#bloody benefactor

[letoasai]

dp x dc 2

A what if... 

If Danny was originally a ghost child, born from one of the seven ancients that sealed Pariah Dark. In an unfortunate accident, he was caught by the Fentons and experimented on. In a twist of strange fate, he was turned human, and basically given life. Because he was no longer a ghost, they decided to adopt him.

 Danny had no memory of his earliest years, or the experiments done on him but Jazz does and she quietly took better care of her brother than their parents did of either of them. At fourteen, he still dies and becomes a half ghost, partially because of his heritage kicking in. He still defeats Pariah Dark and becomes the Ghost King and the only one that knows his original identity is Clockwork who didn’t figure it out himself until Danny became a halfa. His human self being untraceable for them.

Danny is sixteen when he tells his parents about himself, oddly enough against Jazz’s advice. They didn't take it well and were ready to put him back on the table to experiment on him a second time to ‘fix him’ again.

It was Jazz that ended up sabotaging everything and grabbing her brother to run. She’d been packed and ready to go, expecting Jack and Maddie’s overreaction. Jazz finally tells him about the hazy memories she can recall about his arrival. Being only two years older than him, she was just a child but she remembered enough on top of their neglected childhood to decide to bail with him.

Clockwork was the one to give them their destination. Head to Gotham, where Danny could meet his mother, Lady Gotham, who is eagerly awaiting and preparing for his arrival. ~ ~ Batman did not like being summoned for meetings, he especially didn’t like being summoned for a meeting in his own batcave. That was his own space being infringed upon and he didn’t like it one bit. Meetings were for mutual areas unless it was called by one of his own children. Even then, those meetings were usually at the dinner table.

Constantine contacting him to have an ‘urgent chat’ was the last thing he wanted. Constantine usually avoided work when he could, and anything he would bring to the table meant trouble was on its way.

He’d had enough apocalyptic chaos for one month. It was only worse that Constantine insisted they meet tonight instead of the League meeting at the end of the week. Things that couldn’t wait meant more work for him.

Batman’s eyes narrowed at the sound of footsteps moving through the west side of the batcave. Even knowing it was coming, he was unhappy knowing that Constantine used the private door that only a few knew about to get inside.

“You’re early. That’s unheard of.” Batman commented, smelling the smoke of the man’s cigarette before even turning around. “Put that out.”

“Don’t think i will.” Constantine said, a hint of stress in his voice. “I dunno what you did but i don’t appreciate being dragged into it.”

“What i did?” Batman frowned, turning away from his computer to stand. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re the one that wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Constantine said, inhaling. His free hand held another cigarette that he likely planned to light when the first was gone. “Someone wants to speak to you. You’re going to speak to them.”

“Tch.” Batman crossed his arms. It wasn’t a wonder to him why his children were so stubborn. He could see himself in many of their habits. “Am i?”

Constantine shrugged. “Yeah, i think you are. They’re your bloody benefactor so i really don’t think you got a choice. I’m just a middle man.”

“Benefactor?” Batman scowled, a list of possible names running through his mind but nothing held. Something that required Constantine’s presence was even more baffling. “What are you talking about?”

The atmosphere in the cave suddenly changed. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but given the way Constantine tensed, they both felt it. It was like a wave of something spread out through the room, brushing against both of them and moving out to fill the rest of the corner.

“John, who did you invite here?”

“Oh, i don’t think i could do something like that. Way above my pay grade.” Constantine muttered, turning to face the same direction he’d just come from. There was no noise, no footsteps, nothing to indicate an intruder other than the feeling filling every inch of the batcave. “May i present to you, the spirit of Gotham herself. Lady Gotham.”

For a long few seconds nothing happened. It wasn’t an overly timely introduction but a woman did appear. She moved fluidly, silently, disappearing and reappearing between every step. She looked to be made of stone, everything from the visible skin of her legs and bare feet, to her cloak. She could have been a fixture somewhere in the city, a beautiful gargoyle but she moved with complete ease.

The hood of her cloak was drawn low, a veil covering her face. Even making her way through the moderately lit cave, she was nearly shrouded in shadows still. The most visible feature she had were bright, toxic green eyes that almost seemed to swirl.

Sharp horns protruded through her hood that wrapped behind her head and at her elbows were a small set of stone wings that must have been useless but she gave no indication one way or the other. Not even when they seemed to flutter.

“Lady Gotham?” Batman blinked, trying to absorb what he was seeing. To commit everything to memory. Her appearance should have given away so much but instead he got nothing.

“Yes. She is who this city was named for. She is this city’s soul. Powerful, old, and the beginning of… well a lot.” Constantine muttered. “She apparently likes your ragtag team of bats and birds too.”

“Protectors…” She spoke, her voice was like a whisper, but there was an edge to it that made it seem like her speaking at a normal volume would be a very bad thing. “Protectors are always welcome here.”

Batman stared and didn’t know right off what he was supposed to say. He didn’t feel like he was in danger, but he had no idea what a supposed spirit would want with him. He’d been playing his role as batman for years without a trace of this Lady Gotham before.

Constantine cleared his throat. “Well since that introduction was made, i’ll see myself ou-”

“Stay.” she said, stopping only a few few away from them. She still blinked in and out of existence. Sometimes pieces of her would be visible while the rest of her faded in and out.

“Yes…” Constantine reluctantly muttered.

Batman straightened. “Never heard of you.” Constantine nearly groaned. “But i can’t refute what’s right before me. What can i help you with?”

She tilted her head, and the motion should have been impossible if she were actually made of stone. He got the impression that she was amused despite not really being able to see her face.

“Protector. Knight. Hero. Father. You have assumed so many mantles.” Gotham spoke softly. “There is only so much i can do, i do interfere when i can.”

He nodded though he had no idea what she was talking about. He’d always pulled his own weight but if there was an otherworldly entity assisting him, would he know?

“I come to you, to ask for a favor. You, with the means to grant such a thing.”

“What sort of favor?”

“A halfa has been directed to my core with his human sister. They require living arrangements.” She spoke firmly. “I can offer them my love, my welcome, my embrace, even a taste of my power but monetary needs and documents are out of my hands.”

“A halfa?” Batman frowned, not understanding the phrase other than them not being human if their sister being human was clarified.

“Nooo…” Constantine stared, looking like he’d prefer it if the floor just opened up and swallowed him. “Not the halfa that defeated Pariah Dark...”

“The very same.” Gotham clasped her hands in front of her, form flickering again. She radiated pride.

“The halfa that defeated Pariah Dark and became the Ghost King?” Constantine obviously wanted to get the hell out of Gotham.

“The same.” She repeated.

“Ghost King?” Batman frowned. “Why is he coming here?”

She disappeared, reappearing several feet to her left. “He is in need of a home. He is only sixteen human years old.”

“He’s a child?!” Constantine looked horrified. “And he became the Ghost King!?”

“Yes.” She said, somewhat patient. “My son is welcome here, so you will welcome him.”

Constantine was lighting that second cigarette. “Son… I gotta...I gotta sit down.”

Batman however was trying to ignore what he couldn’t grasp at the moment, and focus on what he could. “Documentation and lodgings for two minors is well within my means to provide.” He glanced back at Constantine who was walking away to grab a chair. “You’ll explain the Ghost King thing later.”

Constantine just waved him off as he collapsed into a chair.

Lady Gotham had moved, now standing directly in front of Batman without having moved a muscle. “My son and his human sister know what it means to be hunted. My child’s core screams for help and receives so little.” She suddenly seemed to tower over batman in a way she didn’t before. “He will receive assistance here.”

Batman stood firm, but it would be a lie to say he was completely unaffected. Despite that trickle of fear in his chest, he’d always done his best to be there for his kids. It didn’t mean he was successful, but he tried. What was two more? “I understand. Whatever he’s running from will be handled. When will he arrive?”

Lady Gotham paused. “Soon. Travel is slow, but steady. Another day.”

Batman hummed, that was plenty of time to get everything set up temporarily. He would talk to the Ghost King and his sister to discuss more permanent plans. His attitude however, seemed to be just what Lady Gotham expected.

She turned to Constantine. “You will find him easiest. Bring them here.”

Constantine heaved a sigh and pulled out a flask from his jacket pocket. He didn’t barter, try to make some kind of deal, or attempt to gain some form of payment. Lady Gotham was a force of nature all on her own but there was no way he was pissing off the mother of the Ghost King. That was asking for trouble even if the kid was a king. His power must have been something else… “Got it.” he agreed.

She sighed, the sound content. “Thank you, Knight. My son will be in good hands.” Or Else, didn’t need to be spoken.

She turned, and just like that she was gone, her powerful aura along with her. In a flash it was like she’d never been there at all.

Batman took a moment to just breathe and regain his bearings before turning back to Constantine. “What did i just agree to?”

“Not much.” Constantine said dryly. “Just being the foster dad to the Ghost King. King of the Infinite Realm.”

Well… It wasn’t the first time he’d adopted a teenager. Batman just reaffirmed his plans for the rest of the day and turned to change back into his civilian attire and head back up into his mansion. He needed to talk to Alfred immediately.

“Better you than me…” Constantine grumbled. This was going to be pure chaos, but he also had to wonder…what it was that spooked the kid that defeated Pariah Dark? That was something to look into.

Neither man had noticed when Tim had walked in, having watched most of that interaction from a safe distance away. “What the absolute fuck was that....?” 

~~ ~~

I would really kind of enjoy a 16 year old Danny meeting and bonding with a 19 year old Jason… Also… Constantine texting Bruce the very moment he lays eyes on Danny. Yep! This kid is totally Wayne material. He’ll mix in with the others seamlessly.

No plans to continue this at this point if someone else wants a turn. 

~Edit- I apparently lied...  Part 2  

#dc x dp crossover #dp x dc #Danny and Jazz are running away from home #Halfa Danny #Danny's the son of an Ancient #That Ancient became Lady Gotham #Foster dad Batman #Batman is weirdly accepting of the spirit of his city in the Batcave #Constantine needs a drink #And a vacation #Ghost king Danny let loose in Gotham

[apollostears]

𝘛𝘙𝘐𝘊𝘒 𝘖𝙍 𝙏𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙏 # ！︎

↠︎ plot + warnings: headcanons on college!jjk men with f!reader roommate and their halloween adventures. reference to sex + mention of blood + swearing

↠︎ featuring: gojo, choso, nanami, toji, geto + special guests: shiu + sukuna

↠︎ this special '*' is somewhere in the hcs and the explanation is at the end!

ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʜᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴇɴ

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐣𝐣𝐤

☥︎ full disclosure, you live with scaredy cats.

���︎ nanami don't play with that demonic shit in the slightest !!! ︎☥︎ he is absolutely the one to grab you and haul ass at the slightest movement. ︎☥︎ toji and geto fight instead of flight 💀 so to save some legal fees, its best to do haunted anything, without them.

☥︎ gojo cries and choso just disassociates 😭

☥︎ one thing that you guys always do for halloween is have a halloween movie marathon with the kids and girls.

☥︎ you guys always dress up in the same theme. this year, you guys were the fantastic four + the silver surfer + dr. doom

☥︎ toji was dr. doom, choso the silver surfer, nanami was mr. fantastic, you were the invisible woman.

☥︎ geto and gojo drew straws on who would be johnny storm and the other would be the thing.

☥︎ geto won

☥︎ the guys throw a halloween special at the tattoo shop. its always a huge turnout.

☥︎ one year, toji ended up having a match on halloween and it was the best time!!!!

☥︎ obvi it was costume theme so of course y'all went as WWE characters 💀

☥︎ it was supposed to be an attempt to embarrass toji but he came out lookin like the undertaker during his modern phenom era.

☥︎ music playin and all!

☥︎ and then he won the match and people started calling him the reaper.

☥︎ and yes, it definitely filled his already big ass head 🙄

☥︎ one time y'all did one of those huge scare fest's andddd it was def smth 😭

☥︎ y'all know that run bts episode when they go to one and yoongi squares up with an actor?

☥︎ that was toji and geto the entire time.

☥︎ runnin and swingin

☥︎ one of toji's friends* tells him about a halloween party that another underground fighter was hosting and you guys berate him into going.

☥︎ so everyone's costumes for that one were slasher themed!

☥︎ geto was pyramid head, choso was ghostface, toji was freddy krueger, gojo was jason voorhees, nanami was michael myers, and you were tiffany the bride of chucky!!! ︎☥︎ it was a great night for the most part!

☥︎ the host had hired exotic dancers that were all dressed up in bloody outfits and hot makeup

☥︎ the decorations made the entire place look like a house of horrors tbh

☥ you ended up dancing with a guy dressed as a sexy leatherface ︎☥︎ and DAMN did that mf know how to catch some ass!

☥ well come to find out that he was the host and you guys ended up sleeping together ︎☥︎ shoutout to you for finally getting dick after being cockblocked for so long!!!

☥︎ but none of the guys were happy to see that your body of choice was none other than ryomen sukuna a.k.a toji's biggest pain in the ass!

☥︎ but hey, spooky shit happens 🤷🏾‍♀️

*he doesn't consider shiu a friend, more of a benefactor but you think they're besties

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @kennyackermanswhore @chaoticevilbakugo @indiecursor @gabzlovesu @desiray562 @brownmochii @knjkitten @sweeneyblue1 @namjoonswifeyy @nyxeclipse @rubinocore @somerandompipzsxh @dabilovesme @histarean @hannas16 @caribbeanwifey19 @emonaculate @po3ticb3auty @waka-umm @wilsonsbuck @ctrlstar @jealousfuckingcunt @savagemickey03 @dukina @saintblk @sisnot @littlemochi @hoohoohope @ruubric @tor-tor8 @beautyfairykei @lilvampirina

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 🤍

#mayawrites #anime x black!reader #black!reader #anime #jjk x reader #jjk x black!reader #gojo x black!reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #geto x reader #toji x reader #sukuna x reader #choso x reader #jjk college au #college!au series #college!jjk

[villain-crown]

cheat | @jegulus-microfic | words: 520

critical care, part 1 | (part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6)

a Jegulus nurse!AU

“Potter, I’ve got shit news for you.”

James snorted, finishing the last few letters of a name on the large dry erase board that announced the day shift nurses’ assignments on the medical-surgical intensive care unit. Their ward’s nickname, coined by its wealthy donor, was written at the top in half-erased red letters: Go Gryffindor! “No thanks, Marlene, I’ve got enough shit news already.”

“Peter’s cheating on us. He’s been floated to take patients in the recovery room. They took on three extra cases this morning.”

Jerking his head around, he stared at her.

No.

Peter could not do this to him. James had twenty-two sick as shit patients tripping over themselves to dive into body bags and just enough nurses to stop them from doing so. The acuity of their unit was through the roof. He would not be tested today.

“Pete wouldn't do that.” James shoved his hand into his scrubs to fish his phone out. On the home screen was the preview of an apologetic text from ✨🐀Wormtail🐀✨, reporting his marching orders to the post-anesthesia care unit. “Wow. I thought he loved me. What am I supposed to do? We’re about to start the bloody shift!”

“Well don’t worry boss, because I have slightly less shit news. They’ve sent us a nurse to replace him.” She paused. “From Slytherin.”

“I thought you said less shit news,” James grumbled, using the side of his hand to rub Peter’s name from the board. Slytherin, with its name derived from the benefactor who had funded its building, was the cardiovascular intensive care unit two floors below them. Their nurses were notoriously nightmares to get along with. “The last time they floated someone from there to here it was Snape, remember?”

“Oh yeah!” Marlene snapped her fingers. “Didn’t Sirius almost trick him into drinking nitroglycerin? It’s a good thing you stopped him. He could have actually died.”

“Yeah. Anyway, who are they sending us?”

Marlene consulted her phone. “It’s going to be… Oh! Regulus Black!”

“Black?” James repeated distractedly, writing it down.

“It’s Sirius’s little brother. Have you met him?”

“No.” James capped his marker and stepped back. “Have you?”

“Once.” She paused, then qualified that. “Sort of. I got to watch Sirius threaten one of the doctors for flirting with him. Does that count?”

That got his attention. “What? Why? Sirius has slept with half the staff in this hospital!”

“Yeah, but he’d put Regulus in a monastery if he could. No dating allowed for Baby Black.” Marlene handed over the charge nurse phone. “It’s too bad. Dorcas says Regulus is… sweet.”

James smirked. “Dorcas says, huh? I guess Pete’s not the only one cheating on us Gryffindors by consorting with the enemy units.”

“Fuck off, Potter. And I’ll give you a bit of free advice. When Regulus comes up here, you’d best try very hard not to stare. Sirius hates when people do that.”

James’s expression turned serious. “I won’t. Is there something physically… did something happen to him?”

Oddly, Marlene just smirked. “No, nothing like that. But if you know what’s good for you, don’t let Sirius catch you looking.”

#regulus black #james potter #jegulus #protective sirius black #marauders nurse!au #sirius and regulus #sirius black #starchaser #james loves regulus #jegulus microfic

[wordsbyvani]

König watches an aerial artist... that's all.

He didn’t want to be here. 

An art museum is no place for someone like König. He’s only here for some charity banquet-show with his company as a museum benefactor. Just so happens that he has a high-ranking position and was chosen to represent them for tonight’s event. Usually he can push feelings aside when it comes to work—a routine with which he’s become all too familiar—but this is different.

He likens himself to a bull in a china shop: one wrong move and delicacy shatters around him. Surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of pieces that are the epitome of elegance and meaning. Sure, he knows the meanings and concepts behind the works, can recognize the finery. But it’s the opposite of all that he is: rough, brazen, vulgar. Somehow, pictures in frames, sleek statues, and the refined viewers gracing the halls make him feel as though he’s a laughing stock of sorts. All eyes, be they crafted or alive, are on the giant bathing in blood and souls.

Yes, there are pieces depicting violence, war, despair. But it’s too sophisticated, too dignified. The crimson doesn’t smell metallic, doesn’t pool at his feet. The figures don’t scream and wail and hurl curses, faces twisted with disdain. Perhaps scenes brought to life for the masses but dull for those who’ve lived them.

He rips himself away from the endless halls of mockery to take his seat before the show starts. The program shoved into his hands on the way in says something about an aerial artist—great, more art. An announcer beckons everyone to settle in; the show is about to begin. The lights hit, the spotlight on, and it rains red. And through a tidepool of scarlet and dramatic musical accompaniment, she is born.

Gliding on the wings of a phoenix, she turns to ashes as she spirals and twirls, only to grab the burning feathers of evanescence and propel herself up once more. A baby bird, naked and needy, morphs into a godlike inferno. Sparks, flames, colors. Determination. A cycle of death and rebirth unfolding before his very eyes, in the midst: her.

She morphs with the art around her. The dull works of elegance with which he just couldn’t resonate abandon stagnancy to dance all around; their colors, shapes, textures a tornado swirling to embody the main star of the show.

The musical accompaniment softens, and she stills—a phoenix no more. He recognizes only the underbelly of a black widow, dangling from pheromone-laced silk. Lustful eyes set a fixed gaze as she hangs, enticing him to partake readily.

If he accepted, would she strike? Paralyzed by venomous fangs, spinning, encased in the prison of her bloody trap. Or would she allow him to scale her web, ripping away the silks and traces of rivals as he climbed to reach her? Silently begging as he covers her body to let him consume, devour, before she has had her fill and disposes of him—his purpose served, a body needed no more. He would gladly accept such a fate for merely a taste.

Then she descends. Slowly, head thrown back in ecstasy, the silks creating ripples that cascade in a whirlpool around her. He restrains himself from reaching out, an arm that would tear the fabric from the rafters, waiting for her to fall into the welcome embrace of his arms and never let go.

The trance is broken when she touches the ground, the audience roaring with applause. A humble grin graces her face as she bows, waving and blowing kisses to her adoring spectators. For a brief moment, her eyes fall upon him, and something flickers. With a tilt of her head and curiosity in her eyes, her smile widens. A kiss is blown directly at him with a cheeky wink.

Perhaps he does enjoy fine art after all.

#könig #drabblez

[sitp-recs]

15 fics with Militant Harry

I don’t know you guys but I’m equally soft for recluse!Harry and for militant!Harry. Maybe because I’m a sucker for political fics? Truth is, seeing Harry get involved can be so thrilling and inspiring. He doesn’t need to be attached to the Ministry to care about people - I love it when he’s doing the good deed behind the scenes, dismantling corruption while on the run, funding charities or unapologetically using his fame and voice to leverage better policies for those who are marginalized. That’s such a beautiful and powerful Harry trope imo, and the best thing is that in many of the fics I highlight below, Draco either seduces him into joining the revolution, or is there to inspire and help him along the way. Talk about a power couple! I hope you all enjoy these as much as I did ♥️

A Little Death Never Hurt Anyone by @tackytigerfic (E, 4k)

Harry's getting good at slipping through the Veil. He's determined to win the war, even if means he has to raise the dead to do it. Draco just wants a stiff drink and a good night's sleep.

And Save Me From Bloody Men by @blamebrampton (T, 10k)

Draco Malfoy once watched others fighting to stop the world falling apart. This time, he's not just watching.

Two Zinnias and the Scent of Lemon by @the-starryknight (M, 16k)

The Ministry didn’t turn bad overnight. Harry didn’t suddenly turn rogue either. Between covert Legilimency links and Polyjuice disguises and running and running and running, Draco has forgotten what it is like to have a safe harbor that isn’t a person. If there’s an art to fighting back, then they’ll find it hand in hand.

Vortex by @xanthippe74 (T, 20k)

Ten years after that conversation, the idea of perfectly-matched soulmates feels more like a curse than a blessing to Draco. Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

Unfinished Business by cupiscent (E, 20k)

Ten years after the War ends, Harry and Draco still haven't got their act together. But maybe it's not too late.

Doing the Lambeth Walk by @blamebrampton (T, 26k)

There are only three traditional choices for the cashed-up hero after victory. Harry Potter is too young to settle down and provide the wizarding world with a happy ending, and has too acute a sense of humour to spiral downwards into a spectacular flame-out. That leaves a life of good works. Choosing to lead it in Muggle Brixton comes with its own set of challenges, including Malfoys in the biscuit aisle.

The Nobility of Ascent by Lomonaaeren (E, 27k)

Not even his own fame and power are enough to get the Wizengamot to pass laws protecting Muggleborn and orphaned children, so Harry swallows his pride and goes to Draco Malfoy, who can teach him how to convince the prejudiced old bastards to listen to him. And Malfoy hasn’t even named a price. Which…concerns Harry, but he’s found a cause worth living for. And maybe someone, too.

Little Compton Street (One Rainy Night in Soho) by @writcraft (E, 65k)

Draco is lonely, Harry hates the press and it won’t stop raining in London. Harry discovers a magical street that’s close to disappearing forever and Draco realises he’s one rainy night in Soho away from finding everything he’s been searching for.

A Young Radical's Guide to Love by @blamebrampton (T, 66k)

Memories of the war are still fresh, which is all the excuse Decent People need to do appalling things. In this quietly waged conflict, Draco Malfoy is happy to be on the right side of things for once, and even happier to find he’s not alone.

Dear Enemy by GingerTodgers (T, 69k)

An anonymous benefactor makes a generous donation to Harry Potter's School for Squibs in exchange for a weekly letter from the Boy Who Lived. What begins as a chore soon becomes the only outlet Harry has to talk about the war, love, life, hope, redemption, his renewed obsession with a certain blonde nemesis and how he really, honestly, believes that this will be the year Puddlemere United reclaim the Quidditch League Cup.

Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love by @aibidil (E, 80k)

In which a group of wizards' rights activists goes on the offensive after a prohibition against love potions, forcing the magical world to confront the horror of magic's role in sexual assault and the murky legal nature of consent. Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Draco are swept together to solve the case, and in the process they're made to confront their own love and lust—with and without potions.

Super Rich Kids by @thusspoketrish (E, 81k)

Draco Malfoy has become disillusioned by the glitz and glamour of the scandalous lives of the Post-Second Wizarding War Pureblood Elite. Enter: one existential crisis, one group of thieving cynical friends, and several terrible, terrible decisions.

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) by nerakrose (T, 96k)

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry.

Who we are in the shadows by @quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost.

By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

#Sitp recs #Drarry reclist #militant Harry #hbd Harry week

[laceswan]

The Smiling Princess

Finnick Odair x fem!dancer!OC

What if the equivalent of a Disney Princess was thrown into the Hunger Games? Sylke is optimistic and has an affinity for all that is gentle and sweet. What happens when she is placed in an arena and forced to kill or be killed?

fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, canon typical violence

part two is out!

The capitol wasn’t all that different from district one. It was more modern, more luxurious, but not by much. Sylke thought back to the reaping. This year was a strange one. For some reason, none of the training female career tributes volunteered, either too young or not ready. She was only fourteen, never once had she wanted the life of a career. And yet her name had been the one drawn. Standing on that stage next to a man much older who’s trained his whole life for this, she felt more out of place than ever before. The train ride was not long, less than a day, but Sylke found it hard to relax, and time seemed to pass at a snail's pace. She had decided the moment her name was called and no one volunteered, that this was the end of her life. It wasn't even a question in her mind. Normally she would try to maintain a certain amount of optimism, but as she pondered on the train it became evident that such hope was almost always applied to someone not herself. Undying optimism was reserved for everyone else, while a more calculating hope was held for herself. In this case, the odds were not in her favour. The best she could do was enjoy the little bit of life she has left. And she did. Regardless of its strange and bloody traditions, the capitol was beautiful. The gifts she had been offered, the world she got to see from the train window, so much of it was bright and wonderful. And with the little time she had left, she resolved to appreciate it.

The other tribute from 1, Cesare, didn’t seem to like her much. He was cold, offered only backhanded advice, and made a lousy excuse for her only companion. Their mentor, Victoria, was sweet, convinced that Sylke could survive with some allies and sponsors. Their escort, Misty, agreed, and was already assembling a list of rich possible benefactors she planned to meet with. When they arrived in the capitol, Sylke was desperate for a new face, a friendly one. There was one person around her age, the tribute from four. She saw him at the tribute parade, dressed glamourously in blue and green. When they met, she tried to be as friendly and genuine as possible. That was his first instinct as well, to simply be kind, to make a friend, but when the conversation was over, he was swiftly pulled aside and reminded that she wouldn’t make a good ally, that he should put energy into connections with other, more fit tributes. As he tried to talk to Cesare, a broad-shouldered athlete who clearly had an advantage at the game, Finnick couldn’t keep himself from looking in her direction, from thinking about her and what she must be feeling. There was a churning anxiety, an uncertainty, that raged like a storm in the high seas within his core, one deeply tied to being so young in a place full or intimidating older kids. She was probably in the same boat, and he was drawn to that. No one else was that young in this Game, and in a different world, perhaps they even would have been friends. That is what kept him lingering in her mind as well. That they could have been friends. Only to her, they still could be even if only for a short while. It was the only friend she might be able to find in this place.

There was a gala that night, a chance to meet people, network, get sponsors. Sylke’s stylist put her in a long, heavy gown, white and gold with little pearls and jewels, to appeal to sponsors from one as her stylist put it. Something about portraying luxury. As much as she disliked the performance of it all, it had been a while since she’d been in a gown like this, with the heavy silks that draped off her body like water flowing gently over time-smoothed rocks. Something about it felt authentic, the daintiness and femininity. If she looked in a mirror she looked like herself. There had been a few times like that in her life, all of them before or during dance performances. The mirror that hung on the wall backstage was where she would check her costume before going up. She was grateful each time that her character wouldn’t be be frowning. She wouldn’t have to act. It would make her smile like nothing else, to see the dress she was wearing, because the person looking back at her was the girl she would see in her dreams, the princess she always wanted to be. And she would smile, a real smile, and she would go on stage with that smile, and everyone watching would know it’s real. The gala was different. People were closer, meaner, there was a tension in the air that never truly went away. The other tributes were there, closer to her than she’d ever seen them before. They were all so strong, so ruthless, merciless. It became clear to her that she didn’t stand a chance. They all looked out of place in fragile evening wear, like they belonged in a suit of armor on the battlefield. They could kill her in an instant, rip her apart like silk. This was the way she was going to die. She had a week or so until then, a week that she wanted to enjoy. But how would she enjoy what was essentially her deathbed? She would need to look at the little things, just the details could perhaps keep her happy for a week. She would need to distract herself, take comfort in all the things around her that weren’t awful. Those details weren’t as rare as she had thought, not if she looked in the right places. The gala was certainly not the stage, but it wasn’t that different. Those similarities were what she took comfort in that night. The dress, the lights, the few faces in the crowds that were truly friendly. Her dress didn’t flutter like a tutu, it didn’t spin the same, but it still made her happy, she looked liked herself in every glass, every reflective surface, she would see the dress, the jewels, and in a matter of seconds, her smile. She met all sorts of sponsors that night, they loved her. After all, there was no point in trying to appeal to them, and thus she could just be herself. Perhaps they made plans to help her in the arena now that she’d met them, but it didn’t matter. All that she could do was enjoy her night. Bask in the luxury and make some friends. The sponsors weren’t really friends. They weren’t her equals, they weren’t fearing for their lives. Only twenty-three others were like her. One of them was standing alone, at the edge of the dance floor. The boy from four that she had yet to learn the name of. He wore bronze to match his hair and tanned skin, a fairly simple ensemble akin to any other tuxedo or suit. The part that caught attention was the brocade. Just like Sylke’s jewels, they glittered in the light, adorning his chest and shoulders. There was a heavy patterned fabric that was draped off his shoulder like an asymmetrical cape fit for a prince. It hung still as he leaned against the wall, but Sylke pictured it fluttering with every movement and step he took. He was alone, as though waiting for company of some kind. So she walked up to him, the fabric of her dress swaying with each step.

“Hey. I’m Sylke. ”

“Finnick. You’re from one?”

The question was awkward, like he didn’t know what else to say.

“Mhm. And you’re from four, right?”

“Yup.”

There was a silence. She wanted to ask how he was enjoying the night, if he liked galas like this, if he’d ever been to one before, in fact she was about to when-

“But you’re not a career?”

There it was.

“I’m not. Just a regular tribute, like you.”

“Actually I’m not. I trained for this.”

“But you’re fourteen, don’t you wait until eighteen?”

“Yeah, usually.”

His answer was short, clearly a sore subject. She wanted to ask why, but as she looked at his face it became obvious that he didn’t know. So she didn’t push.

“Do you feel ready?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

His mentor, and kind woman named Mags, had told him not to show weakness, to portray confidence, never let the image slip, but it still did when he was talking to her. He let it slip, for some reason that he couldn’t yet identify. Something in him just wanted to tell her everything, every thought, every feeling, every doubt that floated through his head. Or rather he wanted to tell the world, but the world could not be trusted and so he looked to trustworthy individuals. Something told him she was most certainly one of them. Of course he didn’t say everything, but his performance was still weakened by her presence. Mostly by that smile. So genuine it made him want to smile too. They spent most of the night seated at a table in the corner of the room, occasionally beckoned by a mentor or escort, but always returning to the conversation. That conversation began with talks of the games, but it took little time to expand. Finnick told her about his life back home, and Sylke did the same. They talked about almost everything, from the birds that Sylke kept and trained in her garden to the rigorous dental hygiene Finnick was instructed to keep when he was a boy due to his sweet tooth. He was shocked to learn that she’d never eaten fish. On special occasion shellfish, but never proper fish. Soon after, Mags called him to meet a sponsor, and he returned a bit later with a plate of some of the fish being served that night.

“Here. I found some at the table, you should try it. It’s not like I catch at home, but it’s good.”

“Is there a certain way I’m supposed to eat it?”

He laughed, putting the plate on the table and sitting beside her.

“A fork and knife will do”

She laughed with undeniably genuine cadence before taking a bite. It was certainly new, but still familiar. Like a heightened version of the shrimp her family would get for celebrations, something meant only for the most celebratory of occasions. It was rich and just salty enough, and perfectly seasoned. Perhaps fitting for the celebration of one’s life, a good last meal. She made a decision to request this as her final meal before going into the arena.

“So… do you like it?”

She turned to him, swallowing before smiling, with the edges of her lips pulled high and making crescent moons of her eyes.

“It’s really good! If I had that as my last meal, I think I’d die happy.”

“Yeah? Wait until you try mine. No seasoning or capitol kitchen can make up for freshness--catching, cooking, and eating it right there on the sand.”

He spoke with confidence, almost arrogance dripping from his voice, with a pearly white grin to go with it.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

They continued to talk and to laugh, exchanging stories and jokes like old friends catching up after too long apart. At some point she had reveled in the dress she was wearing, how the luxury and flow reminded her of costumes she would wear, how she felt more like herself wearing these than any time before. She spoke with a beaming smile, eyes flitting from his to the fabric to the jewels to the glittering room and then back to him. He said little as she did this, simply watching the joy pour from her every word. It was that genuine joy the pulled him to her, that made his performance slip, that made him content to let it.

“You glow when you talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“About the things you like, the things that make you smile.”

She laughed.

A minute or two later, the music switched to a new song, and Sylke perked up.

“I know this song!” She stood up and took his hand. “Come on, get up!”

“Wait, to dance?”

“Yeah! What, they never taught you how to dance?”

“Only a little,”

She pulled him to the dance floor and took both his hands in hers. “It’s a waltz, do you know how to do that?”

He shook his head.

“That’s alright,”

She brought one of his hands to her waist with her own on his shoulder. It felt nice to have someone so close, someone to trust. They didn’t move.

“It’s slow, do you wanna look at my feet and I can teach you?”

He pulled her a little closer, practically speaking directly into her ear. It hadn't been long since he felt the warmth of another human, just a few days ago he was hugging his family goodbye. But the capitol was so cold, so glamourously sterile, that this closeness with Sylke felt like a moment of fresh air after a month of factory smog. The rest of the capitol felt sickly cold in comparison to this. This comforting, trusting warmth. Neither of them wanted to leave.

“Maybe later. Let’s just sway for now”

“Okay.”

They swayed in silence, trying to savor this moment of trust. Gold, ivory, and bronze melded together as they moved, these clothes must have been made to dance together. The music was soft, a subtle background for their movement. The night was coming to a close, the dance floor had few people left on it. It didn’t take long for Sylke and Finnick to be pulled away for final goodbyes, the last chance of the night to get sponsors before they went back to the apartments.

They spent the rest of the week training. Sylke spent most of that time learning about plants. The training centre offered plants from multiple different biomes, and Sylke did try to learn about all of them, but she couldn't help but favour the jungle plants. Something about the vibrant colours striking shapes was absolutely fascinating to her, especially because she grew up in an urban area that held only artificial, staged cactus and succulent terrariums. She learned quickly what was poison, what was edible, and what was medicinal. Often, she learned, something poisonous because helpful when delivered in the right dose. There was a tree near her home in district one, planted in a concrete box in a public square. From midsummer to the first cold breeze, the blossoms would hang from its branches like white handkerchiefs dipped in rosy dye at the bottom. The tree was lovely and admired by Sylke as well as many of her neighbors, but everyone who lived nearby to admire from a distance. Adults told her when she was very young that every part of that tree was dangerous, not to be touched, and deceptively beautiful. The man at the medicinal plants station told her however, that the leaves, once cooked, make for a powerful pain reliever. Still to be ingested with caution, as with any other narcotic, but helpful when taken prudently. Sylke was simply fascinated by such topics. She didn’t care much for violence, which most of the training room was dedicated to. She also learned how to use a friction bow, but that was mostly out of boredom. Her favourite part of the training was most certainly the medicinal plants. She took comfort in knowing that with this knowledge she could perhaps help someone stay alive, and that if she taught someone else they could as well. Perhaps if things were different, if she hadn't been reaped, if for whatever reason she couldn't pursue dancing, perhaps she would have become a healer. Sometimes she would catch a glance of Finnick, throwing his trident and hitting his mark each time. He was so assured in his ability, a security that would certainly serve him well in the arena. He trained for this after all, his confidence was justified. His kills would be swift and painless, and she had no doubt that was how he liked them to be. He never seemed the type to torture something like that, something about him, the kindness that he offered to many (though not all) was too great for such cruelty.

The evaluations came too quickly. The game was approaching too fast. Cesare was first, then she would be up. When she entered the room, a small pile of stalks and leaves sat on a table in the corner of the room. In her fifteen minutes, she separated them into three piles. One she burned, another she ate, and the last she sorted into their different uses. She gave a curtsy before walking out.

She was sitting on a couch in the apartment that night, all eyes staring intently at the screen. The man next to her had gotten ten out of twelve. She got a four. No one was surprised by that. Finnick got an eleven. She hoped he would win. A part of her was sure that he would.

After that was the final show with Caesar Flickerman. Everything was just like back home, just a little more glamorous. There was a mirror just before the entrance to the stage, and in it she fluffed up her skirt before looking at herself in full. She had a tiara too, adorned with little gilded doves. She had once mentioned to a sponsor that doves were her favourite bird, a symbol of peace. Not only that, but the tiara was made to look like branches, with green jewels like olives ready to be harvested. In fact, all of the jewels she was wearing were green, to match the olives and complement the dress as her stylist had put it. And the dress. They had her in a rosy pink ball gown this time. It spun better than a tutu, with even more layers or tulle. It was perfect, everything the little girl inside of her could ever dream of. They were really leaning into the princess thing, and it made her happy beyond belief. The smile on her face was genuine, and everyone in the crowd knew it. She walked out from the steel doors, stage lights beaming from every direction as she took a seat. Caesar introduced her to the crowd, but all she could think of was music. She could hear it in her head, like she was sitting upstage while the principals danced. Like clockwork, he’d back straightened and her hands folded in her lap. She only caught the last bit of Caesar’s words.

“You really do look like royalty, sitting so poised like that. Do you know what people have been calling you?”

“What have they been calling me?”

“The smiling princess.”

He looked out to the crowd.

“Now folks, can you think of anything more fitting? Here she is in her royal gown, with a crown on her head, and the prettiest smile in the world. I can’t think of a better name for such a lovely young girl.”

“Thank you Caesar. I really do feel so lucky to be here and to have been received so kindly. My heart is truly warmed by the kindness you show me.”

“And look at that, such impeccable manners!”

His galavanting smile and raucous laugh shifted quickly to something of a pout as the crowd quieted and he took a more serious tone.

“Now of course, manners and sweetness are all gone in the arena.”

“That’s true. I will be completely out of my element.”

The crowd went quiet as Sylke formed her next words. She wondered if she should tell the audience the certainty of her death, how little hope she had for herself. But she decided against it. Instead, she focused on what she knew, the morals that she upheld and took comfort in.

”You know, I’ve been taught that the way to live a good life is to be kind, to have mercy, and to offer grace. I know not how that will apply in the arena but I have no intention of abandoning my morals.”

“Such wisdom at such a young age.”

He took her hands in his and looked her in the eyes.

“We all know that the arena is deadly. Unfortunately, other tributes are not as kind as you are. But we wish you the best of luck. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

The skirt rippled with her as she stood, walking of the stage with cheers sounding behind her. Misty was by her side immediately.

“That was good, you did good. A lot of sponsors are really loving the princess image, and that kindness, mercy, and grace speech really turned some heads.”

Sylke watched the rest of the show from backstage. Tributes came and went, each leaning into distinct personalities crafted by mentors, escorts, and stylists. She wondered how many were real. How many were total fabrication? And how many were what she imagined most of them were, exaggerations and oversimplifications, initially based on truth, but dramatised and amplified to make a good show. That’s what Finnick’s was. When he came on the stage, he had a big plastic smile. He acted arrogant, confident, but in a peacock sort of way. He had confidence in his own ability and his odds in the arena, and in the interview he missed no opportunity to flaunt it. And that was mostly based in truth. He did carry himself with confidence, and he did come off as arrogant when she first met him at the parade. But he was also compassionate, and that same confidence and security in himself allowed him to be wonderful at helping others, caring for the people around him that he trusted. It meant that he wasn’t afraid to step up and protect someone. And Sylke was sorely disappointed when she didn’t see that on the screen in front of her. That wasn’t Finnick, not all of him. But the audience loved it. They had no idea who he really was, and they didn’t care. They cheered and screamed with every toothy grin he flashed. They loved him. If he won they’d love him even more. He’d be their golden boy.

“You know they love him almost as much as they love you.”

She looked up and back to see the speaker. It was Cesare.

“What?”

“You hear the cheering? It’s almost as loud as when you were up there. Looks like the capitol found their prince.”

He slinked away again, with a smirk, like all he came up to do was tease her. But he was right. She wondered what would become of it all. She would die, and hopefully he would live. The capitol would lose their smiling princess. Would they mourn? What about him? If he died would they mourn him too? Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps coming backstage.

“Hey! They loved you out there!”

“They loved you too, princess.”

They began to walk together, with no defined direction, just aimless, something to do with their bodies as they chatted. Finnick noted how regal her dress was, prompting her to revel similarly to the night of the gala at the way she felt wearing the dress. And again, he watched. She spun, the skirt flying up and revealing layer upon layer of fluffy tulle, and he felt a pang of desire to be the one spinning her, the knight in shining armor to her princess. And then he wondered if it was an act. If even around him she was playing up the princess thing, like he would with his playboy image for the cameras and other tributes. But he didn’t do that with her. Did she?

“Are you really like this?”

“Hmm? Like what?”

“When you’re on stage you’re essentially no different than how you are now. Is this just who you are?”

“I-I guess. I never really thought about it.”

They walked without words for a moment. He began to wonder if he made her uncomfortable.

“I try to be honest with everyone. I know my team likes to have a certain image, but when I get to talk I like to just be me. I’d like to think I’m always like this.”

Always a princess he thought. That’s just who she is.

“You’re not like that though. You were acting different on stage, I could tell. Did they tell you to do that?”

“Yeah. Apparently I’m becoming a capitol heartthrob.”

He rolled his eyes, drawling though his words with palpable disgust.

“My escort said I’ll get more sponsors if I do all that flirty stuff.”

She nodded, waiting for him to say more. There was a question she hadn’t the courage to ask, but he knew it, and answered before she asked.

“It’s not totally fake. But it’s icky, like they’re whittling me down into… it’s not something I’m not, but…”

“It’s not all of you.”

“Yeah.”

Stylists and escorts were moving about, organising the tributes to go into the stage for the finale. As Sylke was summoned to line up, Finnick pulled her close just as he had at the gala and whispered in her ear.

“I wanna come to your room tonight. Will they be asleep by midnight?”

Victoria would likely pass out the moment they returned to the apartment, and Misty always took a sleeping pill at eleven. Cesare would be asleep too, getting a good nights rest before the game in the morning.

“Yes.”

She was pulled away, and soon after so was he.

That night, she asked for fish as her supper. It was similar to what was served at the gala, tender and perfectly seasoned with a certain luxurious richness that she adored. The meal was quiet. They were always awkward, but usually Victoria, or failing that Misty, would try to make conversation. The table was quiet this time. Cesare was eating with vigor, trying to get as much down as possible before the game. Sylke was eating slowly, simply trying to enjoy all of it. Victoria had said all there was to say, now it was just a waiting game. As the night progressed everyone but Sylke went to bed early. She didn’t enjoy silence. Much more pleasant was to have something to listen to. Sometimes that would be bird songs and wind making melodies in the rustling flora, other times it was an orchestra unpacking and tuning as the crowd settled in. Whatever it was, she always preferred noise over silence. And so when all was quiet and everyone was asleep, she closed her bedroom door and found music to play. It was on the vanity, a turntable next to a selection screen. She chose something soft, classical, to remind her of home. She closed her eyes and for a moment she was back home. All was well, all she needed to worry about was the crowd, the choreography, that was it. Music had a power over her, to bring her anywhere in the world so long as she could hear it. Her feet moved across the floor, gliding and stepping with the music she knew so well. The piece was short and coming to an end. Her eyes came open a long time ago, but they didn’t actually look anywhere until the final note, when she would smile and bow to the audience. But of course, the roaring applause wasn’t there, and she was back in reality, back in the cold and grey apartment room. But she had enjoyed her escape, short as it was. A quick glance at the clock showed the midnight was nearing. She made her way to the door and kept an eye peering out the peephole. Right on time, she saw him walking, turning to check behind nearly every step. She laughed to herself at his caution, knowing full well that if she were in his place, she likely wouldn’t look back once. He approached the door and gestured to knock before stopping. He stood pondering a quieter method for perhaps a second before she opened the door. They tried not to make noise until she had closed the bedroom door again.

“You're playing music?”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t say much for a moment. In the end it was Sylke that spoke first, voicing the question that had stayed at the front of her mind for hours.

“Why did you want to meet tonight?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see you again before tomorrow.”

She nodded, understanding and reciprocating his sentiment entirely. Another song faded out, and a lively waltz took its place.

“I never actually got to teach you to dance.”

“I’m still interested.”

She stood up come her place seated on the edge of the bed and placed her hands behind her back.

“Watch my feet. You know how a waltz goes 1, 2, 3…”

He nodded and stood next to her, mimicking her every movement. She took two steps and he did the same. She brushed her leg forward and he followed. With each step she counted, one, brush, turn, two, step, three, step. It took him a moment to pick it up, but with time he was able to find the rhythm and it became easier with each turn.

“Great. Face me,”

They kept their hands behind their backs, not wanting to complicate with arms yet.

“Just waltz, and I’ll be going backwards to match you.”

He nodded again and hesitated before stepping forward. She stepped backwards. When he brushed his leg forward she moved hers back. When they turned it switched. Once again, it slowly began to make sense to him.

“That’s great! Do you want to try arms?”

“Sounds good.”

They assumed a familiar position, with his arm on her waist, and hers on his shoulder. Only this time there was significantly more distance between them. Finnick was too focused on his feet to notice, but to Sylke took note of it, how as much as she loved to waltz with him, she did miss being closer. As the moved clumsily about the floor, she smiled and giggled both when he struggled and when he succeeded, finding joy in anything and everything he did. He almost didn’t hear her laugh with his laser focus on taking the right steps. At some point it seemed to get easier for him, but he still kept his gaze fixed on the ground. Upon seeing this, she lifted her hand from his shoulder and gently took hold of his chin to turn his face to hers.

“Look at me. Or to the audience, but we don’t have one of those.”

Just as he was told, he didn’t take his eyes off her. His steps were a bit messier as a result, but they smoothed over in time. Looking into his eyes, she found herself smiling even more, something he mimicked with a grin of his own. It wasn’t the plastic one from the stage earlier, it was different. Genuine. They could hear the song getting closer to its end. Finnick took the hand that was clasped with hers and placed it on her waist as the final phrase played.

“Dip?”

She smiled again, and that was all they needed for a response. He lowered her, with one hand at her waist and the other moving to support her back, keeping his head by hers and his eyes never leaving. The music went quiet before transitioning into something softer, slower, clearly in 4/4 as well. Neither of them moved once again. Her smile had gone slightly, now just doe-eyed and looking at him.

“Can I kiss you?”

She nodded. Sweet and slow, they moved closer until their lips met. The kiss was tender, slow and yet fleeting as they pulled apart. With foreheads pressed together, both of them donned massive smiles, eyes thinner than crescent moons. Finnick brought them back upright but kept them close. He didn’t want to let her go, perhaps not ever. He didn't want to think either. The future was too dangerous to consider right now. They mostly stayed cuddled on the bed for the rest of the hours they spent together, talking softly because they were too afraid to fall asleep. The conversation was not nearly as lighthearted as other ones. The game was tomorrow, and it weighed heavily on both of their minds. They talked about what it meant to take a life. Sylke didn’t like to think about it, but with the game so near, she could not pluck the thoughts from her mind. To kill someone, to rob them of their life.

“Have you ever…”

“No. No, never. I don’t think I want to either. I can, I know I can, but… I don’t know. It’s that or die.”

She admired his drive to live. It was amazing, an extension of that security in himself she figured. She was choosing to die, but she couldn’t blame him for choosing to kill instead.

“I don’t think I could. It takes so much, so much that I don’t have. I envy you Finnick. You’re strong and capable and-“

“Hey. Don’t do that.”

“What, am I wrong?”

“I-no, but… don’t whittle it down like that. You’re not wrong, I have skills that serve me in the arena. And with those particular skills you’re not as strong. But that’s not the whole story. Sylke, I’ve only known you for a week or two but I’ve seen how incredible you are. I’ve seen your kindness and your optimism and your care for the world around you. Those are skills too, even if they don’t serve you in the arena.”

By the end or his little speech, there were tears making their way down her face. There was quiet between them once more, but not out of awkwardness or lack of things to say. She moved closer and rested her head on his chest. His hand almost automatically moved to her head to play with her hair, something of an unconscious attempt at comforting her. The flow of tears came to an end. He tilted her chin to look up at him. Her face was still wet, with doe eyes and little trace of a smile. He’d never seen her look so sad before, and he promised himself to do everything in his power to keep that beautiful smile of hers around.

“You’re wonderful.”

He pressed his lips to hers, this time quicker, more passionate. Time seemed to fall away, and for just a moment so did the music. When they pulled apart she nuzzled into his neck, taking comfort in his arms securely around her. She felt safe here, like the danger of tomorrow could never reach her here. Some amount of time that neither of them bothered to note passed, and the glare of the clock seemed increasingly present. They were tired but still too afraid to fall asleep. Not here, not like this.

“I should go.”

“You need to go.”

Nothing moved.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

For a moment, all was still. Slowly, they rose, making their way to the apartment door. Before she could reach for the door, he took her hands in his and made a point to look square in her eyes.

“There’s gonna be a bloodbath at the cornucopia tomorrow. You should run, but don’t go far. I’ll find you once I get some weapons. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She didn’t need to ask anything more, all was understood. He knew her odds, he knew of her intention to die quickly, this was it. He would kill her in the morning, quickly, painlessly, end her suffering before things could get worse. She opened the door and gave him a melancholy smile. As he began to walk away she spoke quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Better with you than anyone else.”

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick x oc #finnick x reader #hungerverse #district 4 #distict 1 #hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #finnick odair x oc #mags flanagan #caesar flickerman #president snow #fluff #angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick fluff #finnick angst #strangers to lovers

[apopcornkernel]

been thinking too hard about my batman mob au. so i would like to share it. this is so long im sorry let me put it under a cut

i want to begin by saying that i think the only way bruce could feasibly become a mob boss is if he was able to be swayed to see that "clean" methods would genuinely do no good and in fact succeed in achieving more harm due to how much corruption and crime permeates the system. i think it would take a LOT to convince bruce of this, so he's kind of the hardest character to put in a mob au. however for the sake of fun we will suspend our disbelief a little bit!

okay, moving on, alfred: he's long been proven to be bruce's biggest enabler. i think he would get over it and end up helping him as he does as batman

as for dick: ooh boy. okay. so first of all i DO think bruce would let him kill zucco. however!! i think as dick grows up within the mob his strong code of morals will also begin to conflict with the lifestyle. but he's stuck there because bruce. insert all those posts about how dick grayson loves freedom and he also loves bruce and those things are at constant war with each other and because he loves bruce he sometimes clips his own wings. etc etc. i think he is the talia al ghul of this whole sitch if you get what i mean

speaking of talia!!! i believe her father would still be at odds with bruce bc yes, bruce is in crime, but bruce refuses to join with the league. so they semi-preserve their canon dynamic, except i think there's more opportunity for cooperation between talia and bruce considering talia's lexcorp era. in fact i do believe that lexcorp and waynecorp would become business allies during talia's time as ceo

but jason isn't dead. what his kidnappers hoped to do was turn him against his benefactor, taunt him about how it's been months and bruce still hasn't been able to save him, had refused to save him. but one night the door's left ajar and the sound of the TV drifts in, talking about how bruce is waging a bloody gang war, the first he's ever instigated, and jason... well. :)

as for jason—i think he would be the most loyal of the bunch. the first thing i actually dreamed up wrt this AU was a reimagining of ditf/utrh! in here, he's kidnapped by a rival gang. they demand bruce an impossible ransom, and bruce has no choice but to refuse. so bruce is sent a video of jason being killed.

"but poppy," you ask. "where's babs? tim? steph? cass? helena? jpv?" ok let's be real people aren't usually asking about the last 2 rip my babygirls BUT ANYWAYS—

the most important figure is HELENA. in the absence of batman, guess who's becoming the foremost protector of gotham??? EXACTLY. HELENA BERTINELLI. her whole backstory is that she wants to bring organized crime down SO WHO BETTER TO BE THE MAIN ENEMY IN A BATMAN MOB AU.

also because i love her.

im not biased i swear.

ALSO HER FIRST "ROBIN" (not necessarily named robin i just mean like. sidekick) IS JAMES COOPER FROM CAVALIERI'S HUNTRESS. CHUCK DIXON I HAVE NOT FORGIVEN YOU FROM ERASING HIM FROM MAIN CONTINUITY. he doesn't go out into the field that much bc he's still baby but he's the oracle before oracle. although when he does go into the field he's like. remember in cavalieri huntress where he was scurrying arohnd in the sewers and planting fucking grenades and shit. yeah.

later on he and babs will be best buddies <3 babs is his favorite aunt

ALSO!!! the rest of james' family will still be alive. idgaf. it's MY au and i can randomly reveal that his family has been alive all along IF I WANT TO. comic writers stop killing black people off for shock value challenge 2k24

also, james is ABSOLUTELY the one who wheedled helena into making a lair

babs does join the fray still! her story arc is mostly the same except that she partners with the huntress instead of batman. their ages are closer together so it's a slightly different dynamic

tim will remain a civilian. he will, however, be a very helpful civilian, in that he's the one who's stalking dick grayson & trying to prove that dick's involved in organized crime. him and dick will have the saddest tragickest "we could've been brothers. but not in this life. not ever." type of relationship. like jaderoy but platonic.

also tim & helena will have the same littlebrothernephew relationship that they have in canon 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

i guess jpv will get roped in in a similar way to canon, but the idea of bane doing what he did to helena makes me so so sad :( however since she is taking batman's narrative space in this story then i think it should still proceed. i will then also insert a little bit of the vichelena agenda here—

in the wake of bane, JPV WILL STILL STEP IN AS HUNTRESS. "but they'll know he's not a woman" COWARDS. just give him a dye job and he'll look like helena. all white people look the same. he can pad the fucking suit or he can get the fuck out.

as for steph, she will absolutely be a vigilante alongside the huntress. her father is still cluemaster, after all, so she'll follow a similar arc to canon except it's helena and not bruce that she'll develop a complex mentor relationship with!!

i think helena can see a little of herself in steph. i think part of helena envies steph's moral compass also. iirc at steph's age, helena still thought her mafia family was okay & that it was just the people who killed them that were bad. yet steph, who's half her age, has no such illusions about her father, and is already fighting to try and bring him down

cass!!!! cass will still come to gotham!!!!! i can't see a way for cass to be on bruce's side in this au simply bc of how strong her morals are. she killed a man and never ever wanted to kill again, even with shiva where it was kill or be killed, she had already made up her mind to let herself be killed in the end. so she is going to be on the vigilante side :]

also, it would be amazing for me personally if cass came to gotham during azbats (...azhuntress?) era. ohhh lord. a situation RIPE for incredible interactions

i still haven't read damian & duke comics properly yet so that's going to have to be added in the future. but that's what's been rattling around in my brain so far!

#dcposting #batman mob au #dc #batman #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson #jason todd #helena bertinelli #james cooper #barbara gordon #tim drake #jean-paul valley #stephanie brown #cassandra cain

[themissinghand]

Trash of the Count's Family: Why Him? Why Not Me?

Summary: In which OG novel Choi Han is jealous of a different timeline's Choi Han's life. Especially of his family and benefactor, Cale Henituse.

Warnings: Some spoilers for the novel (beyond the current point in the manhwa) and some angst as if the novel didn't give me enough

Choi Han is no hero. 

Unlike the manhwas and novels out there, he was just a normal person. 

Not a returnee or a genius or a reincarnator or a transmigrator. 

But here he is, in a world full of unknown. 

It's dark, scary, and lonely. 

So when he finally finds people after so long, he rejoiced and latched onto that hope. 

Only for it to be destroyed so quickly, and brutally. 

So he sought revenge. 

He fought for justice.

But the organization, no, the White Star was tougher and smarter than he expected.

He was outclassed in everything, magic, swordsmanship, and power.

Choi Han was simply not strong enough to protect his family from the leader of the secret organization. The leader that killed his family and possibly millions of other innocents as well.

He failed.

He failed.

He failed.

How he wished he could just go back in time so he could properly prepare against such a disaster known as the White Star.

But everything was too late.

(This was not a manhwa or a novel)

Everyone he loved has died.

His home was burned to the ground.

Even the crown prince, Alberu Crossman, was defeated and forced to submission.

In such a desperate and perilous situation, what should he, the hero of the Roan Kingdom do?

Pursue. 

Get revenge.

When he does, the world is on fire.

It's a bloody mess.

It infuriates him.

He'd gotten so strong for what?

Then, he hears the God of Death, that infuriating bastard. Telling him of lies and of fairy tales that simply don't exist.

The God of Death pitied him.

What is a pity in this ruined world?

But then the hero sees.

He sees Rosalyn.

He sees Lock.

He sees Ron and Beacrox Molan.

He sees Alberu Crossman.

And he sees himself.

He sees himself, smiling. 

Smiling at a redhead that Choi Han had long gotten rid of. 

Cale Henituse.

Why?

Why?

Why?

His mind was filled with questions, before emotions.

Grief, regret, envy, jealousy, and fury.

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why him? 

Fury overtook him.

He stepped out of the portal and grabbed Cale Henituse by his neck.

"Choi Han?! What are you- there are two Choi Hans?!"

The hero sees people he never seen before.

"Human!"

He sees dragons.

"Young Master Cale!"

He sees dark elves and elves.

"Cale!"

He sees believers of the Sun God and a necromancer.

He sees the Whale Tribe and the Tiger Tribe.

"Let go of Cale-nim." Through his anger, the hero saw himself of this timeline. He saw a different sword pointed at him.

The hero, Choi Han, gritted his teeth and then roared in anguish and self-pity. 

"In another timeline, you are happy. And that person who made you happy, is a person named Cale Henituse."

"Cale Henituse! Why-"

"Let go, you bastard." The redhead unexpectedly bit back.

Dragon Fear? No, it was different.

Nonetheless, the hero has been pushed aside. 

Ironically, the hero stood before himself of this timeline, someone who has not covered himself from head to toe with the blood of his allies, someone who has not dug his own despair, and someone who has not stained the world with his rage.

Oh God of Death, is this a punishment? The hero thought with the last bits of his rationality, which was stored deeply within him.

Where he has to see another world full of friendship and happiness he cannot get?

"Choi Han." He looked at Cale Henituse with a conflicted expression on his face. He growled back but the other didn't flinch at all.

"Why him? I lost everything. So why? Why does he!" The hero pointed his sword at himself of another timeline, the one who gets to be happy, who gets to have everything he doesn't have.

"Why does he gets to be happy?" 

When the other didn't say anything, the hero grabbed Cale by the collar. For some reason, this Cale Henituse was not afraid, in fact, he raised a hand to stop the others.

Even so, the hero wasn't grateful for such a gesture. 

"Why didn't you exist in my life? Why were you so useless in my life!?" For some unknown reason, his cheeks were wet. 

A rough hand pulled them apart.

"Don't touch Cale-nim." 

It's unfair.

"Choi Han." Cale Henituse stopped the Choi Han from this timeline from interfering. Instead, Cale simply looked at him with a conflicted expression. 

If he had Cale Henituse in his timeline, would his allies live?

Would he be happy too?

"Why him? Why not me?"

Then, the God of Death whispered in his ear.

And the hero could only see his tears fall, as he too, collapsed to the floor. He feels himself growing tired, senseless, and lifeless as his vision slowly fades.

"Choi Han!"

When the last thing the hero saw was vibrant red hair, the hero Choi Han could only smile bitterly.

He grabbed Cale Henituse's hand tightly and watched the other yell his name with desperation. 

How nice would it be to be in this world and be by his side?

How nice would it be if he was in this timeline?

How nice would it be to be happy?

Once again, the hero curses and wishes for the first time in a long time.

Let me be him, let me be happy by his side.

But he can't.

Because he's not the Choi Han from this timeline.

He's nothing more than a foreigner, an intruder, with an useless title of a hero on his head.

A fallen hero doesn't deserve happiness.

And the hero, Choi Han, falls.

#trash of the count's family #lout of the count’s family #manhwa #cale henituse #choi han #kim rok soo #kim roksu #imagine #angst #trash of the duke's family #spoilers #totcf

[cleabellanov]

Budapest: we finally get to know what happened!

Well, not oficially, and certainly not in the near future. However, that doesn't stop fans (me) from having movie concepts (this post) for fun and entertainment (it's consuming my time and I fantasize about seeing it in the cinema). But moving on...

Black Widow III: Budapest

Oh and if you're feeling confused, this is preceeded by Black Widow II: Into the winter mist, also on this blog

The intro is similar to the one of the first Black Widow movie: images roll as if we were watching a documentary, not a Marvel movie. Everyone is dead silent. This is rated R, another sign it's going to be dark.

With her mind made up to end the Red Room once and for all, and given the only chance to do so by Clint Barton sparing her life, Natasha plans on blowing up the building Dreykov is in. This can happened only after his daughter, Antonia, steps in. Facing a great moral conflict, Clint doesn't accept at first. However, he understands Natasha will complete her job in Budapest with or without his help, so they end up working together.

The scenes used to show the explosion are the same ones we saw in Black Widow.

On a smoky rooftop, Natasha and Clint catch their breath, with the city sprawling below. They are bloodied and bruised, trying to find an escape. Soon, a Red Room assasin whose identity remains hidden catches up to them. They work together, showcasing their distinct combat styles and growing trust.

They have to hide in air ducts for almost one week, because that's how long it took for the Red Room to lose their trace. Natasha takes this as a great success. She believes Dreykov and his daughter to be dead, even though they aren't.

Finally, weakened and in need for rest, they arrive at a hidden safehouse. They discuss their options. Natasha suggests contacting a former Red Room contact, a woman named Yulia, who might know escape routes. This is a new character we've never seen before, but heard of several times in the previous movie. She is the same woman that helped her and Bucky Barnes remain together for so long, until the separation that occured with her last mission, and the only one that would count: Budapest. She knew there was no way back now. Nothing of this is said out loud to Clint.

Clint expresses reservations, fearing S.H.I.E.L.D. may not accept them after defying orders. He also reveals internal conflict about leaving his loyalty behind. In a moment of carelessness, he also mentions the code name Mockingbird, which Natasha recognises from her former missions. She doesn't know of the connection the woman has with Clint, though.

They ultimately decide to trust Yulia, recognizing their need for help.

Meeting her in a bustling Budapest café, they learn about a covert extraction point arranged by an unknown benefactor. Hesitantly, they agree, aware of the risks. The journey to the extraction point involves tense encounters with Red Room agents and Budapest's criminal underworld. We see a lot of flashbacks from both Clint's and Natasha's past.

Reaching the extraction point, the benefactor is revealed to be Nick Fury, who was observing them from the shadows. He offers Natasha a deal: join S.H.I.E.L.D. and use her skills against threats like the Red Room in exchange for protection and a new identity.

Her choice is disrupt by a Red Room attack. In the ensuing chaos, she confronts a former trainer, reveal ing the Red Room's true reach and sinister objectives. She is given one last choice to stay by their side, as she always had. The one speaking is no other than Melina. Natasha looks for Yelena in the other widows, but she isn't there.

"I never wanted to be your agent" she says to them, in English, altough she was adressed in Russian. "But I can become your worst mistake".

In a burst of action, the fight begins again. Yulia sacrifices herself, offerings the others a chance to escape.

Leaving Budapest on a S.H.I.E.L.D plane, changed by everything that happened, Natasha accept Fury's offer, haunted by ghosts of her past but determined to forge a new path.

The closing scenes show Maria Hill, adressing one intriguing question to Clint and Natasha.

"Have you ever heard about the Avengers initiative?"

#marvel #black widow #movie concept #fanmade #clint barton #hawkeye #natasha romanoff #nick fury #maria hill #budapest #agents of shield #i feel like actually writing a fic about this lmao #fanfiction #mcu #the winter soldier #buckynat

[littlepinksapphire]

How each class copes with their dark urges

Barbarian

You really, really, really need to hit something

A barrel, a sack of flour, a precious vase, it doesn’t matter

As long as you can wreck shit and bloody your knuckles you’re happy

And so you take your dark rage out on things

Things can’t care. Things can’t die

Bard

You sit in secluded beauty, by the river, under the stars, within the trees, wherever you fancy

And you play

Your melody drifts through the breeze, a lilting and melancholic tune

A potential lover lingers out of view, listening quietly

For now, the music thrums through your soul and drowns out the darkness

Cleric

You pray in the dead of night

Tears fall in your lap as you bow your head

Can they forgive such a wretched soul as yours? Can they even hear you? Do you even deserve it?

Something warm and holy bristles against your skin like a breeze on a sunny day or a gentle hand grazing your cheek

You are on the right path, you need only keep believing

Druid

You need to be alone, away in nature, amongst the flora and fauna

Perhaps you change form and hunt, sating the predator within you for a few hours of malevolent sport

Perhaps you conjure a minor tempest above you and wail at the whirling sky, unheard as wind and rain pelt you from all sides

Or perhaps you dig your feet into the dirt and grow beauty all around you, tethering yourself to something more pure than blood

Fighter

You’re up at the crack of dawn to get a workout in

Today you’ll run along the river’s edge, tomorrow you’ll do pull ups in the trees

Some of your companions find your commitment annoying, others endearing

Each day you break a new personal record

If you can push past aching muscles and pumping lungs, you can push past the nightmarish thoughts that wake you each morning in the first place

Monk

Blood pounds in your skull and you breathe in, deeply and fully

The pounding slows, you breathe out

Arms extend upwards, stretching tense muscles

You extend a leg and lean forward, breathing in again

You focus on the steady beat of your heart

For the first time your mind is silent

For the first time you are at peace

Paladin

You repeat your tenets to yourself like a mantra

Every time your mind slips into darkness, you whisper your oath and take a deep breath

It grounds you in the things you truly believe and reminds you of who you are

Or at least, who you strive to become

Ranger

You had formed a fast bond with both Scratch and the owlbear cub

One morning, you awake from a nightmare with them on either side of you

Scratch lays atop your torso, his head resting on your chest as he watches you while the cub nudges your arm

The softness and warmth of your animal companions slows your frantic heart

Right now, right here, you are safe

Rogue

Some might call it being a kleptomaniac

You call it being enterprising

Any apprehension from your companions ceased when they realized how expensive healing potions can be in times of war

A necklace here, a coin purse there, nothing anyone would miss too dearly

The rush is much the same, even if it doesn’t satisfy in the right way

Better a stolen item than a stolen life

Sorcerer

You find an open clearing or an empty room, somewhere away from prying eyes

You breath slowly and extend your arms, feeling for the weave

It’s tangible and potent, seeping into your skin and flowing through your bloodstream

It crackles on your fingertips and, with natural precision, you release it

Beautiful spells dance around you as you speak them into existence

You may be a maker of death, but you are also a maker of wonder

Warlock

You decide to call upon your benefactor, a risky decision depending on your contract

But with risk comes reward, you hope

If you play your cards right, you can get something from them

Maybe they have information on the nature of your affliction

Maybe they can shield you from the endless onslaught of unspeakable desires

At this point, you’d do almost anything to gain some control over this evil within you

Wizard

You drown yourself in study, poring over the same texts again and again

Exciting discoveries and notes of inquiry distract from thoughts of death and gore

You speak of these magical musings to your companions, either talking at them or engaging them in debate, depending on who lends their ear

Either way, they are relieved to see you smiling about something

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #durge #baldur’s gate 3 headcanon #bg3 headcanon #the dark urge headcanon #tentatively getting back into writing after a long time

[goodusernamepending]

Up to date on Lackadaisy and I have many thoughts but I love how this story is driven by a character who haunts the narrative and the people within it.

Atlas is dead from the start but his effects ripple out through most of the cast and depending on who’s talking about him, they are either frayed and distraught by his death or they have a few choice words for his ghost.

He’s a benefactor and a pragmatic, bloody businessman. A savior and an opportunist. It just depends on whose giving the eulogy

#lackadaisy #atlas may #Lackadaisy webcomic #dorian zibowski #mitzi may #mordecai heller

[maegalkarven]

Dreams of Red.

Characters: Enver Gortash, Dark Urge (Nemo).

Set between Empty Prayers and returning to BG in act 3.

Nemo dreams, Gortash wakes up.

TW: blood (mention), physical abuse (mention), choking, suggestive, not toxic but also not a healthy relationship (meaning they are awful but together kind of cancel it for each other).

He dreams of home; not the home in the flesh, but that place of dark alcoves and labyrinths made out of caves. He dreams of blood rivers running down the steps, of red fire lit sockets on a giant skull.

He dreams of his assassins, the unlucky souls who fated to meet him once and were damned enough to be caught in his gaze.

The First kneels before the altar, a tribute plastered on it, eyes closed in a reverent prayer.

She does not actually pray, somehow he knows it as well as he knows how many heartbeats are currently booming inside these halls.

The First is deep in thoughts and her thoughts are dark knots of resentment, anger and despair.

She grieves.

"Reaper of Bhaal," they turn around together as one; the girl made murderer made assassin and the benefactor who brought her there. So close to the girl's body he can taste the blood and sweat on her skin, sees dark shadows under her cold calculating eyes.

"Orin," falls from the First's lips. This is disobedience, he knows it somehow, for she is not simply Orin, but the Chosen of Bhaal.

Or is she?

"Look at what you have done," Orin-not-Orin says and her voice ricochets from the ceiling. It sounds...different.

It multiplies and shakes, and twists, and then suddenly its Sceleritas' voice.

Orin keeps opening and closing her mouth, but the sound he hears does not come from her.

"Look at the deeds of your disobedience. Once proud Temple of the most Gracious of the gods, now intruded upon by a mindless, senseless being you were supposed to enslave," an invisible hand closes over his throat, constricting the air.

He sees black and then red and then - Father.

Father is angry and that anger washes over him in waves, breaking his skin and piercing soft innards.

•••

He is seven again, bloodied heap of limbs on the floor as his caretaker walks around in circles.

"You're weak," Sarevok speaks. The boy hates Sarevok for how much his approval means to him. "You're fragile. You disappoint Father with your single existence. Stand up," a blunt hit across the spine. "Stand up and learn." Another hit. "Prove yourself worthy to be called a Child of Bhaal."

He is seven and he already talks more than he should, so he asks.

"Like you?"

Sarevok's unnaturally bright eyes blaze and the next hit landing on the boy makes him black out for a moment.

"Stand up," he hears again as his conscience returns. "Or die a scum and come back to Him graceless."

He stands up.

•••

Blood fills up his mouth, blood fills up his lungs. He gasps, choking, fighting the gravity - and swims up.

The pool is deeper than it should have been, the sacrificial room is darker, and Father's presence pierces his skull like thousand of red hot needless.

"Beloved son," Sarevok announces and the Echoes repeat. "Prodigal son, bathed in sacrificial blood in Your name, Father. Greet the unholy assassin born anew, Lord Bhaal, grace him with your presence."

He wants to step back, to avoid what is to come, but Bhaal is in his mind in an instance: an endless, darkest, bloodiest night.

The presence of Father is so strong the boy feels his own mind disappear, drown in the sheer force of his father's love.

Finally. He is worthy.

•••

Hands - bloodied, sheets - bloodied. Body after body, cold bed, red bed, sacrificial bed. Lover after lover, dead, dead, dead, dead.

Until the last one.

Until-

•••

He wakes up to the scene of Enver's flushed up face beneath him, the assassin's hands grasping at his throat firmly, pressing down, down, down, until the windpipe gives out, until the light leaves the eyes-

Nemo breaks the hold and collapses into the bed; not his bed, but the one he managed to crawl into in his sleep regardless. Gortash goes into the fit of coughs, proving once again how alive he still is.

Finally the man calms it down and tries his voice, hoarse from all the abuse.

"Good morning to you too."

Nemo doesn't reply, face digging into the rough pillows bellow - they used to be much softer than that - covering himself with Enver's blankets.

"Nemo," he refuses to answer. "Oh, for fuck's sake," the covers are dragged off his head, said head - turned.

Bluish bruises slowly imprint themselves on Enver's neck, prominent even in the dim light of the tent.

He appears to be annoyed.

"I said," the lord repeats. "Good morning."

Nemo contemplates tearing into this throat with bare teeth and chewing his way into the sweet red embrace of it.

"Nemo."

"Morning," he grumbles, unhappy. With this, with them, with the way Enver doesn't even look surprised, doesn't even care he almost died.

Again. He almost died again.

Something in the man's face softens.

"Bad dream?" And it's a cue for Nemo to crawl closer, to plant his face directly into the throat he was just squeezing the life out of, to put his lips to a pulse line and drink in the sound.

"Umgh," he replies unhelpfully. "Father is angry with me."

He can't remember the last time Father was not angry with him.

Enver sighs.

"At least he's still with you."

Nemo bites into the soft flesh slightly and then licks down at the bite.

"I wish he wouldn't," the admittance is so quiet it should be impossible to hear. Enver hears it anyway.

"And what would you do," a soft touch to his temple, nails scratching at the nape of his neck. Nemo feels his body relax at the merest of the contact. "If he'd let you go?"

"Whatever the fuck I want," another half-hearted bite. Enver always tastes divine. It makes Nemo want to tear at his flesh, crawl into his ribcage and stay there, forever as one. "Whoever I want."

"Oh?" His lover chuckles at that. "Have a list of men you want to fuck without killing them?"

No, Nemo thinks. Well, maybe. Not a list, no, but-

"I'd love to wake up someday without my body moving on its accord," he grumbles, tracing a scar down Enver's torso. A long and rigged thing running all the way to his abdomen. One of the earliest marks Nemo has left on him.

"I'm still alive," Gortash reads between the lines.

"You seem to be incredibly unbothered by the way I go for your throat, not even metaphorically speaking," the spawn comments. "Figures you'd be into me failing to kill you."

"You're not failing," Enver's breath burns into his hair, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. "You stray your hand."

"One day I won't."

"Today is not that day."

"You keep saying it every time it happens."

"I am alive every time it happens."

There's blood underneath his nails: it tastes sour.

There's also a row of deep red lines scratched somewhere into Enver's flesh.

Nemo snuggles up closer.

"I hate everything in this world but you," he confesses.

His lordling hums.

"I consider you a rare feat of a person who delights me more than not," he replies.

Nemo laughs.

"Smooth, motherfucker."

Enver gasps, fake-scandalized.

"But dearest, you don't even have a mother for me to fuck."

The spawn giggles like a lovesick girl and closes his eyes.

After a moment he opens his mouth again.

"How is," and how do you say it? How is everything? How are the ruins of your life? How does everyone at the camp treat you?

How does he say what he wants to say without, you know, actually saying it?

"Is Bane still silent?" He resolves on and then mentally kicks himself. Of fucking course Bane is still silent.

But again, so is Gortash.

"Yes," he replies after such suffocating pause Nemo started to wonder who was chocking who. "I...don't think he'll answer."

"I wish Bhaal would shut the fuck up," Nemo blurts and receives a surprised chuckle into his hair.

"Have you tried telling him that?" Even without looking up Nemo knows Gortash is smiling.

"Do you really think father dearest would listen?" He grumbles back. "He just gave me a lecture on how bad of a son I am."

"Aren't we all?" Enver's hands move in soothing circles up and down his lower stomach, inciting a rush of goosebumps and a wave of heat. Nemo catches one of the hands and moves it even lower.

"I'm going to be the absolute nightmare to be in any relation to," he states as Enver's swift fingers start doing their job.

"You're absolute nightmare in any other accord too," his lover murmurs into his ear, bringing out the first breathless sigh out of his lips. "And I don't think I'd want you any other way."

Well, if this is what Enver's into, who is Nemo to deny him?

•••

Karlach glares at the column of Gortash's neck with a scowl so deep it should have been cut directly into her skin, not pulled up by the muscles.

"I didn't do that to myself," Enver comments for some goddamn reason, making the entire situation more awkward than it already was.

The wizard chokes on air.

"Yeah, we didn't really think you did," former sharran comments, eyes darting to where Nemo is seated, stoically ignoring any inquiring gazes straying his way. "That would be anatomically impossible."

"You never know," the lord feels the need to argue. "I am man of many talents."

The vampire spawn snorts.

"Something tells me this is the product of someone else's talents," he comments.

Young Ravengard clears his throat.

"I have questions," he admits.

Enver seizes him with a stare.

"And do you want to hear the answers?"

"Not...really, no."

"Good. It seems we are on the same page then."

"I hate this fucking family," Karlach murmurs.

"Darling," the vampire starts. "I am touched! But also this one is more dysfunctional than the family I left behind, and those were the vampire spawns."

"My father is the God of Murder," Nemo comments from the distance. "How about that for dysfunctional?"

"And aren't you a walking red flag, my dear."

"Hey, excuse me, I'm the nicest murder incarnate you'd ever meet-"

This entire group of losers, Gortash decides. Is a freak show.

It might be just worthwhile enough to stick around.

#durgetash #dark urge x gortash #gortash x durge #dark urge: nemo #empty prayers au #the first is clotilda #bhaal sees nemo's children in numbers and nemo watches the dream through his father's gaze #nemo is sulking bc he almost killed Gortash again meanwhile gortash is like: oh just another day in the live of bhaalspawn's lover. #the sheer confidence that one has what nemo will always stray his hand is. uh. enver dear. this is not sane. or safe #it indeed is consentual

[defectivehero]

masterlist ii

hey folks. i'm making another master list cause my first one ran out of links. this one doesn’t have many works right now, but i plan to add more as i write more. 

anyway, here’s a quick lil cheat sheet:

The larger concepts are in bold- hurt/comfort, sci-fi, etc.

The title of each work is a direct link to the work itself. [I don’t title most of my works, but let me know if you like any of the ones I gave these... I may consider adding titles to my works from now on...]

Characters and keywords are listed after the title. 

My works are divided under concepts: the superhero universe, fantasy/sci-fi & other genres, and poetry!

the superhero universe

heroes and villains!

HURT/COMFORT

- a close call : stubborn hero and annoyed but caring villain; near-death experiences

-caged : whumpee villain and caretaker hero

-amplified : sensory overload/ panic attack

-selfless : injured hero, exasperated villain

-of trust and monologues : injured hero, annoyed villain; villain is concerned but doesn’t want to show it

-near the eclipse : in which the villain [almost] kills the hero

-breaking and entering : in which the hero wakes up in the villain’s apartment, bloody and near death; alternately: the hero cares too much about the wrong things, while the villain just wants a peaceful night to themselves..

-thunder & lightning : fear of thunderstorms, panic attacks; the villain just wants to know why their nemesis was missing from their scheduled fight...

-determination : terminal illness; “death isn’t something the villain has control over, but, damn it, they can’t just let the hero die…”

-mutual destruction : the villain loses control, but the hero has a plan.

- even villainy needs a break : the villain falls unconscious after a mission and wakes to find themselves staring at their enemy, the hero

-an unexpected reunion : the hero and the villain reunite at the villain’s... funeral? 

-unrelenting : in which the hero takes drastic measures to try to escape their captivity. their efforts don't quite work and the villain is left as the one to pick up their broken pieces.

ANGST

-enough : exhausted hero, concerned + frustrated villain; hurt/no comfort, tension

-goodbye : hurt/comfort, lots of tension, coping with the loss of a loved one

-phantom pain : the villain is reformed into a hero. but their past—and their own villains—aren't as far away as they think.

FLUFF

-missing : the hero’s teammates are incompetent and the villain is annoyed by it

-disappearing ink : the hero is tired and the villain is feeling mischievous 

OTHER

-overworked : exhausted hero, exasperated villain; kidnapping turned slumber party? lol.

-mission snapshot : playful banter, the calm before the storm

-ruined pride : the complexities of crime ; interaction between rookie villain and seasoned villain

-your importance : camaraderie amidst enemies, mutual understanding

-bloodied teeth : romance? on my blog??? unbelievable.

-mirrored mania : mage hero / interested villain

-not your hero: disabled superhero

-unfinished business : the hero is declared dead in the press, but they’re entirely alive…?

-unknown benefactor : the hero begins to receive exceedingly generous gifts from a stranger. they don't begin to connect the dots until they receive a particularly large sum of money...

____

scientists, detectives, thieves, and more! 

-cat and mouse : detective/thief, unresolved tension, psychoanalysis and mystery

-destined to intertwine : scientist/villain; soulmates

-hurting to heal : healer and villain; hurt/comfort, injury

-sweet dreams : villain; nightmares, hurt/no comfort, futility

-like-minded : thief and villain; stealing valuables, irony

-mirrored : thief and villain; two sides of the same coin

-predictive : detective/ villain; suspense, tension, kidnapping

-unexpected : detective/thief; disguises, tension, mind games (sorta, not rly)

-failed assassin : an assassin prepares to take down his mark, only to run into an unexpected obstacle

-when you smile : thief/detective; flirting, tension, the good stuff

-paradoxical : the healer took an oath to protect and heal whoever they can. enter the hero, a stubborn individual with a knack for getting themselves injured.

-an interesting bargain : villain/detective; tension, pining

fantasy, sci-fi, and other genres

SCI-FI

-alien conflict : aliens, humans; war

GAY SHIT 😙🏳️‍🌈

-ending infinity : immortals; nblnb, angst

-royal jealousy : princess/royal advisor; wlw, slow burn, two parts [so far]

-across the courtroom : defense attorney/prosecutor; nblm, hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, two parts [so far]

-delivered trust : professional villain/hero; wlw, emotional hurt/comfort, ambiguity

-waiting for my farewell : hero/villain; mlm, angst, hurt/comfort, two parts [so far]

-old friends : scientists turned hero & villain duo; nblm (heavily implied), angst

-protection : in which the villain asks to walk the hero home; wlw

poetry

charon’s ferry

cutlery

margins

memoriam to the not yet lost

my heroes & villains

remnant

settlement

silence

the villain

vampirism

let me know if a link doesn’t work! <3

and, as always, thanks for reading!

#defectivehero #masterlist #writing #writeblr #short fic #snippet #heroes and villains #hero & villain #hero x villain

[capitalism-wizard]

Well HELLO THERE capitalism wizard! My name is aris, and along with being the incarnation of 5-dimensionality, I'm also the incarnation of capitalism! I'm excited to be doing business with you in the future.

Ahh, I know of you, yes. Greetings, my fine... mmm... benefactor, I suppose. My corporation hails from a distant land, and has many products to sell to whoever might buy them. We're looking to build a headquarters to expand our operations. Now, thanks to help from our gracious shareholder, Kn'zzar the Bloodied, we have industrial-scale portals to bring resources to and from our distant warehouses at a far lower cost, as long as shipping staff can ignore the screams of the damned along the way. This will allow us to provide products at far cheaper prices! It's a great time to invest, I must say.

[joyfulladywarrior]

Aemma survives au part 2

Rhaenyra's POV

Being away from the Red Keep made Rhaenyra glow again. The past year there had been traumatizing. When she had realized that something was wrong during the tourney, she immediately ran to see her mother. Somehow she was able to get through the guards to the room. Everyone had always looked at Rhaenyra and saw her as nothing more than a spoiled little princess. Even Alicent sees her like that sometimes. While Rhaenyra is a spoiled little princess, she is not JUST a spoiled little princess. At a very young age, she had been training how to yield a sword under her uncle's tutelage when he was around. When her mother found them, she scolded both Rhaenyra and Daemon and gave Rhaenyra the same old talk about duty and royal wombs. Uncle Daemon had sneaked to her room at night and started teaching her in secret. He taught her all about the secret pathways and where she can hide her sword. When he was banished, she still continues practicing in secret. After all the hard training, Rhaenyra was swift enough to bypass the gaurds. The first thing she saw was red. Everything was red. The sheets. The scissors. The knives. Her mother. Ever her father, the king, was red. There was a smile on his face as he attempted to calm her wailing brother. The moment he saw her, his smile became guilty and she knew he agreed to this. The king loves to see himself as a fair king while he banished Daemon yearly based on the highcunt's accusations with no real evidence and while he opened his wife up. He quickly told the maester to attend to Aemma and see that she also survives. The king introduced the boy to her but all she can see is her bloody mother and the maester working on saving her.

Rhaenyra had not left her mother's side since the maester sewed her up, not even when the perfect son had died. She was guarding her mother from the king. She was also praying. She prayed to anyone who would listed. The fourteen flames. The seven. The old gods. She had only left her mother's side at the son's funeral since she knew the king would be preoccupied. She told Syrax to burn the body and she looked at the lords and ladies attending. None of them held her mother with the same regard as they held for the boy who didn't even live for a day. Rhaenyra was surprised that everyone was shocked at the boy's death. As if this was the first time one of the king's perfect sons died in the cradle. As if the house of the dragon had not been poisoned very meticiously over the years both by family and strangers. After her mother woke up, she could not look at her without seeing red. Everything was red again every time she encountered her mother. The plates. The cups. The walls. All she could hear is the whispers around her. She heard the men talk in the council about her mother's fate. About her fate. She could not do anything. When her mother's marriage annulled and she was declared a bastard, Rhaenyra had hope to finally be free of the duties and expectations of everyone around her. She was not a princess anymore. She was not a royal womb even if she is the blood of the dragon, even if she still has Syrax.

When Rhaenyra and her mother arrived to Volantis, it was the first time for Rhaenyra to meet Targaryens who embody the dragon blood while having no dragon. Both her parents are dragon-less and it was obvious in the way they treat others. They listened to and tried to appease the sheep. Uncle Daemon and princess Rhaenys were true dragons but both had dragons of their own. A year of living in Volantis had made her mother a dragon. She started to help Saera and her cousins Aerys and Nymeria with the family business, not the pleasure part but the financial part. She has attended dinner with various benefactors and discussed politics. She told the men who disrespected her or any member of her family to fuck off. She was every bit of the queen she was meant to be and Rhaenyra could not be more proud.

Aemma's POV

After the two years mark, Aemma had met a good man from Myr and she fell in love again. She was honest about her past and the trauma she suffered. She told him him that she would probably be unable to give him any children even though her body is healed now. Ugar had no need for an heir and they already had Rhaenyra whom he was willing to give his name to. Afterwards, Aemma went and had a talk with her daughter. She swore to Rhaenyra that they do not want to have children together and that marriage is about companionship and love, not just heirs. For the first time, she acknowledged to Rhaenyra that both her and Viserys did her wrong. They did not think of her and Aemma will alway regret how they treated her. She told Rhaenyra of her fear and of how she is trying to find the courage to marry Ugar. They would never have children together but they had decided from the beginning that they would not allow their lack of children hinder their marriage.

Aemma had gotten Rhaenyra's blessings. Her and Ugar's wedding was a very small affair with only her Targaryen family from Volantis attended. Afterwards, they both had spent time travelling to different cities and they opened another branch of the family business in Lys. As for Rhaenyra, she had trained hard and became a sellsword with her own company, The Bright Flame. Ironically, The Bright Flame is how Rhaenyra met Rickard Stark, a prince of the North kingdom and the second son of the ruling queen (the North is independent here). They had three children together: Visenya, Jacaerys, and Lucerys. They had also been raising Cregan who had lost both his mother and father at a young age. She and Rickard bought dragon eggs that were smuggled out of Valyria by some brave soul and put the eggs in their children's cradles. Each egg hatched.

#queen aemma #fuck viserys #rhaenyra targaryen

[selamat-linting]

okay so i just watched my movie 14! its an interesting web serial. i really miss slenderverse horror. and to see that its only just begun, how fun! here is some barely coherent thoughts :

-to explain the premise badly, it is this : local youtuber becomes victim of elaborate trolling campaign by demons.

-hm, based from what i gather, this is the situation (cmiiw) : mile starts a youtube channel, they are going to close down the channel due to lack of interests, but they were sent a message from amon (introduction video)

-throughout this several month period, mile started to get increasingly agitated, showing the classic telltale signs of slender sickness (coughing in the hotel video) (looking over cameras and beating the shit out of people that cares about your wellbeing in the secret remember video), and did several things under amon's influence. at first, they simply think amon is just a helpful benefactor to their channel, but amon starts to get even more present in mile's life until they even questioned if amon had access to their personal files (hotel video) this is confirmed in the caption under 8, which is encrypted in caesar cypher.

-amon is a demon. referenced in the lesser keys of solomon as the demon over life and reproduction and it is said to induce eagerness and reconcile friends and enemies, something that are also referenced in the captions in 8 (induces eagerness) and hotel (the quote referencing poe's the raven poem) (also possible connection with mile inducing brian and nina to suicide?) it often took the form of a man with raven's head or a man with dog teeth. if his nickname wasnt obvious enough, one of the secret videos spelled it out by displaying the sigil and another secret video (remember) shows mile ecstatic over receiving a copy of lesser keys ars goetia and ended up with them looking dejected and throwing away the book

-that scene can be interpreted in two ways. it either show mile opening the book and finally realizing that amon is not a person as they read the entries, or a jump cut to the future while the early scenes is them during the early times of working with amon and the next is a scene of them opening the book again after significant damage has occured and throwing it away in regret / disgust. i think its the latter

-anyway, back to mile's work partnership with amon. dead animals at my door is the biggest information so far of what they done under amon. a notable thing is that they have "silenced" aunt penelope and is responsible for the brian and nina suicide (perhaps by way of magic from ars goetia? the bloodied state of the book during remember indicates mile might have been using it to do these awful things. they might have summoned amon to the physical world, or they might provide brian and nina as sacrifices, whethere its on purpose or something they did accidentally as they become intrigued in fact-checking the spells in the book they were given)

-one thing for sure is that brian and nina is murdered because/for amon. the caption, relating them as the lovers card placed them both under the bindings of a demon (referred to as ANGEL)

-this is mile at their worst. they have killed possibly three people and knocked out their brother (OH NO HERE COMES MILE WITH THE STEEL CHAIR) anyway, one thing im intrigued with is that, other than their brother (the editor) not remembering anything about the fight that lead mile to running away to a hotel, he also say that he doesnt know mile that well during the phone conversation with cody (8). i think his amnesia extends far, not just during the time mile is influenced by amon, but also for their entire life. its a common occurence for slenderverse protagonists unfortunately. mile and the editor might actually have a close relationship for all we know. and the various references on their home life (you'll end up just like mom and dad) (i left the house when i was 16) made me start to think that their parents arent just the boring flavor of abusive, but might even responsible for mile and the editor to be trapped with amon. look, mile has always suffered from hallucinations, are they picked up by amon because of this vulnerability? or is this because mile was meant to be amon's plaything from the very start?

-for now though, it almost seems like mile accidentally sold their soul for youtube fame to a demon (wow, demons these days are catching up with the times. also, whatever deal mile made, i dont think its worth it. like, if i had to kill three people, i should at least have mr beast level of view counts lol)

-another asides : the stalker? who are you? you seem to be inhabiting (heheh) mile's body but the mask was meant for cody. this stalker however, simply knows more things that they let on. it could be cody, sending out cryptic warnings ala tim's alter ego masky in marble hornets or a future version of mile that has went through unimaginable eldritch horrors until their personhood is twisted beyond recognition but now they might have a chance in running away from amon ala firebrand in t12. could be the editor himself, a supressed version of him that remembers everything that went down during the few months before mile's death.

-one thing for sure. stalker speaks in riddles. they add videos, change captions, put out morse codes and caesar cyphers and quotes referencing things that are relevant to our investigation. they also refer that there are three people presiding over the channel.

-my obvious and strongest guess would be the editor, the stalker, and amon watching over the whole thing. however, based on typing quirks alone we could guess that there are another secret man on the channel.

-one would be editor. two would be stalker, but the third... they could have posted only the captions on the article video, since it was a drastic departure in style than the quotes and cyphers. or disregarding that video, we can divide the captions as either cyphers or quotes. the cyphers could be the mysterious person, calling out the editor to remember and to listen to mile's warning (who could be the one posting references to ars goetia so editor would stay away or learn how serious the being theyre dealing with)

-however, the most confusing is the captions in the 28.10.22, it is weirdly sincere and direct. it could be a message for the editor (line about finding closure)

-based on the rather straightforward message, i feel like its the kind of things the stalker would say. and also, i might be reaching here, but if the stalker did speak using quotes, then referencing a stanza from poe's the raven could be a subtle expression of grief and apology (the poem was about a guy feeling haunted by a raven because he felt grief over lenore's death) while warning that theyre dealing with a demon with a raven head. im leaning over the "the stalker is corrupted!mile" prediction because of this

-take all of this with a grain of salt though. there are plenty of things i havent looked over twice. we dont even know how amon could be another iteration of slenderman other than his victims suffering from similar diseases. if i have the time, i'll revisit and make another post about my theories. cant wait to see this series grow :)

#my movie 14 #mymovie14 #mm14 #slenderverse #analogue horror