this. How’s Y/n?”

“Not good, but she wanted me to tell you that the plane isn’t real,”

“What? How does she know?” Sherlock asked.

John turned to you to ask for your explanation and noticed with dismay that your eyes were closed.

“Y/n? Y/n you have to wake up!” John demanded.

Sherlock becoming overwhelmed, elected to take the comm out of his ear. He needed to think. He focused on the song and the dates and figured it out:

“I am lost. Help me, brother, Save my life. Before my doom. I am lost. Without your love. Save my soul. Seek my room.”

And without a second’s hesitation, he sprinted to Eurus’ room. As he entered the building he could hear the girl on the plane again and it made sense now, you were right.

“We’re going to crash!” she screamed.

“I think it’s time you told me your real name,” Sherlock huffed.

“I told you, I can’t tell me name to strangers,”

“But I’m not a stranger am I? I’m your brother” he said as he opened the door to Eurus’ room to find her sitting in the middle of the floor, tears running down her cheeks.

“I’m here Eurus” he said as he carefully tried to approach her.

“You’re playing with me Sherlock, we’re playing the game.” she smiled, eyes still closed.

“Yes, we are playing a game. I get it now. The song was never a set of directions,”  he spoke softly.

“I’m in the plane, I’m going to crash, but this time you’re going to save me” she said fearfully.

“Look how brilliant you are, your mind has created a perfect metaphor. You are high above us all alone in the sky and you understand everything except how to land. While I am just an idiot on the ground. But I can help you land, I can bring you home,” he said softly sitting in front of her.

“No, no you can’t it’s too late,” she cried.

“It’s not too late,” he assured her.

“Every time I close my eyes I’m on the plane and lost. Lost in the sky and no one can hear me,”

“Open your eyes,” he whispered, taking her hands, “I’m here and you’re not lost anymore”.

 As she looked at him, he saw for the first time how much of a child she still was. There was so much fear in her eyes. “You just took a wrong turn last time, this time get it right. Just tell me how to save my friends,” he pleaded. 

Meanwhile:

John tried unsuccessfully to wake you up. He was forced to support your weight completely which was becoming harder and harder to do. The water was now at the bottom of his neck and he knew that time was running out. He was starting to give up hope when the water stopped. 

“Sherlock!’” he yelled hoping that his friend was nearby. 

“John! Help is here, Scotland yard,  they’re getting rope and bolt cutters. Y/n - Is she still breathing?” Sherlock asked, fearful of the answer.

“She’s-I can’t tell. I’m holding her up and don’t want to move her,” he explained. 

“I have the antidote, Eurus gave it to me before they took her away,” Sherlock said.

Moments later multiple officers came back. The tossed down a harness for John to wrap around you so that he could move freely. As soon as your weight was supported, he checked your pulse and breathing.

“Sherlock,” he called up.

“Yes John?”

“She’s still breathing,” 

Sherlock was filled with relief. Everything after that happened quickly. The team lowered some bolt cutters down and John was able to sever the chain. They then worked together to pull you out of the well. You were immediately taken to the ambulance and Sherlock injected you with what he had calculated as the needed amount of the antidote. Due to the beginning signs of hypothermia along with the unconsciousness, the EMT’s decided that it was best to take you to the hospital. 

Sherlock debated momentarily whether to join you or to wait for John. He decided to stay and wait for his best friend.  Pulling him tightly into his arms as he exited the well. Sherlock wasted no time administering the antidote and then sat with John as another EMT gave him an on-site work up.

“She was right you know, the plane wasn’t real” Sherlock said.

“Really?” John asked as they began to walk away from it all.

“Nope, just a metaphor,”

“What happens now?”

“Now, my sister will go back to prison. My brother will make sure she is taken care of after facing the wrath of my parents. You go home and see your daughter, holding her just a little tighter than normal. I go to the hospital to see my girlfriend, and if she is okay, take her back to her apartment where we will spend the night. Tomorrow, we will all meet at Baker Street and clean up the mess from the explosion, putting our lives back together again,” Sherlock answered matter-of-factly. 

“Do you really think that it’ll be that easy?” John asked, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as they got in a cab.

“Of course not,” Sherlock smiled and John rolled his eyes.

The rest of the car ride was comfortably silent, both of the men were replaying the events of the day in their heads, considering how close they had come to losing everything. Sherlock’s mind drifted to his sister. He wondered if this had all been avoidable, if only he had been there for her sooner. He also wondered that if his mind was capable of covering up Victor Trevor, what other truths had it spared him? But mostly, his mind focused on you, he hoped that you were okay.

As the cab stopped, John had asked Sherlock to call with an update as soon as he knew anything. As much as he wanted to go and see you himself, Sherlock was right that he really needed to spend some quality time with his daughter. On the way to the hospital, Sherlock was caught off guard as the driver’s phone rang. The cabbie picked it up spoke for a moment before handing it to Sherlock, “it’s for you,”

“Hello Brother Mine,” he said knowing that only Mycroft would have the resources to pull this off.

“Sherlock, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” he asked. 

Mycroft had been away on official government business which is why the three of you had chosen now to go see Eurus in the first place. He must have received word from one of the boys at Scotland yard what had happened.

“I’m fine, had quite the run in with our little sister,” Sherlock answered.

“I heard. Any news on Y/n yet?” he asked sincerely.

“I’ve just arrived at the hospital. I need to give the cabbie his phone back. Impressive by the way. I’ll call you soon,” Sherlock replied.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft called out.

“Hmm?”

“I truly am sorry,”

“I know”

And he did. His brother was only ever trying to do what he thought was in his best interest. Sherlock may not have entirely agreed with his methods, but never doubted that his heart was in the right place. He pulled out his wallet and generously tipped the cabbie before heading inside and asking the nurses station as to your whereabouts and condition. She informed him that she would have to check with a doctor and asked him to be seated in the waiting room.

He sat down and waited as patiently as he could muster. He wanted, no, he *needed* to see you and to hold you. The few minutes it took the nurse to return felt like an eternity to everyone’s favorite consulting detective. In that time his brain was being particularly cruel and  reminding him of all of the things that could be wrong. For instance, you could have been unconscious longer than he anticipated, he might have calculated the wrong amount of antidote, you might have neural deficits, you might- before Sherlock could continue torturing himself, the nurse reappeared. She informed him that you were awake and practically ready to be discharged, just waiting for a confirmation from the doctor. She gave him your room number and pointed him in the right direction before excusing herself to do more work.

His face lifted into a smile as he opened your door. You were already sitting on the side of the bed in some scrubs (since your clothes were soaking wet). And just as you saw Sherlock, the phone rang and you answered it, signaling for him to wait a second.

“I forgive you,” you said without missing a beat.

There was a pause as the other person spoke.

“Of course I knew it was you, Mycroft. Who else would manage to call me before Sherlock could even get into the room,”

-another pause-

“As I am sure you already know, I am fine, as are your brother and John. And I was serious, I don’t blame you and while I know it is a mue point to tell you not to blame yourself, I do feel that it it necessary to remind you that-”

-a briefer pause-

“Of course not, I-”

-pause-

“Goodnight Mycroft, try to get some sleep,” you finished before hanging up the phone and turning to Sherlock with a smile.

“Your brother is something else,” you said as you motioned for Sherlock to sit next to you.

“That he is,” Sherlock agreed, wrapping his arm around you, “how are you feeling?”

“As well as can be expected considering the circumstances,” you answered.

“That’s acceptable,” he said, pulling you in tighter.

“How are you doing?”

“Why are you asking me? I’m not the one who was poisoned and nearly drowned.”

“No, you’re just the one who had to face a secret sister, multiple deeply unsettling moral dilemmas, confront childhood trauma, watch his girlfriend and best friend almost die, twice, among other things. So I’ll ask again, how are you doing?

“As well as can be expected considering the circumstances” he said repeating your earlier answer.

“I love you,” you said wishing that you could undo the day and spare Sherlock from it entirely. You leaned back into his embrace taking in the comfort of knowing that even if you couldn’t change the past, you could be there for him moving forward.

“I love you too,” he replied, thankful that you were okay and thankful that it all was over.

The two of you continued to sit like that just quietly taking in each others’ presence. It would take twenty minutes for you to be officially discharged and another twenty to arrive at your apartment at which time you elected to shower and head to bed.

As you fell asleep in Sherlock’s arms, his mind was still trying to wind down. He sincerely hoped that you would be okay. He, you, and John had been through a lot. He knew that he would be fine, and that John was better equipped to compartmentalize his emotions after his time in the military. You, on the other hand, were a wild card. He had never been around you when you went through anything traumatizing, and had no idea how you were going to react. He promised himself that no matter what, he would be there for you. Eventually, he was able to fall asleep, his mind somewhat eased.

The next day as Sherlock predicted, the two of you would meet up with John at Baker Street to begin repairing and cleaning the flat. Mycroft had stopped by briefly to provide each out you with new cell phones and explained that he would be paying for the repairs as well as for your medical bills. He also informed that Eurus was back in a newly secured prison and he was leaving to go speak to his parents as Sherlock requested. He apologized again for everything and then left. You, John, and Sherlock bid him well and then continued to clean up. After a while, the three of you went downstairs and collected Rosie from Mrs. Hudson and go out for dinner. 

You looked between the four of you as Sherlock was explaining something brilliant and John was listening intently, looking away occasionally to make sure his daughter was doing okay. A smile found its way to your face as you realized that this was your family. No matter how bad things got, nights like these made everything worth it. This. This is why you would never elect to date anyone more ordinary, even if it would be the death of you.  

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes series #sherlock BBC #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock imagine #sherlock imagines #sherlock fic #sherlock fics #sherlock holmes fic #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x y/n #john watson #john watson imagine

[primasveraas-writing]

Star Wars Preference- Royal!Reader

Request: “All Star Wars trios & Ahsoka + falling in love with royal!reader preferences? Love your writing!”

Thank you and thanks for requesting!

All requests are open!

XXX

Anakin:

He can’t help it; Anakin falls apart before you. He’s not dignified or composed, but his callousness and humor are still a relief from your royal duties. Anakin can make you laugh and take your mind off of the burdens in your life. While he’s intimidated by your position at first, as your walls start to come down, he sees the pieces of normalcy in your life and makes an effort to bring more calm into your daily life. The loyalty you have to your people resonates in Anakin, who is so driven by his heart and dedication to others. He falls for you first, and to you, he’s irresistible. Before you realize what’s happened, you’ve fallen in love too.

Obi-wan:

Armed with endless wit and appropriately dry humor, Obi-wan is well equipped to handle all the inescapable politics that accompany you. His clear perception of the universe appeals to you; you are both realistic, pragmatic, and diplomatic. Your mutual understanding of the galaxy brings you together, and from there, your witticisms and discussions of politics deepen your relationship. He falls in love with your grace and power; he is a true advisor and confidant, who can either play the devil’s advocate or console you when you get frustrated. Obi-wan makes you feel like you can take on the whole of the galaxy, and it’s this confidence in you that surrenders your heart to him.

Padmé:

When Padmé was queen, one elected at such a young age, she desperately looked to other leaders for example and guidance. Now, she finds you, and you’re dignified and graceful, and she’s head over heels before she knows it. At first, you bond over your experiences as monarchs, then you come to truly appreciate her for all the companionship she offers. With Padmé, you never feel alone, because at last someone understands you and the complications of the life you lead. It’s a short matter of time before you fall in love with her too.

Luke:

Luke, who is so sweet and good, epitomizes all that you wish to see in the galaxy. He truly has a heart of gold, and this gives you hope as you navigate the responsibilities of royal life. Nothing is more rewarding than his gentle encouragement and his faith in you, and you spend each moment away from him looking forward to his comfort and companionship. You realize that he’s your escape from the pressures of your life, and this means only one thing: you’re in love. Your inspiring leadership and poise as a ruler lead Luke to the same conclusion about you; there’s nothing more that he wants than to make you smile and bring you joy each and every day.

Leia:

Although she would never readily admit it, Leia is impressed by the life you lead and the dignity with which you comport yourself. Uniquely poised to understand you, but nonetheless ready to be critical of your leadership, it takes some time before Leia begins to appreciate you; first, you must prove yourself capable of the titles you hold. However, once you do so, she softens rapidly, confiding in you and bonding over your experiences and duties. You tease each other with your royal titles, as she will always be a princess too, and it’s this bond that evolves into mutual adoration and ardor.

Han:

Ever nonchalant and unimpressed, Han is unfazed by your royal position. He greets you with sarcasm, which you appreciate only because it’s certainly a deviation from the rigidity of royal protocol. However, you can keep up with his wit and humor, and Han realizes how much he truly admires you. Once feelings start to emerge, he is intimidated by your position- he’s a smuggler and a scoundrel, and you’re firmly in the upper echelons of society. Nonetheless, you have fallen for him too, and you convince him, through many methods of cajoling and begging, that you belong together, that you love him and all other details don’t matter. And because Han wants nothing more than to be with you, he gives in to your persuasion and the love between you.

Rey:

Rey approaches you with tempered curiosity and respect. She’s unsure of where she stands with you, wholly unfamiliar in dealing with royalty, even after knowing Leia and becoming a hero of all the galaxy. Still, her lack of knowledge and genuine desire to learn more about you and what you do melts your heart, and you find yourself wanting to show her all the intricacies of your life and duty. In addition, although Rey certainly doesn’t need lavishness to be comfortable, you spoil her on occasion to expose her to luxuries that she wasn’t afforded when growing up on Jakku. It’s this tenderness, this exploration that causes you both to fall in love. You’re so different, yet your humanity is the same, and that is more than enough for feelings to arise.

Finn: 

Finn, of all people, knows that respect must be earned, not adorned with a crown. So he is initially skeptical of your position, which requires patience on your part, but you don’t regret this due to your understanding of his life. Instead, you prove your kindness to him, showing how your power allows you to help rather than hurt those beneath you. Finn softens after you acknowledge that being royalty is a privilege, not a right, and he makes you a stronger leader in challenging you to fairly and wholly represent your people. You realize that his presence encourages you to grow, and this is a hallmark of love. He appreciates your leadership and actions as a royal; you have widened his view and that marks his own adoration of you.

Poe:

After a lifetime of fighting, Poe also understands that integrity is the main precursor to respect. He is not actively critical, but waits for you to establish yourself as a fair and just leader. Once he’s sure that you are worthy of your titles, he charms you with his positivity and flirtatiousness. His presence is a relief, a breath of fresh air after years of royal duties and stagnant politics. He can make you laugh, and he, in turn, is captivated by your poise and dignity. As a royal, your life is fixated on ideals and hopes to improve the galaxy, which also defines him as a leader in the Resistance. You share your burdens and dreams with each other, and together, you fall in love with each others’ determination, passion, and strive for change.

+Ahsoka:

Taught by the Jedi that a royal title does not enforce superiority, Ahsoka treats you with respect but not blind adoration. This pragmatic approach stands out to you, so you attempt to earn her friendship by demonstrating who you really are as a person. Ahsoka likes you instantly and finds that she can confide her ideas and opinions on the workings of the galaxy with you. You take her seriously, which she values deeply, and her experiences as a Jedi broaden your perceptions of the universe. The two of you exchange stories from your lives, and as you listen to her talk, you realize that you could spend forever hearing her voice and all that she has to say. She also falls for you, knowing that being with you is an incredible opportunity and adventure she would love to partake in.

#star wars x reader #star wars x you #Star Wars fanfic #anakin skywalker x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #anakin x reader #padme x reader #padme amidala x reader #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker x you #leia x reader #leia organa x reder #han x reader #han solo x reader #rey x reader #poe dameron x reader #star wars preferences #poe x reader #finn x reader #ahsoka x reader #Ahsoka Tano #Anakin Skywalker #obi wan kenobi #leia organa #Padme Amidala #Luke Skywalker #han solo #poe dameron #finn

[artist-in-space]

I've been relatively quiet but honestly, I know I shouldn't. The Philippines has some... weird priorities right now. COVID-19 cases are still rising and it seems so much is going on.

But the country of USA has always been close to my heart. And it pains me so, SO much to hear this, to see this happen.

Starting when I saw the injustice dealt towards George Floyd, to the riots, and now this supposedly impeached president utter the most heart-stopping orders with disgusting glee.

I saw those reports go down, and I was continuously horrified because how could they? This man marching to a church for a photo op? So many people hurt when they wanted to express something in a peaceful, LAWFUL manner, as he basically performed fake religious nationalism. That is a sacred material he is holding and it doesn't matter if you're non-religious or non-Christian. Presidents swear by that book but to him, to remove the priest of this church even, just to pose for a minute and post a self-conflating video is the epitome of disrespect to religion, the nation and the gravity your office holds.

I am a fan of LegalEagle. He is a man who believes in the law, and for him to show this much indignation to an official who should be a symbol of the government be so cruel is telling. I know more feel this way.

He implored people to speak up more. I am afraid, yes, because of a bill that my country has passed that may put me in danger due to my thoughts. But I digress. I cannot be afraid to condemn the act of brutality so blatant and undisputable.

I see the comments on this video and I could see so many people have been desensitized to these matters especially in 2020. I see so many here and I know you're all tired but god, don't give up.

Please, please, don't let this president of yours- this pathetic excuse of a human- bring you down. You are a republic, a democracy, a country. As many have said, the fifty states rarely agree but ALL of them had protests, a sentiment so strong ever since the Zadroga Act being passed successfuly without attachments. I've I believe that as the people of the United States, you can do it because you've done it before.

Recognize wrongdoings, record, protest. Voice out your thoughts, let the media hear it. I salute those who are active, who are so strong amidst this crisis. In between a pandemic as well.

I know US media is somewhat partisan but there must be a realization already that this is not a political issue! I'm glad that Anderson Cooper of CNN has spoken out, though the senseless violence that was brought upon the media teams have made me wonder: has the police forgotten that media is protected?

Are they truly ignoring everyone's rights? They must be, since they seem to have forgotten their duty sworn to protect the people rather than inflict harm.

Citizens abiding by the law are being subdued, tear-gassed, maced, hit with batons and shields and blasted with water cannons because the man in the Oval office has been so privileged to be enabled to act that way.

(And I saw the members of Congress who didn't even condemn the heinous handling of the president in the rally of Lafayette Park. They were members of the Grand Old Party. Disgusting. I'm not going to be surprised if I learn more about their excuses for their president.)

I can see that this whole situation- protests and riots- is growing stronger every day. It is a righteous indignation over a systemic injustice that has been dealt towards disefranchised communities, for all the harmful, rights-violating actions that has been turned a blind eye upon. Eric Garner, I remember. Now George Floyd. Anyone who even thinks that this is a one-off, "dramatic" reaction is not even obfuscating their discrimination at this point.

For those who are overseas or cannot do as much, I implore you to donate, or spread information. Sign petitions, of which I have participated in: https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#petitions. I know there are more.

For me, and for so many people, I will stand with the Black Lives Matter movement. It does not matter if they were "suspects" if they weren't given due process. Protest for your rights. Be proud and share your voice. Inform the ignorant. Condemn the malicious. We will stand by you and support you.

I know that peaceful protest is a LAWFUL act and people were exercising their RIGHT as citizens. No one can dispute that and we, the whole world, can see that you were all civil before the orders were brought. Those who are posing to be protesters, those who loot and destroy to put the blame on peaceful protesters? Truth will show up in a second because people support what is right. I know they do.

The order of the president to bring out militia to propagandize a "presidential, moral" image will not be solitary act. It is just an instance of an unjust usage of law enforcement, of which had been preceded and will be followed with more police brutality. These should be condemned-- for it is a product of a system that has been plagued by people who take advantage of it; they are obsessed with power and control over communities who are discriminated. It even disgusts me that he will be used as an example, as a role model of bigots and ignoramus people.

I am only one person but I've seen collective individuals band together to become a voice. Strength, will, vigilance and honesty will come a long way and I believe that change will be brought in a government plagued with systemic injustice if we stand together.

Stay strong.

#Youtube #legaleagle #blacklivesmatter #I will not stay silent and not condemn something so cruel #is 2020 shit? you know it #but that doesnt mean its gotta continue