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#I hate all of it. thanks.

nova-rpv · 3 months

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You draw shadow so fucking cute i love it ok thats all *skitters away*

tthamk u, have this

based on this post by the official pusheen account

#no but genuinely thank you so much!!!#i. dont like the drawing. at all. i hate it even #but Tiny Shado is Tiny Shado #sth #sonic fanart #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #nov.aart #nov.ask

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osaemu · 5 months

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a collection of all my works in the STREAMER!GOJO AU. ordered chronologically from oldest to latest. started the series 10/30/23. here's the old masterlist banner.

KEY: [★] = personal favorites | [▲] = nsfw

✩ ‧ ˚. FICS + DRABBLES

yes, she's real – wait, gojo has a girlfriend? [★]

beginner's luck – you beat gojo at his own game

kiss it better – you take care of a kid together

the cutest couple – you flirt with gojo's rival

finders keepers – a fan's obsessed with gojo [★]

show you off – gojo wants to spoil you

16th avenue – you fluster gojo

caught us – you kiss on cam

he watches edits of himself

you take over his stream for a bit

is it over now? – you break up and make up [★]

kiss and make up – makeup sex [▲]

he takes care of you when you're sick

you and me – you two have a "sweet" makeout

✩ ‧ ˚. OTHER

character.ai bot

#𓂃⊹ navigation.#streamer!gojo #thank you for all the love 🤍#edit: i hate how this mlist looks #i'll reformat it one day

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vaguely-concerned · 1 month

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So much of Garak as a person starts to make sense once you know his childhood was a fucking gothic novel. His main playground was a graveyard and he'd play pretend by perfoming improv eulogies to an imagined audience. For a long time his main touchstone for most important figures from recent history is 'oh yeah I know about that guy my dad buried him. great flower arrangements for that one'. He finds out later his 'parents' are actually a brother and sister who had to get married to avoid the utter shame and social devastation of having a child born out of wedlock, and they live in the basement of his biological father's house. (the madwoman in the attic vs. the tiny elim in the basement.) His biological father calls himself his uncle and locks him in a closet whenever he fails to live up to his insane and unpredictable expectations and everyone just has to act like that's normal and expected, and his will hangs over everything at all times, unseen but always felt keener than anything else. The father who actually raised him grows the world's most beautiful (and as it turns out, most poisonous) orchids and keeps the mask of a god hidden in a box in his work shed. Everyone in the house is choking down secrets like it's the only air they know how to breathe anymore.

What I'm saying is that right from the get-go this guy never had the faintest shot at turning out normal, so I'm glad that by middle age he's found a way to get a bit silly with it as he continues to be deeply deeply not normal about anything ever <3

#guess who's reading a stitch in time!#star trek ds9 #elim garak #a stitch in time #star trek #ds9 #I will make a monster post of asit thoughts eventually but just. jesus christ!!! what a start in life lmao #tolan and tain seem to have been... well not exactly friends probably but to have had some connection beforehand #did tain know him or mila first??? how was mila and tolan's sibling status presumably not known publicly?#at what point during all of that did tain start to have sex with tolan's sister. the more you think about it the more fucked it gets lol #under the circumstances... shoutout to tolan and mila for not leaving him somehow even more fucked up interpersonally than he is #and no thanks to tain for anything ever I hate him so much

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corantus · 5 months

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hi. help

e-begging to avoid eviction 2 !!!!!! !!!!!!

i got laid off 5 weeks ago, i applied for unemployment the same day i got laid off but for some reason they are taking forever to process my case. i just keep waiting for weeks and then getting sent more paperwork to fill out. yesterday they told me i'll have to wait another 2 weeks to hear back again. ive been applying for every job i can find and getting nothing so far

i have $1533 in outstanding rent, i just barely avoided being taken to court, i have a payment plan with my landlord but thats entirely dependent on what happens with my unemployment

i also have to make an 80 dollar payment on my student loans by monday or it'll be sent to collections. that sucks but not being homeless is my priority

(also my grandfather is dying and im dealing with my homophobic family if for some reason you want to know the specifics about that i have complained here)

i am really greatful to have had comms to keep me afloat, this has been a huge help with everyday expenses + keeping me and my dog fed. but yeah i cant do this shit anymore. if you can help or boost that is lifesaving!!! thank you so much

#not art #when it rains it pours !!!!!!!!!!#i know i keep doing this and i hate doing this!!! i am really sorry!!!!! thank you for all the support so far !!!!!!!#going into mental health treatment has completely destroyed my finances lol !!!!! (<-he is not laughing out loud)

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saturngalore · 2 months

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afrofuturism🪐

☆ one ~ solange hair by darknightt (tsr warning) ☆ two ~ loretta hair by @simtric ☆ three ~ bahati braids by @sheabuttyr ☆ four ~ isonoe hair by octetsica ☆ five ~ binah braids by @sheabuttyr ☆ six ~ cornrows & curls hair by @leeleesims1 ☆ seven ~ indie hair by @sashima ☆ eight ~ loc petals by @shespeakssimlish ☆ nine ~ mnemosyne hair by octetsica ☆

mini dedication essay to black simmers and ts4 creators below! pls read if you have the chance! <3

this edit is a small homage to afrofuturism and the various unique black hairstyles (and especially the black creators of most of these hairs) that i have downloaded and admired over the years! some of these are old and some of these are new.

to me, afrofuturism means constantly honoring/reclaiming/challenging the past while constantly creating/dreaming of a better society/world/future. a society/world/future that embraces and empowers all of our differences, ingenuity, aspirations, and unique lived/cultural experiences. a society/world/future that does not limit us through the various systems of marginalization and oppression (racism, homophobia, transphobia, fatphobia, sexism, xenophobia, ableism, classism, colorism, etc.) that often affects how we, as black people, live today.

blackness is so diverse and intricate yet it's always been a struggle to find my culture within a game that's known for being so limiting, bland, and extremely eurocentric when it comes to hairstyles, clothing, food traditions/events, etc. black simmers have always had to figure out how to make this game more inclusive and make it resemble either more like how our ancestors lived, how our current lives are, or how we would want our lives (and even our children's lives) to look like in the future no matter how dystopian the real world look and feel now. fortunately, these hairs and their uniqueness bring a huge sense of culture and style to this game. they have always inspired me and made me feel extremely proud to a part of the lovely african diaspora (and the ever-growing black simmer community).

in a way, being a black simmer and cc creator usually means that we are often digitally creating our own worlds as afrofuturists to varying degrees (whether we know it or not) every time we open our game, make our sims, make houses, and/or make black cultural cc. also, now i know that cc making is not easy to do and is extremely time-consuming so this post is also just me giving all black cc creators especially those who create for free their well-deserved flowers! here are some other black cc creators who created cc that have greatly impacted my game since i first started playing sims 4: @/leeleesims1 @/simtric @/hi-land @/yuyulie @/sims4bradshaw @/ebonixsims @/xmiramira @/sheabuttyr @/qwertysims @/oplerims @/sleepingsims @/shespeakssimlish and so many more im forgetting probably (im too shy rn to tag ppl but i greatly appreciate y’all fr i hope y’all telepathically get this message somehow 😭).

last but not least, i am hoping that this inspires somebody to keep creating or start creating regardless of what they think their skill level is! somebody will absolutely fall in love with your work and/or your art/work will 100% change someone's game forever <333

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crybaby-bkg · 7 months

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cw: babies!!!! you’re also referred to as “ma” once

okay but like,,,,,first time dad Bakugou giving his baby their first bath after coming home!!! you’re fluttering around the kitchen, trying to make sure you have your daughters towel ready, her baby safe soap, a tiny washcloth, that her teeny tiny pajamas are in the dryer.

it’s only when you take a second to ask Bakugou something do you finally just—pause. your gaze instantly softens, a lovesick smile inching on your face as you watch your big buff pro hero husband hunch over the kitchen sink.

your daughter is resting in the baby bath seat, lilac colored and reclined back. she squirms when Bakugou lets the warm water run over her naked, fat little belly. her face scrunches at the new sensation, fists balling up against her chest. he coos at her, gentle,

“I know, ya little princess. Feels weird on ya, doesn’t it?” he asks her, voice so small under the running water. he cups his hand, holds a handful of water, tilts her fat cheek up to let it slide in her neck rolls that always smell like milk. she whines at that, sniffles and hiccups before she cries. you go to take a step forward, to console her, but Bakugou is so patient.

“It’s alright,” he kisses her tears away. “Daddy’s just tryna help you.” he runs the water all over her body, and paired with his softly spoken words, does she finally quiet after a few seconds. her little body trembles with the aftermath, pouty lips puffy and he can’t help but smooth his hand over the softness of her face.

“Yer a crybaby, just like your ma.” he whispers to her, grinning when that breaks you out of your stupor to smack him on the shoulder. you both laugh at that, and you finally feel the peace that is your little family. you lean against Bakugou’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to his jaw before looking at your daughter again.

“You’re gonna be a great dad,” you mumble into his skin. he doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his shuddering breath, and the calmness that blankets the rest of your house.

#ugly crying on the r floor #I thought about this earlier and forgot and then remembered again #and I was soooo happy bc I love this thought #first time baby baths were a nightmare with my niece LOL #she was colicky and hated everything so what was supposed to be a cute n sweet moment #was just her screaming to the tops of her lungs lol #but I believe bkg has a very well tempered first child which makes him want more #then the second one is HIM all over again and he’s like. thanks I’m good no more for me pls AKSJDKD #okay bye I’m gonna catch up on the dash 🏃🏽‍♂️#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#bakugou treats! 🍬#dad bkg

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florencemtrash · 2 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fifteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: ANGST... that's about the only major warning I can think of

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Jurian and Vassa took the attic and became scarce, but when night and day slid into one another you still heard her painful screams, muffled as they were by the magic that encased their room. It was a feeling more than anything else. A tension that gripped the House until it seemed to be sobbing. At sunrise and sunset without fail, Vassa’s body broke and rearranged itself, flesh turning to feathers and feathers to flesh. Before it had been a painless process where her body came and went in its various forms, but no longer. Now she felt everything alongside an itch deep within her bones that couldn’t be satiated by food or drink or anything else.

Go to the lake! Her body screamed. Go to Koschei! And then punished her when she didn’t comply. Like a beast had sunk its claws into her flesh, its waiting mouth only inches away from snapping. To stay away was a slow, agonizing march to death. To move close would be swift, but final, and somehow Vassa knew that if she gave into Koschei’s call, she would be lost forever.

You lingered at the base of the attic's staircase, your bare feet sinking into the soft rug until the sounds of cracking bones finally ceased. Three pairs of feet shuffled above your head and you heard Jurian’s faint whispers like a gentle push of air. When the door opened and Lucien emerged, you saw Vassa crumpled on the floor, now a bone-thin woman with dull, coppery hair and skin ravaged by scratches and pockmarks.

“Shhhh. It’s ok.” Jurian whispered, encasing her in his arms.

“I can’t,” her voice trembled. “It hurts. I-I-I’m burning.”

“Y/n?” Lucien frowned. The door slammed shut with a bang and you jumped backwards. You clutched a velvet pouch close to your chest and then slowly held it out to Lucien.

“It’s for Vassa,” you explained, trying to keep your eyes on his mismatched ones — one russet as river stones, one gold like the sun. He opened the bag and stared in confusion at the fine, white powder within, giving it a tentative sniff. “Morphine. Humans use it for pain.”

“I know of it.” Lucien’s frown deepened. “They get addicted. Take too much and they die.”

“She’s already addicted. That’s what’s happening isn’t it? Koschei’s drawing his power away to get her to return to the lake and every day that passes she’s dying.” Lucien tightened his fists around the bag, still skeptical. Vassa had endured enough. He didn’t want to have her endure this either. “The bag is enchanted and will never allow her to draw too much. Just enough to calm her hunger. If we’re lucky it might help her sleep too.”

Lucien stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists from around the gold drawstring, waiting for Vassa’s cries to cease. But they never did. And there you were standing in front of him, unwavering and expectant. There was a glimmer of stubbornness in your gaze. A sign of the hours you’d spent researching Vassa’s condition and acquiring the strange human drug, and your disapproval if Lucien didn’t accept it.

“Thank you, Y/n,” he whispered, “But please go. Vassa hates for anyone to see her like this. Even Jurian and I.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded, disappearing down the stairs as quickly as you could. The next morning when the sun rose over the mountains and Vassa changed, you heard only the House’s usual breathings.

The House buckled under the weight of the Inner Circle’s secrets and the sheer volume of history that had occurred within its walls and between its occupants. It utilized its magic in clever ways — your door opened with a creak that wasn’t there before so that Azriel would always hear your comings and goings. Lucien would suddenly find his door locked and the curtains drawn on the days when Helion made surprise visits to see Y/n. Nyx would find himself ushered around by a broomstick that swatted his ankles when the adults were discussing private matters. It was all a great deal of work.

So it was a relief when Rhys and Feyre quietly moved their children to the House of Wind with Nesta and Cassian, and when Mor and Emerie took the final steps in emptying their rooms and went to hide out in their city apartment. It was even more of a relief when Helion returned to the Day Court, but not before throwing a heavy threat in Azriel’s face that if he should ever hurt his daughter again in any way, shape, or form, he’d strip the wings off his back.

Meals at the House were tense, quiet affairs, something not even Feyre, Elain, and Nesta’s sisterly conversations or Cassian’s light-hearted humor could ease. Elain stayed close to Lucien’s side, one hand always on his arm or resting against his back or brushing against his, but that didn’t erase what the Blood Duel had done to his trust in Elain. He was kind, but guarded, especially when Azriel was in the room. But it was more than she could ask for because it was more than she’d ever given him in the beginning.

You and Azriel were worse off.

You were speaking once more, but your words were always laced with a bit of apprehension and Azriel’s were always filled with sorrowful hope. Conversations were dull, short, and didn’t even begin to brush the surface of all the things you should have been talking about. You were terrified not of the Shadowsinger, but of his opinion of you. Did he want you so he could fix you? So that he could feel needed? So that you could be another one in a list of females he burned through?

It never truly seemed like that was the case, but you also didn’t trust yourself when it came to your emotions. You had told him once that you couldn’t imagine having a love like Feyre and Rhysand’s, or Nesta and Cassian’s, and you still meant it. You were a matchstick and he was flint, and you didn’t know what would happen to you after he had lit you aflame. For all you knew, you were already burning and this wonderful thing you’d had with Azriel would live and die with nothing more than the memory of an embrace in Rhysand’s office to show for it.

But oh how you ached to touch him again. To hold him like you had before and to have him return the gesture just as strongly.

You stiffened when Azriel’s hand brushed your arm, warmth bursting out from the point of contact.

“I’m sorry.” Azriel whispered, and he was talking about more than the wine he spilled when he reached over the table.

You spared him a glance, the first real look you’d given him in two weeks. The flagon slipped from his hands, and if it weren’t for his shadows catching it an inch above the floor, the room would have been doused in burgundy red.

“Does Lucien know?”

Rhysand looked up from his papers. Missives from the Darkbringer army and Illyrian troops up north clogged his desk, all begrudgingly accepting his orders to prepare for what could amount to another lengthy war. Letters thrown back and forth between the seven courts added to the chaos, all of them war-weary and desperate for a path that wouldn’t lead to bloodshed.

You took up the center of his room and stood so quietly he hadn’t even noticed you until you spoke. It had been eating away at you for days since Lucien’s arrival. Every time you two saw one another or spoke, you tried to scrounge for clues that would reveal whether he knew he was Helion’s son and whether he might suspect you were Helion’s daughter as well. The other members of the Inner Circle had been tight-lipped about that secret, a skill you now knew they all possessed with alarming dexterity.

“Does Lucien know he’s Helion’s son?”

Rhysand slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples with one careful hand. Finally he said, “Yes.”

The answer knocked the breath from your lungs. You’d been expecting the opposite. “Does he… does he know about me?”

Rhys sighed and shook his head. You didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

“How long has he known?”

“Six years. Feyre was the one to tell him. She was actually the first of us to recognize the similarity, believe it or not. But then, no one ever dared to give weight to the rumors surrounding Helion and Aurelia Vanserra while Beron was alive.”

You rocked back and forth on your feet, breath shaking as it entered your body. “Six years. Six years and you never thought to tell Helion that he has a son? I thought you two were friends?”

Rhysand tensed. “I’m Lucien’s friend as well and he begged us to never speak of it - to live as though we’d never learned that secret. And I keep my secrets. We all do.”

“You and your family have made that very clear in the time that I’ve been here.”

“If you mean Azriel—”

“Don’t play dumb, Rhys, you know I’m talking about him.” Tears pricked at your eyes, adding to the humiliation that had coated you like a film ever since you’d seen his memories about Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. “I don’t—” You swallowed thickly, “I can imagine how you must have all been whispering behind my back about Azriel and I. How you must have found it so pathetic the way he charmed me when I was really his fourth choice.”

“That’s not true.” Was what Rhysand was going to say. But he didn’t need to. Azriel said it for him.

Your face lost all color, any bravado melting away at the feeling of Azriel’s shadows wrapping around your ankles like ribbons of silk. You could feel him in the room and that quiet darkness he carried around with him as inherently as if it were stitched onto his body.

Azriel was shaking. Shaking. With anger, turmoil, or grief — you couldn’t name it. All you knew is that one moment you were standing in Rhysand’s office, all velvet upholstery and suave, expensive taste, and the next you were in Azriel’s room.

Everything smelled like mountain air. Maybe it was the gothic windows that stretched into the vaulted ceilings, stained glass opening out onto a personal balcony with deep blue curtains fluttering in the breeze. But you were sure that even with the windows barred it would smell the same. It would smell like Azriel. If you threw open his wardrobe you’d come face to face with a wall of black. Lots and lots of black. Black suits he hardly ever wore. Black fighting leathers. Black leather jackets for everyday. Black trousers. Black boots on the floor. Very practical. Very Azriel.

If you dug through his dresser drawers you’d find black boxers and socks to match and no shortage of knives and daggers hidden behind wooden planks or in leather sleeves nailed to the bottom of his desk. But at first glance you only saw three weapons in plain view — Truth Teller, blade down and stuck in the wood grain of his desk beside a pile of reports, and two obsidian blades hanging from the wall beside his midnight blue bed in the shape of an “x.”

The smell — Azriel’s smell — calmed you, at least up to the point where you turned to find him standing less than six inches away, hazel eyes boring into yours. Then your pulse skyrocketed. You were certain that if he only looked down to your heart he’d see it pounding against your chest like a drum skin ready to burst.

“That’s not true,” he repeated earnestly. “And don’t you dare believe it. Not even for a second.”

His eyes jumped back and forth between yours and before he could stop himself, his hands were grasping yours in a gentle hold. The leather gloves were soft and supple beneath your fingertips. You wanted to rip them off so you could feel his scarred hands again.

“You weren’t meant to hear that,” you whispered, suddenly feeling small. That angry humiliation went up in a puff of smoke and left you shy and uncertain.

Azriel gripped your hands a little tighter and you watched as tendrils of shadow worked their way up your arms and got lost in your hair. “But I did,” he said breathlessly, “And I need you to know that it’s not true.”

“Azriel—”

“I know—” he was shaking his head, “I know what Helion said and I won’t lie and tell you that I’m perfect or that I’ve made any smart decisions about love in the past — I’ve not make a single one — but… but Y/n you’re not a fourth choice. You’re not something broken that I’m trying to fix or some fantasy I’ve fallen for.”

His hands shook and despite the gloves his hands still felt sticky and wet. Slick with your blood. The burning scent of iron in his nose.

“You’re the most real thing in the world to me. You’re—” You’re my mate. The words crawled up his throat like acid and it just felt wrong. He would say those words to you. He would. But not now. Not like this. He came up with something else. “Y/n, please tell me you believe me. Please.”

And there you were. Falling all over again. Burning like a matchstick on fire. The flames slowly eating away at you bit by bit. You wondered what would happen when you finally hit the ground, or when you ran out of length. Would he still hold you like this? Would you still feel real to him?

“How am I meant to know, Azriel?”

You’d always been good at books. You knew the ways in which these stories worked where the themes and plot points had been preordained and written with the purpose of being tied up in a neat package by the final page. People were very different. They were unpredictable and chaotic and they could lie through the skin of their teeth and believe they were telling the truth. And that was the problem wasn’t it? Because you still believed every word that came out of Azriel’s mouth, and his hands still felt like they were keeping you tethered to this earth when sometimes your powers and the memories that came with them made you feel like a whisper on the wind. Weightless and at the mercy of something you couldn’t control.

“You can trust me. You can know for yourself.”

He pressed your hand against his cheek and you wanted to cry at the faint pricks of stubble beneath your skin and the sharp curve of his jaw.

He wanted you to use your power on him. He wanted you to learn all the ways he wanted you. All the ways he loved you.

But you couldn’t do it.

Azriel panicked when you remained silent, staring at him and at his hands like you were frightened. All at once he was back on the streets of Velaris, cobblestones shaving away at the skin of his palms as he dragged his way up to you inch by bloody inch, fighting against a body that was too broken to move.

He couldn’t remember what it felt like when he’d stabbed you through the chest and dropped you on the street. Everything between the moment he saw Andrian’s clear-cut eyes to the moment he saw Rhysand’s horrified gaze was fuzzy and dark. But that made it worse because now in his nightmares he could imagine all the ways he’d hurt you, each version teeming with the same level of horror and possibility as the previous one.

He let you go and hated himself when you stepped back, your hand slipping away.

“I won’t… I won’t hurt you again, Y/n. I swear on my life. I’ll-I’ll make a bargain, I don’t care. I would sooner die than let something like that happen again.”

I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.

“Y/n, please.”

I am not broken. But I am afraid.

You fled from his bedroom.

The air had a bite to it now with winter descending. The snow line on the mountains dipped lower and lower each day, creeping like ivy down a brick wall.

Elain never wore gloves. Not when she was gardening. It was something she and Ione had in common. She liked the feeling of her strong hands, the callouses on her palms and fingers that she’d earned all on her own. She grunted, slamming her shovel into the soil and feeling the microscopic chips of ice give way when she kicked down on the blade. It was too late in the season to be planting tulip bulbs. If she’d been in Velaris she would have done this four weeks ago. But it was alright with her. She knew the value of hard work, and she had enough hope for the future to believe that even though she was late, she’d have something beautiful to call hers come springtime.

“It’s time for that conversation I was telling you about,” she said cryptically, as was her way.

Lucien dropped the final basket beside where Elain now knelt in the dirt, her pale pink dress dirtied and littered with her own handprints. The brown bulbs rolled around like oversized chestnuts, the kind that he’d be roasting over a fire right now if he were still in Autumn Court. Instead he was here, lingering in a Court that had never felt like home. Then again… he’d never felt at home in Autumn, Spring, or the Human Lands either.

He straightened up and wiped his hands clean on his trousers, golden and russet eyes trailing over the River House’s grounds for this mysterious person he was meant to speak to.

There.

The faint swishing of black robes behind a dark green topiary tree. He should have known Elain had been talking about you.

You cracked your knuckles and rehearsed the words you’d scribbled out earlier that day and then set to fire in a maddening loop. You’d been restless with the truth of Lucien’s parentage and you couldn’t believe that the others had held their tongues so readily. As it was, without Azriel’s company to help quiet your mind, you’d dug into this new piece of information like a starving animal and couldn’t let go.

Was this a good time to tell him? Would there ever be a good time to tell him? You had no idea.

Somewhere in the attic, you knew Vassa was itching to take to the skies like the burning comet she was. Every night she shivered in Jurian’s arms, the morphine barely able to take the edge off the humming in her bones, and every morning she let him lock her away in her cage. It was getting worse and worse trying to keep her from succumbing to Koschei’s influence. Even now you thought you could hear her keen cries whistling from the attic like ten thousand arrows launched into the air.

Somewhere else, in a secret, hidden place you knew nothing about, Andrian had finally been imprisoned. Andrian with his bent neck and silver, candy-floss hair and bloody little hands.

You shivered and jumped back five feet when Lucien called your name, kind eyes narrowed in concern. His shirt was loose and open and the sweat on his body rose like mist off his skin. He was his mother’s son first, Helion’s child second, and fire still ran through his veins. The chill did not touch him.

He tipped his head to the side, red hair spilling out from the messy way he’d tied it up and away from his face. A brutal scar ran through his eye like a fissure, starting at the center of his brow before clawing its way down his jaw like a lightning strike frozen in time. But for all the cruelty he’d been dealt with in life, his eyes were gentle, even the mechanical one that whirred and flashed in the sun.

They were even kinder when he looked at you. You with your inquisitive gaze and curious nature, like a stray cat that couldn’t help but linger too long at doorways. One foot inside, one foot ready to run and hide. He’d caught you watching him at dinners, and he’d catch himself staring when you walked around the house with a book in your hand, so utterly absorbed that you would bump against doorways and bang your hips against sharp corners.

“Elain told me about you. Did you know that?”

You blinked in surprise. “What did she say?”

“Elain… Elain doesn’t always speak clearly. Much of what comes out of her mouth can feel eerie or discomforting. But, she told me before we left for the Night Court that I would be happy I came. That I would never regret the things I learned on my trip.” He tilted his head even further, looking more and more like a fox with each turn of his face. “And she mentioned a bird. A bird with ink-tipped wings and eyes like a crow.”

You flexed your fingers, well aware that the tips were smudged with ink, the nails bitten down to the quick.

“Someone clever and cautious who’d been hidden away their whole life and needed to see the sun.”

You felt stripped bare. That strange vulnerability that comes with being summed up in so few words had you feeling airy. Like one sentence could be enough to carry the weight of the three centuries you’d lived and never buckle.

“I know you’re Helion’s son. I recognized it the moment I saw you.”

Lucien stepped back, scarlet brows shooting up into his hair with alarm.

You hesitated, then continued on cautiously. “I recognized it because I would know my father’s face anywhere.”

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

I KNOW IT'S A CLIFFHANGER ENDING BUT I NEEDED TO BREAK EVERYTHING INTO CHAPTERS SOMEWHERE AND I'M GOING TO TRY AND GET CHAPTER 16 UP BY WEDNESDAY SO I DON'T LEAVE Y'ALL HANGING FOR TOO LONG. HAVE MERCY!!!

The good news is that Chapter 16 is already mostly written, I just need to edit it all to make sure things flow smoothly. Also, LUCIEN KNOWS NOW AHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sorry for the Azriel angst... but it's delicious, no?

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x reader angst #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #I know the fandom has a toxic shipping culture around Elain/Lucien/Azriel in particular #leave me alone all right #I am going to write the couplings as makes sense because this is a READER X AZRIEL FIC #but also i don't stand for a lot of the Elain slander #smells of sexism to me sorry not sorry just let the girl be #obviously she's not perfect but she doesn't deserve the absurd amount of hate she gets #thanks for coming to my ted talk

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 1 year

Text

It started back when he was 16.

His parents found out about him and Vlad thanks to the fruitloop being an idiot and practically outing them both. Danny was so lucky that he had planned for a situation like this. He had go-bags ready with a few changes of clothes, a thermos, some weapons, a star projector, lots of money from Sam and enough medical supplies to make a hospital jealous.

It was a good thing too, after crippling the GIW and destroying all the gear they and the Fentons had they destroyed their research and everything ghost related. Vlad at this point was already dead so he wasn't much of a concern.

Dannys had landed in an alley in a new dimension, only problem now was the parting shot his mother gave him on his back. Due to the placement of it Danny couldn't reach to treat it properly and he didn't know anyone in this dimension who could help him.

Thats when his ghost sense went off. He groaned, hoping he wouldn't have to fight a new ghost in this state when a man in a red helmet (Mask?) walked up to him and motioned for peace.

"I'm not going to hurt you." The man said gently, "I just wanna look at that injury, maybe help."

Danny stared at him. He didn't feel anything off about the guy and Danny prided himself on being a good judge of character. "Okay." He scooted himself around so his back was exposed to the stranger.

"Wow, you're really not from around here." Danny stiffened, had he been tricked? The man made no moves to hurt him, just got to work tending to his wound. The man was swift, and aside from the slight sting of an ointment he didn't recognize there was no pain at all.

Once Danny was all patched up the guy made to leave, "Wait!" Danny called out and the man halted, "Who are you?" The man turned his head to look back at him, still facing away from him, "Red Hood."

As it turned out, Red Hood was the new up and coming crime lord who everyone was talking about. He came seemingly out of nowhere and was making a lot of waves in Gothams underbelly. Gotham...so this was Dannys new haunt.

Danny wanted to protect it but...he wanted to protect Red Hood even more. So when he heard about Red Hood forming a gang he made a decision. He gathered up materials to make his own supervillian outfit- basically an all black outfit with a long hooded coat and combat boots- and to add the finishing touch he put on a all white gas mask that he had made himself, complete with a voice modulator, night vision, heat vision, etc. If Hood ever wanted him to prove it was him he could make his mask glow using his ghost powers. Not that it was needed. Hood seemed to be able to sense him in a similar way that Danny could but in a much much smaller range.

With that being said, hoods men didn't trust him at first, which was fair considering he just started randomly appearing at their operations and helping them out...by force usually. They weren't sure what to make of him but Danny didn't want to go through the usual goon enlistment process as Hood would want to know his name and face and everything else and Phantom was...well a phantom.

Danny liked to hide, even in plain sight. He couldn't deny the little game of cat and mouse they had was fun. Hood would try to follow him home or track him or get him to take off the mask and Phantom would dodge his attempts every time.

It took a while, but Red Hood did eventually come to trust him, going so far as to make Danny his right hand man after 3 years of working together, though that may also be because he had rarely failed any of the tasks Hood had given him.

Maybe thats why he never told any of the bats about him. He had picked up that there was something between Hood and the bats but he never could figure out what it was without prying into his bosses personal life. Still, it was rather shocking when Red Hood showed up one day with a large red bat symbol splayed across his chest.

It also made him look at how freaking chiseled his boss was. He couldn't count how many times he had to drag his eyes away from his abs and chastise himself for thinking that way.

Danny was in love with a man whos face he would never see. But that was fine. He was happier standing by this man's side and yearning than he ever was back in Amity and it wasn't like Hood knew his face or name either.

-----------

He felt like a halfa though an incomplete one. He had a core but it felt hollow, like the soul was forcibly removed somehow and only emotions remained. Hood gained a bad reputation for flying into a monstrous rage but was always calm when Danny was near, a fact that even Red Hood himself seemed to pick up on.

Hood began to fall for his second in command pretty quickly, always trying to feed him and take care of him (as is his love language) while Danny was openly obsessed with assuring Hoods safety and well being even going so far as to use his powers (that no one knows about) to overshadow a computer and hack into the bats systems to make sure Hood was okay after a prolonged period of him being MIA.

The bats are freaked but Danny being Danny gets lucky and they always seem to miss his trail by a hair. Lucky ghost.

Things start going sideways when Fenton tech starts showing up in this new dimension only for Danny to find out his parents have remade the portal and are looking for him. The bats are being hunted by his parents and and the now rogue government agency the GIW. Danny tries to explain things to Hood without compromising his own secrets but once the newest Robin gets captured and Hood freaks Danny puts everything on the line to go rescue the stabby bird.

#dead on main #fanfiction prompts #prompts #dp x dc #batman #danny phantom #danny fenton #i just want danny in hoods gang so bad #the gang adores thier boss #robin #damian wayne #danny sends a goon to red robin to politely asked about red hood when he hadnt been seen in a while #rr is confused but confirms hood is fine but off with some other antiheros atm #the goon very politely thanks him and is off on his way #rr is just like: huh that happened #danny is very sneak: 100 in this #when dannys parents inter the scene they have a wanted poster of phantom that is just a stick figure drawing #in thier defence all the pics they had were destroyed in team phantoms purge #damian is very angry and embarrassed to have been captured by these loons #this idea fought me tooth and nail and i still hate how it came out

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