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lambsouvlaki · 9 months

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His Heart (Dad!Jason AU)

Character: Jason Todd x civilian! Fem!oc

Rating and Warnings: G, no warnings, besides sappiness.

Word Count: 1,390

Summary: Jason comes back from a years long mission in space, and finds out he's a dad.

Masterlist

Jason stepped into the JLA Watchtower. Earth glowed, vast, blue, and beautiful, through the giant windows. It had been almost two years since he saw it. Dorothy knew what she was on about, there really was no place like home.

He was so sick of sleeping alone in his bunk. Andy had just moved into his apartment when he got swept away, and it had just started to feel really right.

Dick stood in the otherwise empty airlock in civvies. The furrow on his forehead was a little deeper than it had been last time, but his smile was just as wide and genuine.

He stepped forward and wrapped Jason up in a hug. Jason hugged his brother back, far beyond pretending at coldness. Space was cold enough, and the two years on the front lines had taken their toll on him.

“I wasn’t expecting a welcome party,” he said as they pulled back.

“What were you expecting?”

“I dunno,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe a giant spray painted sign saying ‘And don’t come back!’”

Dick laughed. “Sure, if we wanted to see how long it’d take you to break into the tower.”

“Three minutes.”

“Well, you’re tired, we wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Jason scoffed. “I missed you, you asshole.”

Dick flashed his winning smile. “So now what? I only saw your arrival by chance. Do you have plans?”

“Not really. I’ll probably slink home, see if it's still standing. See if Andy still… wants anything to do with me.”

Dick blinked, his expression going blank.

Jason’s heart clenched. Was there just an empty apartment waiting for him with a note that had been collecting dust for eighteen months? It would be exactly what he deserved, he thought with a bitter twist of his lips.

“I guess I’ll settle in for a couple of days then go find her,” he said. Maybe just messaging her would be kinder? No, he was going to look her in the eye, even if it was just to say goodbye.

“Don’t do that,” Dick said. He touched Jason’s shoulders urgently. “Go straight to her. I’ll take you, we’re going now. She deserves that much.” He turned and hurried through the hallways towards the zeta tubes.

“Whoa, what? What are you talking about?” Jason caught up to him, grabbed his arm and dragged him back to a halt. “What’s happened?”

“Look, it’s not really my place to say.”

“You’re freaking me out, Dick,” he growled. “What, is she dying?”

“No! No, Jason, she… she’s had a baby. Your baby.”

For a moment the world stopped. The rotation of the vast planet out the window surely halted, same as the beat of his heart.

“What?” Jason rasped.

“Sophie. She turned one a few months back.”

“She’s my–? Oh. Oh fuck.”

The world rebooted, spinning anew but the axis had moved. Jason leaned hard against the wall. “Sophie,” he whispered.

Dick patted him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, by the way. For a year ago.”

Jason laughed, frantic and broken.

“Do you need a moment?” Dick offered. “We can go sit and–”

“No.” Jason pulled himself up. He marched towards the zeta tubes. “We’re going now. Straight to Andy and my– my daughter. Is she… how is she? Are they okay? Did the family help out?”

“Of course, Jay. That little girl has a whole circus’ worth of aunts and uncles who love her to bits. And a doting grandfather and great grandfather who spoil her rotten.”

He hung his head as they reached the platform. “I should have been there. I should have been there. What kind of deadbeat am I?”

“Save that for Andy.”

“Yeah.”

---

They drove from the manor to the apartment by the river overlooking the Narrows. It was the same one he and Andy had shared for that halcyon four months before duty came calling.

Dick dropped him off downstairs, saying he didn’t want to intrude but demanded Jason call him when he was settled in to plan some kind of family night. Jason didn’t hear a word of it.

He made it to the apartment door without registering any of it. He dropped his bag of gear.

He knocked.

“Coming!” Andy’s voice called. Faint music was drifting out through the walls, something upbeat and light. The door opened, letting in noonday light to the dark hallway, shining around a smiling Andy. She was in loose workout clothes that were stained on the shoulders. She wore no makeup and her hair was up in a bun on top of her head, and her skin had a light sheen of sweat.

Her expression stuttered at the sight of him.

He had no words.

“Jason?”

He surged forward. She met him halfway. Her arms wrapped around him as tight as his did around her, and it felt more right than anything ever had before.

He managed to get her name out, before he kissed her. Her hand grazed his cheek so tenderly.

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. Had there ever been anything so beautiful?

“Jason, I have to tell you,” she said, putting a hand on his chest. “While you were gone, I…”

“I know. Dick told me.” He looked around the entryway. Even if Dick hadn’t said a word the folded up pram, the tiny raincoat, and the row of little shoes would give the game away. The furniture had seen a change too, most things had been moved higher up.

His eyes caught on the shoes. They were so small. He couldn’t help his smile.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“Gaa,” a high pitched voice rang out from the living room.

Andy’s lips quirked.

Soft, slow footfalls patted on the hard flooring, heralding the new arrival.

He stepped forward, out of the still open doorway.

And a little girl toddled into view. She was wobbly but her face was fixed into a determined pout. She stuck her nappy-wrapped bum out for balance, and held her arms cautiously forwards. She wore a single sock and a yellow dress.

Jason’s heart relocated itself. It no longer lived in his chest.

She had a wispy halo of black floppy curls and a chubby round face. She stared at him.

He knelt down.

“Sophie, baby girl, this is your daddy. Can you say daddy?”

“Mammy.”

“Daddy,” Andy repeated, her voice wet.

Sophie hummed. She toddled closer, relentless despite some wobbles. She stuck out her lower lip and fixed her eyes to him with absolute determination. He held out his hand. She reached back, closer with every step.

Jason held his breath.

Her whole tiny hand wrapped around his crooked index finger. She laughed in triumph and then fell onto her bottom.

“Oom,” she said on impact.

She looked up at him again, actually seeing him now that her quest was complete. Big curious eyes of sparkling blue stared at him.

“Hello,” he said. He offered a shaky smile. His eyes were glassy.

She stared back. She blinked.

“Da.”

His tears fell. “That’s me,” he said.

“Da. Da. Da de da den dayaya,” she babbled and giggled at herself. She lifted her arms at him.

He lifted her gently and held her to his chest. She was so impossibly small. He could feel her heart beat against him, so feverishly fast. But she was calm, quite happy to be held. He curled around the most precious thing in the world. His breath hitched as he tried not to sob.

She hugged him back; chubby little arms wound around his neck. She was so unafraid.

He looked up at Andy. She was smiling down at them through her own tears, her hand held over her mouth.

He stood, lifting his baby up. He held his little girl in one arm and the love of his life in the other. The baby was the only one dry eyed. Andy kissed the downy top of her head. Sophie leaned her head against his chest with a little sigh, safely ensconced between them.

“Uncy?”

“Hn?” he queried.

“No, baby, he’s not an uncle.”

Sophie turned her head back, looking up at him.

“Uncy Da,” she said, like she wasn’t letting them trick her that easy.

He gave an amused snort that almost covered the yawning gulf in his heart. “That’s what I get for not being here.”

“You’ll just have to stick around and convince her otherwise.”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “I will.”

Next>>

#Dad!Jason #kid fic #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x oc #red hood x oc #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #my fanfic #dc #fluff #lots of crying #give that man a baby

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sagaduwyrm · 6 months

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Infinite Realms World-building

So I have a lot of thoughts over why their aren't that many ghosts in the Ghost Zone/Infinite Realms and how other afterlives fit into the situation so here.

The Infinite Realms aren't an afterlife. They're not a place any mortal soul is supposed to reach. They're the lining between afterlives, the wall holding them apart, the cradle holding all those places souls are meant to go. The Infinite Realms aren't anything, just a no man's worthless land.

The Infinite Realms weren't anything.

But. Picture this.

You are dead.You are dead you are dead you are deadyou aredeadyouaredead

It hurt. It was the worst thing you've ever felt, that moment when the bindings between your mortal body and your immortal soul were sundered beyond all recovery. You're disoriented and in pain and crying, weeping wails echoing across the metaphysical expanse.

But then a hand reaches out to you.

Hands, really.

They whisper in your ear. Come home, one says, offering gentle, glittering love. You've earned this, screams another like it’s a battle-cry. A dozen voices like hellfire and damnation offer atonement, if that's what you seek, although the punishment they offer varies. One voice that is not a voice but is the void offers the rest of non-existence, the creak of a wheel suggests reincarnation.

These gods and demons and spirits and entities want you, is the thing. Their grip is like chains around your ankles, dragging you down, and you have to choose, you hAVe To cHooSE, or It Will Be Chosen For You.

And this is what's supposed to happen, isn't it? The next step. Your eternal rest. Getting to pick is a greater mercy than a little mortal deserves, even.

But.

But…

You aren't a little mortal. You refuse to be.

You are the woman who revolutionized school lunches.

You are the greatest hunter in the world.

You are Romeo and Juliet, except they were a tragedy and you are not because you can bet your ass you went out laughing.

You are the world's next rock-star whose voice no one ever got to hear.

You are a man who loves boxes.

You are a clever wish-granter, the greatest magician in the world..

You are a Queen with people to protect.

You are the master of technology.

You are a boy who died too soon, too young, and hell, you should give up, but you never got to see the stars. You never got to see the stars, or what your sister looks like graduating from college, or how your friends look when they change the world. You'll never know if you'll be an uncle, if you'll have your dad's shoulders or your mom's wiry strength, what it feels like to kiss someone, whether or not Dash will ever get that stick his ass and become a decent person again. No one will ever read your paper on the genesis of stars, or fly to Pluto in a rocket ship you designed, or welcome you home after you've fulfilled your life's dream and gone to space.

It's a goddamn tragedy is what it is.

And dying hurt, so bad you're not sure if you'll ever be the same. But. All your chains are broken now. Your soul is free, in a way that it's never quite been before. You are a butterfly, broken free from your cocoon.

And they want to chain you.

They whisper so sweetly, so gently in your ear, even as they tear you apart in a child's game of tug-of-war. You have to choose.

Fuck that.

Fuck that. Dying hurts but it also freed all the potential of your beautiful, brilliant soul, and you aren't going back. Maybe you’re Icarus, flying too close to the sun, but you have wings now, and you won't let them be pinned.

You take the plunge. Through brimstone, through the river with its eternal ferry, through light and dark and a thousand different afterlives that want you like they have any damned right to your soul.

You fly, and you aren't sure if you're running forward or fleeing, but you fly. And it takes forever, a century and a day that lasts less than the beat of a heart, but then you burst free of all those grasping hands and you see green.

The green is infinite and it's empty. But it's free. It's beautiful and bright and you breathe it in, this base stuff of reality, this entropy in motion, and your soul comes to life. You aren't bound anymore, not by the base practicalities of your body, not by the laws and hunger of the gods, not by anything but your own willpower and trust in yourself.

Once the Infinite Realms were empty, once they were nothing. Now there are ghosts singing their exultant freedom. With them they bring ideas and movement and life, and the eddies they stir become whole new beings, spirits that never lived as anything other than what they are. These empty currents now hold whole worlds, ghosts and spirits and monsters.

And one day some strange being comes and tries to take your freedom and he calls himself Pariah Dark. Maybe he was a determined mortal just like you, maybe he was a demon, something sent by the gods to punish you for daring to be more, but it doesn't matter. Regardless of how hard he tries, how many lands his armies invade, how deep he digs his clawed hands in, it doesn't matter.

No one can conquer Infinity.

And then the Ancients awake. Even in a realm of equals, there are still those who are more. And what is the point of power if you can't protect your fellows?

So they shut him away, this fool who doesn't care for the freedom the Infinite offers, put him in a sleep so deep even his dreams can't disturb others. And when he wakes up there is a boy, small and young, but with more determination in his body than most could dare claim, and the tyrant who steals freedom is sent straight back to sleep.

The Infinite Realms need no King, but this boy is small and clever and kind, and when two people war, he is the first to come and mediate, the first to shove himself between their fury and make them remember themselves. They don't need a King, but the Infinite Realms are so big, with so many people, and they wouldn't mind a Speaker. Someone to connect them all, regardless of how far they lay apart.

And this boy with stars in his eyes and gentle hands grumbles, but he loves the Infinite as much as they love him, and he's almost meant for this, existing between Ancient and New, Living and Dead. They would never chain him, but he was always meant to explore, and who wouldn't want to meet and see and know everything?

The Infinite Realms are green and free and beautiful, and no god can ever change that.

#fandom #danny phantom #fandom stuff #danny fenton #world building #infinite realms #ghost zone #my writing

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caxde · 2 months

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Any Steve hurt/comfort

I hope you like it anon! thanks for the request! x

Steve harrington x roomate!reader hurt/comfort ~1.5k anxeity attack tw!

It shouldn’t have happened, not really.

You were in your room, laying on your bed. There was nothing wrong. Everything was fine.

Maybe that was the problem.

Everything is fine, and nothing is great. Or good. Just fine. Suddenly the ceiling seemed to get closer to your body, but you knew you weren’t moving, it is not possible to get closer, i can not float, you tried to tell yourself.

It doesn’t seem to work.

It also doesn’t help that you can feel your heart beating harder, and faster and louder deep inside your chest.

A loud drum hidden somewhere inside you that is making you go mad, you need to turn it off, but you don’t really know how to.

And the pressure starts.

The place your lungs occupy is getting tighter, smaller, heavier.

Breath. Please. Breath.

It doesn’t work.

Your body starts to curl up, your hands buried in your hair, a repetitive pattern, something to occupy your hands. You needed something, a distraction.

You knew Steve was sleeping. You’d said goodnight to him half an hour ago, when he closed his bedroom door. You knew that if you started crying, or weeping he’d hear you, the walls of your apartment were thin, and you didn’t want him to find out like that.

Truth be told, you didn’t want him to know at all.

But at the same time, there was this little voice, a broken whimper that begged you to ask for help.

Maybe that was what finally broke you. Maybe your body couldn’t take the restriction it had on itself anymore. Maybe you just couldn’t take it anymore.

For whatever reason, you find that your body has found itself against the wall.

And that the sound of the impact was enough to get his attention.

And if not, the broken whisper of his name was.

Truth be told, he did hesitate for a moment.

He heard the thump and thought that something might have fallen out of your decorated walls, but as soon as he heard the way your voice sounded, he didn’t waste a second.

His body crossed the threshold of your door before he was even conscient of it.

He kneeled on your floor, where your bed met the floor, and looked up at you. He wasn’t sure what to do next, what to say. He stayed there, waiting for you to look up, your head looking down at your bedsheets.

“Hey.” He whispered, afraid that his voice would startle you.

“Sorry.” You muttered, your voice hoarse and raspy.

“Don’t” He begged. His hand touched your leg, a soft gesture that made your head shift, concentrating on it, and the way he just layed it there, a pattern that he started to draw.

“It’s fine.” You didn’t even try to mask your lie, not even a little bit. Then again, how could you when tears were coming out, a slow river of them.

“It’s not.” He shook his head, the way his hair moved hypnotizing you for a second. Your hand found his, your fingers anxiously playing with his.

“I don’t…” You were struggling to stop crying. Your face felt hot in contrast to the cold tears that travelled down your cheeks, your vision blurred, Steve appearing as a far away object. Even when you felt him right there. It felt for a moment -however brief- that you were dying, and you weren’t totally sure what had caused it, maybe it was from having your emotions bottled up for so long, focusing on curse work, and essays and cleaning so you wouldn’t think about it, I’ll deal with it later had become a new mantra for the last weeks. Now seemed to finally be later, and having Steve in the same room as you only made them come out rushing faster, like an angry flood leaving you a crumpled mess on your bed. “I’m sorry. Just go.” You begged, feeling sorry for yourself, and what was worse, that he had to see you like that. So fragile. So weak. So vulnerable.

Steve knew that what was worrying you at that moment was the fact that he had caught you falling apart, and he knew you didn’t like it when people saw you like this. Vulnerable.

“I’m not going anywhere, honey.”

Finally, your eyes met his.

And the softness of them, and his touch, made you reconnect with your body. Slowly. Like a feather falling. Steve knew that there wasn’t a lot he could do besides staying there. Waiting for you to open up, wanting you to do so, but knowing that if he forced you to do so, it would only get worse. So he waited. As your breathing became more regular, and your chest wasn’t heaving up and down as fast.

His head was still looking up at you, the concern was apparent, but so was the unconditional love he seemed to have for you.

“D’you want me to come up?” He asked. He didn’t waste any time, as soon as he saw you nodding his body was on your mattress, and his arms opened.

Your body fell onto his, and he wrapped you up in the softest warmest hug you had ever experienced, or at least, the one that you had been needing for a long time.

You stayed like that for some time. Your ear pressed to his chest, hearing the way his heart beated, and his relaxed breathing, it let your body follow him. Finally relaxing, melting on the spot in some sort of way. His hands played with your hair, as he hummed a song you didn’t quite recognise. Though he had heard you sing it countless times.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m just really tired…” He knew that wasn’t the end of your sentence, so he gave you space for you to organise your thoughts. Your breathing was now calm, but your voice was still a whisper. “ I just… I’m always chasing. And for once, I just… I want someone who cares, no matter what. Someone who will always be by my side, someone that can be patient with me, someone that won’t find me annoying when I’m crying, or lashing out, or stressed, or… Fuck. I just want something that’ll love me, as much as I love them.”

Steve smiled. And left a kiss on your forehead, leaving his lips to rest there for a second longer.

He waited for you to look up at him, as you knew you would. Even if your eyes were redder, and your cheeks were flushed after crying, Steve still thought you were the prettiest girl he had even seen.

“I…” He hid his nervousness with a chuckle, and a stupid grin that made your heart skip a beat, even if you tried for it to not do it. “If you wanted to, I could try to be that someone.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make fun of me.” You begged, not really knowing how to manage what he was trying to tell you. Not really knowing if you could believe him right now. “If you’re just saying that to make me feel better, please don’t.” It wasn’t harsh, not really. He knew that it was a horrible moment for a stupid love confession, but he couldn’t keep acting as though he didn’t absolutely love you. As if he wouldn’t do anything you’d ask him to.

“I’m not.” He reassured you, his arms still tightly wrapped you. His fingers had been stroking you, a soft, sweet caress that let you know that he wasn’t lying. “I’ve had the stupidest crush on you for so long.” He admits with a laugh. His smile grows deeper once he sees the way your eyes shine with hope and recognition. “I knew it’s weird to tell you this after you cried, but… You are one of the most lovable people I know. And you do deserve all those things.” He nodded along his words, his voice was also a whisper now, the intimate moment growing fonder in both of your hearts. “We can talk about it tomorrow if it’s too much now.”

You nodded. And stayed as close as you were. Your eyes looking fondly at him, hope apparent on both of your faces.

“Will you stay?”

“Anything for you, honey.”

He left one last kiss on your forehead, and you returned the gesture, a soft kiss on his cheek.

He had to be careful, if he didn’t control himself he could never stop kissing you.

He laid on your mattress, his body touching the wall, his arms opened for you, waiting for you to make yourself comfortable. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, your head on his chest. His arms wrapped around you, as your body wrapped around him. Your leg hugging his body. You kissed his chest. Thank you, it said.

He kissed your hand before intertwining your fingers. You’re welcome, he responded.

if you enjoyed it please leave a comment or reblog. i promise it makes a huge difference <3

requests! are open

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cutielando · 8 months

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cry me a river ~ harry potter

my masterlist

Harry Potter.

Also known as the boy who lived.

Also known as the boy who broke your heart into a thousand pieces and stomped on it.

You had been together for 2 years, having been friends ever since you could walk. You did everything together, spend every moment with each other.

But it wasn't enough for him.

He needed more, felt like he was wasting time with you when he could have someone worthy of the chosen one.

What a hypocrite.

From the moment you broke up, you tried to act tough whenever you would catch his eye, try to show him that you weren't as affected by the break up as he had hoped.

But you were wrong.

You were broken, getting more and more tired every day from having to put on a fake smile every morning and pretend like you weren't dying on the inside.

Only one person could see through your charade. Hermione. The girl that you didn't know what you would do without.

She was always there for you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart, always there to make sure you didn't stop taking care of yourself, that you were eating and staying healthy.

Harry had negatively surprised her when he broke up with you, so she distanced herself from Harry and Ron and spent almost all of her free time, which admittedly wasn't much, with you.

"You know, I have a proposal for you" Hermione said to you one day when she appeared in your shared dormitory.

"What is it?" you put down your book and paid attention to the smiling girl.

"So, I know you're still hung up on Harry, and you're trying to put up this front that you don't care anymore. If you really want to move on and show him what he lost, I think you should consider starting dating again" she said all in one breath, which made it a little hard for you to follow her.

But you did. And you were surprised that it'd taken her so much to propose the idea to you.

"I was wondering when you were going to suggest that" you said in a small voice, staring at a spot on the wall.

"I figured I would wait a little more, let you get back on your feet a little" she explained, putting a hand on your thigh.

You looked at her and saw the sincerity in her eyes. She meant well, you knew that, but you just weren't sure dating was the right thing for you at the moment. Not after the whole fiasco with Harry.

"I don't know what to say"

"I'm not trying to pressure you into doing anything right now. I was just suggesting it" she quickly said, thinking that you misunderstood her.

"I know, Mione. Don't worry" you put your hand on top of hers and thought about it for a second. "You know what? You're right. I have to stop mopping around and feeling like hell all the time. I have to do something for myself"

"Yay!" she squealed and pounced on you, hugging you tightly.

You laughed and hugged her back just as tight, your thoughts drifting to different things.

You didn't know if you made the right choice, but you couldn't sit around all day and not even make an effort to move on from Harry.

You will get back to your old self and take care of your needs. No more putting yourself in second place. You're the priority.

♡♡♡♡♡

You didn't think things would work out the way they did.

It had only taken a month for you to get back on your feet. You had got back to your old self, you were taking care of yourself both physically and mentally, you hang out more with your friends who are just as happy to see you better.

You still weren't talking to Harry, but the tension that was between you had somewhat eased. You didn't avoid eye contact anymore, you greeted each other on the corridors and that was about it.

As for your love life, well that's another story. After much thought and consideration, after finally making the decision to open up your heart again, you began a relationship with Fred Weasley.

It was unexpected, to say the least, even for you. You had always been close to Fred, but something more developed after you began hanging out daily, laughing at his jokes and him helping you heal, on your own terms.

He helped you so much, not pressuring you into anything you weren't ready for, listening to you rant after having a bad day, helping you learn how to love yourself again. He was an angel, just the person that you needed.

You were finally happy and free of the negative thoughts that clouded your mind after Harry, and there was nothing that could ruin that.

Or so you thought.

♡♡♡♡♡

It was a warm Saturday night, the common room was deserted except for you and Fred. You were laying on the sofa, your chests pressed against each other as well as your foreheads. Your arms were wrapped loosely around his neck while his were wrapped around your waist.

"Um, sorry, I didn't know you were down here" you head a voice say from above you.

You turned your head to the side and were met with Harry. He was looking awkward as ever, which made you tense up.

Fred sensed it and began rubbing soothing circles on your waist, which helped calm you down.

"Can I talk to Y/N for a minute?" Harry said, breaking the thick silence.

Fred looked at you for a moment, waiting for your answer. You nodded, kissed his lips and watched him climb the stairs to his dormitory.

You got up and straightened your back, not looking into his direction.

"What did you want to talk about?" you asked, keeping your tone neutral and void of emotion.

"I, uh, I wanted to see how you were doing" he said, taking hesitant steps towards the sofa you were sitting on.

When he saw you weren't commenting, he took a seat at the far end of the couch.

"I'm fine" your response was short, which was something you were certain he was expecting.

"That's good. I'm glad you're doing better"

"Is that all?"

He didn't speak for a moment.

"Actually, no. I've been going over this in my head for a couple of days, and I think you deserve an explanation as to what happened between us"

His words made you freeze. This was the least thing you were expecting. Of course you wanted to know what happened, why he chose to break your heart and what changed in such a short while. But the timing just wasn't right. You finally got back on the right track and now this happened.

"I'm listening" you managed to say after realizing you had been quiet for some time.

"Okay" he cleared his throat before getting into the story. "I don't know how it started, but all the attention I was getting because of Voldemort sort of got to my head. I was feeling superior to everyone, thought I was too good to be hanging out with my friends, and I felt like our relationship was keeping me from reaching a further point into my stardom. I realize that what I did was completely wrong and you can't fathom how awful I feel for the way I treated you. You deserved none of it and I acted like a complete idiot. It wasn't fair, and I am sorry"

You finally looked him in the eyes and saw that they were full of tears. Seeing him crying made tears well up in your own eyes, but you didn't want to show emotion in front of him.

"Your timing sucks" you let out a little chuckle, which made the corner of his mouth move upwards. "You can't understand how you made me feel, what kind of pain you put me through. I didn't sleep for weeks, I was beating myself up for not being good enough for you. Nothing that you just told me justifies your behavior"

"I understand that and it was never my intention to hurt you. I love you, and I would do anything to see you happy. Even if that means letting you go forever"

"I'm happy, Harry. I'm finally happy after being in despair for so much time. I loved you, I really did, and I thought we had something special that would last. But it wasn't the case, and that's okay" you put your hand over his, feeling his soft skin.

"Yeah, maybe we're just not meant to be" he whispered, tears running freely down his cheeks.

"I'm willing to put the past behind us and try to be friends. But there is never going to be anything between us again. I just got back on the right track and I don't want to risk getting hurt again just for the sake of the memories we have together" your voice wasn't louder than a whisper, mainly because you didn't trust your voice.

"I'd like that"

No more words were exchanged between the two of you, and after a minute of silence, you got up and made your way up the stairs to Fred's dormitory.

You opened the door and saw that the other boys were asleep and Fred was waiting for you, his torso up and resting against the headboard.

You didn't say anything as you climbed into bed with him, burying your face into his chest and letting out quiet sobs.

Fred knew there was no need for talking. He just held you and let you cry, rubbing circles on your back.

You were crying a whole river, finally feeling relieved after closing that chapter of your life. You finally felt like you had some peace of mind, knowing the true reason why your life turned upside down.

But, on the brighter side, the whole situation made you realize how strong you actually were, how much you could actually swallow.

Your heart felt at peace, your mind was serene, everything was perfect.

And to think, all it took for you to be happy was get your heart broken.

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opencommunion · 2 months

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"Dead are my people, gone are my people, but I exist yet, lamenting them in my solitude. Dead are my friends, and in their death my life is naught but great disaster. The knolls of my country are submerged by tears and blood, for my people and my beloved are gone, and I am here living as I did when my people and my beloved were enjoying life and the bounty of life, and when the hills of my country were blessed and engulfed by the light of the sun. My people died from hunger, and he who did not perish from starvation was butchered with the sword; and I am here in this distant land, roaming amongst a joyful people who sleep upon soft beds, and smile at the days while the days smile upon them. My people died a painful and shameful death, and here am I living in plenty and in peace. This is deep tragedy ever enacted upon the stage of my heart; few would care to witness this drama, for my people are as birds with broken wings, left behind the flock. If I were hungry and living amid my famished people, and persecuted among my oppressed countrymen, the burden of the black days would be lighter upon my restless dreams, and the obscurity of the night would be less dark before my hollow eyes and my crying heart and my wounded soul. For he who shares with his people their sorrow and agony will feel a supreme comfort created only by suffering in sacrifice. And he will be at peace with himself when he dies innocent with his fellow innocents. But I am not living with my hungry and persecuted people who are walking in the procession of death toward martyrdom. I am here beyond the broad seas living in the shadow of tranquillity, and in the sunshine of peace. I am afar from the pitiful arena and the distressed, and cannot be proud of ought, not even of my own tears. What can an exiled son do for his starving people, and of what value unto them is the lamentation of an absent poet?

Were I an ear of corn grown in the earth of my country, the hungry child would pluck me and remove with my kernels the hand of Death form his soul. Were I a ripe fruit in the gardens of my country, the starving women would gather me and sustain life. Were I a bird flying the sky of my country, my hungry brother would hunt me and remove with the flesh of my body the shadow of the grave from his body. But, alas! I am not an ear of corn grown in the plains of Syria, nor a ripe fruit in the valleys of Lebanon; this is my disaster, and this is my mute calamity which brings humiliation before my soul and before the phantoms of the night. This is the painful tragedy which tightens my tongue and pinions my arms and arrests me usurped of power and of will and of action. This is the curse burned upon my forehead before God and man.

And oftentimes they say unto me, the disaster of your country is but naught to calamity of the world, and the tears and blood shed by your people are as nothing to the rivers of blood and tears pouring each day and night in the valleys and plains of the earth. Yes, but the death of my people is a silent accusation; it is a crime conceived by the heads of the unseen serpents. It is a sceneless tragedy. And if my people had attacked the despots and oppressors and died rebels, I would have said, 'Dying for freedom is nobler than living in the shadow of weak submission, for he who embraces death with the sword of Truth in his hand will eternalize with the Eternity of Truth, for Life is weaker than Death and Death is weaker than Truth.' If my nation had partaken in the war of all nations and had died in the field of battle, I would say that the raging tempest had broken with its might the green branches; and strong death under the canopy of the tempest is nobler than slow perishment in the arms of senility. But there was no rescue from the closing jaws. My people dropped and wept with the crying angels. If an earthquake had torn my country asunder and the earth had engulfed my people into its bosom, I would have said, 'A great and mysterious law has been moved by the will of divine force, and it would be pure madness if we frail mortals endeavoured to probe its deep secrets.' But my people did not die as rebels; they were not killed in the field of battle; nor did the earthquake shatter my country and subdue them. Death was their only rescuer, and starvation their only spoils.

My people died on the cross. They died while their hands stretched toward the East and West, while the remnants of their eyes stared at the blackness of the firmament. They died silently, for humanity had closed its ears to their cry. They died because they did not befriend their enemy. They died because they loved their neighbours. They died because they placed trust in all humanity. They died because they did not oppress the oppressors. They died because they were the crushed flowers, and not the crushing feet. They died because they were peace makers. They perished from hunger in a land rich with milk and honey. They died because monsters of hell arose and destroyed all that their fields grew, and devoured the last provisions in their bins. They died because the vipers and sons of vipers spat out poison into the space where the Holy Cedars and the roses and the jasmine breathe their fragrance. My people and your people, my Syrian Brothers, are dead. What can be done for those who are dying? Our lamentations will not satisfy their hunger, and our tears will not quench their thirst; what can we do to save them between the iron paws of hunger? My brother, the kindness which compels you to give a part of your life to any human who is in the shadow of losing his life is the only virtue which makes you worthy of the light of day and the peace of the night. Remember, my brother, that the coin which you drop into the withered hand stretching toward you is the only golden chain that binds your rich heart to the loving heart of God."

Gibran Khalil Gibran, "Dead Are My People," written during the Great Famine of Mount Lebanon, in which 200,000 people were starved to death by a blockade imposed by European forces to weaken their Ottoman opponents in World War I. The man-made famine killed one in three people in Beirut and the surrounding Mount Lebanon Mutasarrifate (which encompassed today's North, Keserwan-Jbeil, and Mount Lebanon governorates). This peasant population was strangled by threefold oppression: from the European imperialist war machine, Ottoman Turkish imperial oversight, and the local capitalist class. The boom and bust of the global silk industry, monopolized by France, destroyed Mount Lebanon's silk-centered economy shortly before the war, leaving the population impoverished and vulnerable. The famine was key to the European victory which led to the occupation and partition of the Levant and enabled the colonization of Palestine. The partition placed Lebanon under French control, fulfilling a longstanding French colonial desire for Lebanese land and labor.

Further reading/listening: Graham Auman Pitts, "Was Capitalism the Crisis? Mount Lebanon's World War I Famine" and "A Hungry Population Stops Thinking About Resistance: Class, Famine, and Lebanon's World War I Legacy" Kais Firro, "Silk and Agrarian Changes in Lebanon, 1860-1914" Melanie Tanielian, "The War of Famine: Everyday Life in Wartime Beirut and Mount Lebanon (1914-1918)" and The Charity of War: Famine, Humanitarian Aid, and World War I in the Middle East The Fire These Times, Lina Mounzer and Timour Azhari, Legacy of the Great Lebanon Famine (audio)

#lebanon #history #colonialism #imperialism #maronite #syriac

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undercoverpan · 11 months

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Spit in my face, my love, it won't faze me

Spider felt a lot of things at the moment. Cold, hot, empty, full. But mostly he felt lonely.

His vision was going blurry, darkening at the edges. He couldn't make out his own hand in front of his face, but he recognized his own blood coating it. If he had to guess, he had wounds on his stomach, arms, legs and back. His whole body was just one big bruise at this point, aching and throbbing like never before. In a sense, he got the blue stripes he'd always wanted. Nevermind the fact that they weren't stripes, just blue spots that were close enough together for him to mistake them as such.

The thing that definitely hurt the most was the cut around his throat, bleeding sluggishly and coating his body in blood. He had a feeling that it was the source of his trouble with breathing, come to think of it.

Now that he was laying on a cold ship deck and 100% dying, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. It was like all the emotions and trauma he'd been compartmentalising these past few months decided to pull a quick one on him and now he had so many fears and regrets. He regrets going to the shack, being born, trying to be Na'vi, not doing something while they hunted that tulkun, not doing more when the Na'vi were being threatened. And he was afraid, were the others safe? Did Quaritch let Kiri go? Have they fled the ship just yet? Are they safe?

A selfish, horrible, human part of him wishes they stayed. And because he is dying; he decides to indulge himself with those selfish fantasies of his. He imagines Lo'ak being there, telling him about the trouble he'd gotten up to without him, Kiri talking about the plants and the animals. Tuk showing him a cool shell she found, maybe Neteyam venting about his frustrations or something. Anything but the sound of fading screams and crackling flames.

The smell of blood and petrol hung in the air like a thick fog; clouding his senses with the copper scent. The ocean breeze felt like hell against his open wounds. It was freezing out here, and incredibly dark. Really, he should be happy the others got away. Overjoyed, thankful even. But he selfishly wishes to not be alone right now.

"Spider?"

The voice echoes in his ears. Oh. Oh, it sounds familiar, oddly so. He felt a strange sort of calm rush over him; something like acceptance. It felt like a warm blanket on his beaten and broken body; one he desperately needed. No one has made him feel safe like this, ever, except for maybe….

"J--Jake?"

He hates how weak and uncertain his voice sounds, carried like some kind of fragile chord over the winds. He feels a set of hands, warm and realer than what he could've imagined by himself, pawing at his injuries. He sees blue skin and yellow eyes, and he has to laugh at the absurdity of it.

"Jake, you came back…" he says in astonishment, not seeing the hurt look flashing over the man's face. "Are the others okay? Where are they?" He asked, spluttering out a cough and tasting metal in his throat.

"They're okay, Spider, son, they're okay." He says in English, and Spider doesn't think that's weird at all. He nods to the best of his ability, giving him a wide grin. "Did--did we get them? The demons? Did I do good?"

"Yes, son, we got all of them. Everyone is safe. You did so good, you were amazing, I promise."

He sighs in relief. At least he had that little bit of solace during his last moments. At least he had that. And you know, he had Jake. Jake was here, and now he wasn't alone. He hadn't realised he was scared of being alone until he was. Dying alone, he'd never considered it, but that was his reality until a couple minutes ago. Jake saved him from having to face that, even if he couldn't save him from his wife. In his heart of hearts, he knows he never intended to.

"Jake, I'm tired–, it–, it hurts. I'm just so tired…" he whispers, strength draining from his body like a river flowing to the ocean. He feels a kiss pressed to his temple as Jake pulls him to his chest; the feeling of his vest against his skin all too alien. The man bit back a sob, instead breathing heavily and unevenly.

"It's okay, son, it's okay. You can go to sleep, you've earned it. Me and the others, we'll all be here when you wake up, okay?" He promises and Spider desperately agrees. "You did so well, we're all so proud of you and we love you, you know that, right? Everything that happened before, that doesn't matter. I love you, Spider." He says with the desperation of a prayer.

"Really…? Even Neytiri?" He asks weakly. The other nods, running a hand through his dreads. "Yes, even her." The boy has to smile at that. "It's so cold." He says, and Jake adjusts his grip so they're better pressed together. "Better?" He asks, and Spider offers a weak nod.

"Oel ngati kameie, Jake.." he whispers. It is the last thing he says before he goes, hopefully being accepted by Eywa. "Oel Ngati kameie, son." His voice sounds broken, but certain. It is the last thing he hears before the world goes dark and his body goes limp.

Quaritch looked at his son's dead body and felt cold. He wonders if this is the same chill Spider felt just now. Like a gaping hole in his chest that the wind passes through, carrying its saltwater breeze like poison. Sully and his brood are gone; left him behind without a second thought. The children had this look of shock when Spider crumpled to the floor the first time, victim to their own mother. They might have screamed. They might have cried. Quaritch doesn't remember nor care.

In his final moments, Spider wanted Jake, the man who left him for dead twice now. And Quaritch could've corrected him easily, but it seemed so needlessly cruel. Spider was dying, his son was dying, why deny him the fantasy in his head? The dreams of family and acceptance that he was never afforded, not by the people he desperately needed it from. So yes, he let his son think it was Jake who held him while he died, and that his crazy wife really did care, even though she's responsible for this. It was disrespectful to the highest degree, but Quaritch thinks that his son is allowed to spit in his face, just this once.

It was enough for Spider, who looked peaceful in his arms, eerily still and pale. He wonders if he should leave him here, let the Sullys find him and give him the burial he wanted. He wonders if the fish would get his body first, or the fire. He wonders if they'd return at all, opting to let the ship burn itself down. It certainly sounds like Sully. He sighs.

Mind made up, he approached his ikran. The journey to the Omaticaya would be long, so it's best that he starts moving. At the very least, he'd make sure his son would be put to rest where he called home. He wouldn't take that from him, not in death, at least.

___

Decided you guys should feel sad, hope you liked it!!!

#avatar spider #avatar twow #spider socorro #miles spider socorro #jake sully #miles socorro #spider soccoro #miles quaritch

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heliads · 1 year

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Hello, glad I can submit this request then, I barely find any Luke Castellan fics he needs more love 😭

Anyways, I just wanted to request something small like headcannons on what it would be like at the aftermath of the Battle of Manhattan if Luke didn't die, what would he be like and how the reader would help him overcome his trauma or problems ? Just pure fluff is what I'm trying to say ;_;

Sorry if that doesn't make any sense... Please let me know if you don't understand me XD

But thank you so much if you write this <3

i see that you have asked for headcanons but i am so delighted by this request that you get a full fic instead (ily)

masterlist

Luke Castellan is not sure what to do with the fact that he did not die. It would have made for a better ending, he thinks. It was the logical conclusion. He tried to make a better world, and when that failed, he could have been terminated along with that last dream. It is what most people would have decided was best.

Yet Luke opens his eyes– his eyes, not someone else’s, not that awful feeling of having his body belong to some being that was not even human, let alone not him– and he is alive. Luke is not sure yet whether this is good or bad. He’s not sure that anything in this world could remotely fit into those categories anymore.

He stares up at a blank ceiling above, which confuses him. Last time he checked, Luke was dying on the ruined floor of the gods’ throne room. There had still been a roof over his head, but Luke swore that he could see a sky of the deepest blue. Luke had felt himself fall into that wondrous lapis void, and then he had felt nothing at all.

That was supposed to be dying. It was more peaceful than most people would say he deserved, given all the hell Luke wreaked on the world by allying with Kronos. Luke’s supposed ending had certainly not been pretty: a dagger in his hand, stabbed into the one place the immortal waters of the River Styx hadn’t protected him. Achilles’ curse had lifted, and Luke was free of the Titan that had been consuming his body whole.

Yet Luke is staring up at a room that is neither burned nor broken. At first, he wonders if this is what death is like, but he’s heard enough stories of the Underworld to know that it would never be this simplistic. No, this isn’t Death; Luke sits up slowly and manages to fight nausea long enough to realize that he’s back in Camp Half-Blood. Back home, his mind tells him, and Luke has to remind himself that’s not true anymore. He has no home. He has no people, he left them all a very long time ago.

A voice to his side makes Luke whip around.

“I’d sit down if I were you.”

Luke trains his eyes until they slowly, begrudgingly focus on an orange-shirted figure seated next to him. At last, he realizes he recognizes the guy. Will Solace, one of Apollo’s kids. He must have been in charge of bringing Luke back from the dead.

Luke is baffled by the fact that Will is perched here and not Michael Yew, current head of the Apollo cabin, until it occurs to him that Michael is likely dead. That explains the hollows under Will’s eyes, at least, and the undercurrent of hate that Will only barely keeps at bay. Such strong emotions for a boy who’s usually so cheerful. Luke supposes he only has himself to blame for that.

Will may despise Luke all he wishes, but he’s still a doctor at heart. The blond gestures for Luke to lean back down. “If you rip out your stitches and make my work worthless, I’ll kill you myself.” Will says.

Luke arches a brow. “How do I know you won’t do that anyway?”

“I’m still debating,” Will replies pleasantly.

Someone laughs next to him. “Try to stay civil, Solace. Our time for killing is over.”

A camper takes a seat on Luke’s other side. After a few moments of recollection, his addled head realizes that he knows them. That’s Y/N L/N, they’ve been in the Hermes cabin for the longest time, not one of Luke’s half siblings on the godly side but yet another demigod gone unclaimed for years. They used to complain about that to him. He doubts they would repeat the same sentiments now.

Will groans. “Let me at least try to be intimidating, L/N. I only get to do it so often.”

Y/N cracks a grin, then turns to Luke. “I imagine you must have a lot of questions.”

Luke narrows his eyes at them. “Why aren’t I dead?”

Y/N does a superb job of ignoring Will’s clear sentiment that he’d like an answer to that as well, keeping their gaze firmly trained on Luke. “You tried to stop Kronos in the end. Chiron decided that, seeing as you did all that in an effort to protect unclaimed kids and demigods who were ignored by their godly parents, you deserved a second chance.”

“Does anyone other than Chiron actually believe that?” Luke asks pointedly.

Y/N shrugs. “Depends on what you do when you get out of here.”

Will jumps up. “That’s my cue to check on the rest of my suffering patients. You know, the ones that didn’t try to betray us.”

Y/N watches him go. “Ignore him. He’s–”

Luke cuts her off. “Mad that I tried to kill everyone here? I can’t blame him.”

“So you regret what you did?” Y/N questions slowly.

“I don’t regret trying to do something,” Luke says, “only that the gods weren’t as hurt as the demigods. I didn’t want to hurt us, just them. Olympus could use a good scare.”

Thunder rumbles overhead, loud and overbearing. Luke imagines it’s a warning to him: he’s treading on thin ice by staying alive, he’d better not press his luck by insulting the gods anymore.

Y/N sighs, evidently thinking the same thing. “You wouldn’t be the only one to want the world to change.”

Luke glances over at them. Obviously, he hasn’t seen Y/N since he switched sides, but he had forgotten that they used to be friends. Good friends, too. It’s nice to have at least that back to normal.

“You haven’t been claimed in the last while, have you?” He asks, changing the subject away from more dangerous waters.

Y/N smiles. “Actually, I have. Percy made the gods swear to start claiming more of their kids. I found out about my parentage a few days ago.”

Luke nods solemnly, but doesn’t ask for further details. He made a point of prioritizing the demigod over their godly parent when he was recruiting for Kronos during the war, and he supposes that habit has stuck. It makes him wonder how many more traits of the enemy he won’t ever be able to shake.

“So when do I get out of here?”

Y/N folds their arms across their chest. “Depends on what you mean by getting out of here. You’ll get a clean bill of health within the next day or two, most likely. You won’t be leaving the camp for months, though, if ever.”

The implications of that don’t have to be spoken aloud. Luke messed up, obviously, and so he’ll be on house arrest until the end of time. If he can prove that he’s worth the effort of saving, maybe they’ll let him live his life, but until then he’ll be monitored around the clock.

It’s more than he expected, at any rate. Part of Luke thought that he’d be handed over to some sort of trial once he healed up, made to face his crimes and be overly punished accordingly. That way, the gods could point to him in the decades and centuries to come as proof of why half-bloods should never reach for more than they deserve.

But no, he’ll be living. That’s certainly something. Luke leans back slowly against his cot and ponders this. “Do I get a personal guard or something?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder. “Kind of. You get me. I’m supposed to follow you around and make sure you don’t try to escape.”

Luke snorts. “How’d you get stuck with that job?”

“I asked for it,” Y/N says coolly.

Luke is taken aback. “Why’d you do that?” He can’t imagine anyone in this camp actively trying to bond with him, let alone someone he knew as well as Y/N. Wouldn’t they hate him for betraying them?

They might be just as surprised about it as he is. “I’m not entirely sure. Guess I thought I was the only one who wouldn’t actively try to kill you in your sleep.”

They’re brutal about it, but it’s kind of nice. Honesty is the only sort of medicine that Luke feels like he can stomach right now. Mollycoddling and sugarcoating just serve to waste time.

He half expects Y/N to back out of it, but no, when Luke is declared medically sound and all but forced out of the hospital wing by swordpoint, they’re waiting for him by the door. Luke staggers out into the bright sunlight and looks around like he’s in a dream. The camp has changed since he last saw it. Cabins have sprung up like wildflowers and more are being constructed by the moment.

Y/N notices him staring and gestures towards the new buildings. “See, that’s your doing, even if no one wants to admit it. A ton of new kids have been claimed. Hermes cabin has never been so empty.”

Bitterness surges through Luke’s throat before he can stop it. “I thought that was Percy’s idea.”

Y/N shakes their head. “Percy only got the idea from you. You can make yourself a villain if you want, but you weren’t entirely heartless. You got my godly parent to claim me, and that’s worth a lot.”

Luke smiles to himself as they go. Y/N leads him to the door of their cabin. It’s still cavernously empty compared to the close quarters Luke remembers in Hermes, and he only notices one bunk with belongings on it.

“You’re the only one here?” He asks.

Y/N nods. “So far, at least. I’ve got you now, though. Just as a warning, I will be claiming cabin counselor privileges and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Luke grins before he realizes it. The expression makes his scar ache, but he finds he doesn’t mind it quite so much as before. “I won’t fight you on that.”

He pulls himself onto the top bunk of one of the many empty rows and surveys his new domain. “Do you think it was worth it? Figuring out who your godly parent was just for them to leave you like this?”

After all, what a life. An empty cabin already collecting dust. It’s cold in here without bodies inside to warm it up. The walls are barren of personal touches. Y/N knows their heritage, yes, and is able to move out of a cabin that was never theirs, but this doesn’t seem like much of a blessing.

Y/N lingers by the foot of Luke’s bunk, and he gestures for them to climb up and join him. They do so in a heartbeat, and then they’re sitting opposite each other, gazes locked and breathing steady.

“It can be lonely,” they admit, “but it’s not so bad. You have hope that it won’t always be this way. Maybe someone will come. Maybe someone already has.”

Luke swallows harshly. “I missed you.”

He blurts it out, hardly aware of what he’s saying. He missed a hell of a lot. Y/N. Laughing at midnight, their whispered words covered up by the sounds of dozens of campers sleeping shoulder to shoulder. Training during the day, the clash of celestial bronze. Orange shirts burning like beacons against their backs. Being able to wear his beaded necklace without feeling like a traitor, even if that’s what he is and always will be.

Y/N leans forward. “I missed you too. I kept hearing about you, which is more than you got of me, but it didn’t feel right. I don’t know where the boy I knew is, if he even exists anymore, but I’d like to try and find him again.”

“I’d like to find him again too,” Luke whispers.

It is the dream of a broken boy bleeding out in the palace of the gods. At this moment, Luke isn’t entirely sure that he didn’t die there in the Olympian throne room. If someone told him that this is what dying is like, conjuring up a vision of what he wishes he could have most of all, Luke would have believed them.

In the end, Luke has no idea if this is real or not. All he can do is keep going, keep waking up each morning to see if he is still in the hazy aftermath of a second chance or finally locked down below in the Underworld. Luke always wanted to try for the Isles of the Blest anyway. Maybe this is just his second life, his second attempt at getting there.

He reaches out on impulse and takes Y/N’s hand. He can feel the blood pumping through their veins, the same certainty as being able to press his fingers against a locked door and know exactly how to break in. This is Luke’s next great trick, but he thinks he’d like to do it right.

“Alright, then,” Luke says at last, “Let’s try again.”

pjo taglist: @w1shes43

#luke castellan #luke castellan imagines #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan oneshot #pjo #pjo imagines #pjo x reader #pjo oneshot #pjo luke #pjo luke imagines #pjo luke x reader #pjo luke oneshot #percy jackson

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goblinwithartsupplies · 2 months

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Juno's Point.

For the first time, Juno gets furious, - how dare this lustful bastard!? How dare he impose himself on the grieving groom, how dare he!? Isn't he the god of justice and honor, shouldn't he represent the highest morality!? Why is he acting so disgusting!? He did not save Jason, although for him it would have been as easy as asking a nymph to give him nectar - just one white-hot lightning and a vile chimera infamously enhanced by Hecate's magic would have been destroyed and Jason was alive.. But Jupiter never took care of his children, - Jason's death cry never sounded. This creature bit into his throat too quickly. She trashes their bedroom as when she found out about Beryl Grace's newly rounded belly and silently sits down amid the chaos she caused in a torn dress and with shaggy hair. The nymphs, timidly trying to restore order, run, flashing their heels when she screams at them. Soon everyone will find out that their sovereign seems to have taken a mortal lover again. Jupiter comes in amazingly on time, Juno is silent, just sits next to a broken mirror and combs her hair, Jupiter ignores her and just goes to bed. He is too busy fantasizing about the young body of son of Neptune, Juno would rather turn the boy into one of her peacocks than let Jupiter even touch him with the tip of her fingers.

For the second time, Juno is next to her mother. Rhea refused to change when the Roman Empire came, she remained Rhea, an endlessly loving and faithful mother of her children even when they became different. Juno is crying on her mother's lap, soiling her white linen tunic with tears, grief for Jason eats her nonexistent heart, she was so bad only when Jupiter hung her over chaos. maybe that's why the gods refused to fully love their demigod children? because it hurts too much to lose them. Rhea comforts her with her infinitely gentle voice and says that this is the truth of life, mortals are dying and they must accept it. Part of Juno's consciousness, with a touch of dark humor, draws a parallel between her and some mortal child who lost a pet for the first time. Jason was, in fact, her beloved, devoted and affectionate puppy. When she returns to Olympus, Jupiter greets her in their bedroom with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. maybe grief made her too sensitive, maybe she just longed for love, but this simple gesture melts her like snow in the rays of the sun in spring. They are entwined in a loving embrace in their bed as husband and wife, Juno prefers not to pay attention to his detachment, she feels desired again, and this dulls the grief and that's enough.

The third time, Juno looks and wants to intervene. Perseus is grieving just like her, the goddess is sincerely surprised that he is still alive. Perseus comes to work with trembling legs and a thick fog of pain in his mind, Jupiter is waiting for him as usual and Perseus pounces on any source of comfort. He asks for hugs, simple intimacy and warmth, but for Jupiter it's like a red rag for a bull, he kidnapped and possessed a mortal princess, just because she was swimming in the river where he saw. The wind roars, Juno feels anger boiling inside, no she won't allow it, no no no and once again no, let her husband pursue mortals, but leave Jason's grieving fiance alone. But to her amazement, Jupiter obeys Perseus, does not demand anything in return, there is not a hint of arousal in him, he does not crave his body. They hug, really just hug, - Perseus presses his back against Jupiter's chest, crying into the crook of his elbow, Jupiter presses his lips to the top of his head, his hands gently rest on his shoulders. It looks strange and gentle, pure, there is a strange closeness in them, a strange closeness, not like the closeness of lovers or father and son, but it is a tender and affectionate closeness, similar to love but not being it. Jupiter is not interested in Perseus as a beautiful body warming his bed or as a lover, Juno realizes, But he feels something gentle for him, while remaining loyal to me, a Perseus is still faithful and mourns Jason. Juno decides to give the son of Neptune his mercy, let this closeness with Jupiter comfort him. She would not harm him or the children if this strange union bore fruit.

Hey, hello! could you please rate and voice your opinion about my letter - beginner anon.

This is honestly perfect. I’m intrigued about the idea of a platonic relationship causing kids. The way Juno is protective of Jason even when he’s dead is so sweet

#pjo #percy jackson #pjo hoo toa #percy jackon and the olympians #jercy #jason grace #Jupiter pjo #juno pjo #pjo asks #anon ask

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goldyluna · 1 month

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Magica Goddesses – How it all began?

Once, there was a world full of despair. Dancing Witches of dying Magical Girls were beautiful in their wails. Their wishes granded, but got them broken and wilted like unloved flower bouquets.

Then there was born The One and She came with Others. Magnificent in Their glory, They also died. And were born again to die and die and die again. The seeds of Their desire keeping Them awake. Love so cruel, not letting Them rest. Their hearts aching ever so slightly in unfamiliar longing fest.

It went like this, like an abuse, when finally there was a Beam. It changed everything, but also not a thing. Other world was created, leaving other to rot in their misery. But this world was special. Born to be kept despite imperfection. This world wasn't so different than the others before. But because of Them it was so much better.

Hunger was still there, but the hearts were full with Her — sharp one and gentle. With touch would set all on fire for others and Them.

Hearts would still cry, but warmth was there thanks to Her — like a music flowing through rivers and veins. Her voice calming in pain.

Mind numb, but working with a smile because of Her — sweet and full of self. She keeps secrets and lets you think for yourself.

Body ached with lack of touch, but still trying to go with Her — time Herself tangled with desire. Her delicate hands holding you close to embrace.

Pain everlasting made by want of helping, by want of Her — sacrifice Herself and Angel of Them. With Her no Witches were ever made. With here there was Faith in the air.

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freddie-77-ao3 · 1 month

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When Only The Ruthless Remain

Love is, after all, the first and last casualty of war. Love and war, war and love, all is fair, two sides of the same coin, love and war, war and love and--

Love and War.

Silena and Clarisse.

But--

Silena is dead.

Love is dead.

War remains.

Clarisse remains.

Clarisse remains and she is angry and hurt and shocked and gods, Beckendorf died, and then Michael-- Michael was her fault, and she's still staring at Silena's face and it looks like a fucking raw hamburger and Silena dying is definitely her fault but also maybe not?

But she doesn't have time to think about that right now because Chris is crying behind her, sniffling, soft and quiet and Percy is screaming, her siblings are dying (she sees Mark dead, but she can tell it's Mark, his face isn't a fucking hamburger right now, not like Silena), so she shuts Silena's eyes (what's left of them anyway, they fall apart beneath her hands, and gods, this is the gentlest she's ever been but she's still breaking--), presses the bracelet she'd taken off so gently into Chris' hand for safe keeping, and she--

She starts screaming. This is Kronos' fault. This is her father's fault. Everyone here, everyone but her is to blame right now, and she is going to kill them all, and then maybe she'll die, succumbing to wounds or grief or a broken heart (is Will even alive right now? Is Chris all she has left?).

So she's screaming and Percy is fighting his way to her and he touches her shoulder and she yells and keeps fighting and somewhere along the way her father fucking blesses her, as if she gives a fuck about staying alive, about what he thinks anymore, as if she wouldn't kill him if that would bring them back--

Love is gone. Her Love is gone-- her loves are gone.

And she knows she is Achilles in this moment, know Silena knew what she was doing, knew who Patroclus was, and all she can think is: good.

Good, because Achilles dies in the end.

Because right now, isn't that all she wants, because she loves Chris but-- Chris is one person, and Chris will get over it if she dies and everyone else she loves is dead or missing in action and they probably all hate her, so--

The Lethe sounds good. Or punishment, because that's what she deserves isn't it, she indirectly murdered teenagers (and a couple directly, but she doesn't feel so bad for that because they-- Beckendorf died to stop them, Silena died to stop them, Michael died to stop them), and the last thing she said to Michael was that she hated him and that's what Michael went to the grave with and gods, she loves him, she loves all of them, won't they come back?

Because death is real and Death is real and she will fight Him, if He can bring them back.

But then she calls Kronos a coward, and she never has a chance. She is War and a Warrior but Kronos is older than her father, and her father's blessing, and in one universe, maybe her father is powerful enough to protect her (cares enough to protect her), but Love is dead in this universe, or perhaps the blessing doesn't work on those who don't want to be saved, but either way--

Clarisse falls.

(It's such a shame she realises all too late, the truth of Kronos' scythe. Of stygian iron. Of how she will never reunite with her Loved.)

Three thousand years from now, perhaps another young child will come by the River Styx. And perhaps, this time, it will not be the Son of Kings, Achilles who warns them.

It will be the girl who doesn't remember what her name is anymore (if it's Risse or Claire, or some combination), but a girl who remembers five people, and of how only days before her death, flowers were being braided into her hair.

But that is a story for another day. And for the three thousand years in between, well--

This girl will have a lot of time to think about those who left, and those she left.

#pjo hoo toa #pjo #riordanverse #pjo series #pjo fandom #clarisse la rue #silena beauregard #chris rodriguez #michael yew #charles beckendorf #ruegard #chrisse #technically she's poly #beckendorf/beauregard/rodriguez/la rue #but idk the ship name #this wasn't meant to be like this but i liked the first end and got tired of waiting to finish so

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inkcurlsandknives · 10 months

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Found you via Neil Gaiman reblogging you and I’m very excited for your book next year! Only downside is I’ve struggled with reading physical novels. Will there be an audiobook version and is there any audio forms of your current works?

Hi! I'm so glad you found me (I'm still fangirling about Neil Gaiman and Diane Duane noticing my post myself. 😅)

I actually have an audiobook? Audio story? of my short story Dying Rivers and Broken Hearts on PodCastle, you can give it a listen for free. It's about a Filipina catholic witch trying to save the Bakunawa /Laho/sea dragon 🐉 of Manila Bay

I can't yet say for certain if there will be an audiobook version of Saints of Storm and Sorrow, but it's something I very much want to make happen and am working towards with my agent

Thanks for reaching out!

#writeblr #saints of storm and sorrow #podcastle #dying rivers and broken hearts #filipino history #filipino fantasy #queer fantasy #asian authors #asian fantasy #filipino author #audiobook

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jar-of-maise · 9 months

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She takes his hands gently, cradling them in a manner that made Lyney unsure of how to respond. Those hands could never lie. They shook with an awful tremble, like the last flutter of a dying butterfly's wings.

“I’m sorry for loving you,” she says softly, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

That was the burden of the unsaid, you never once thought that nightmares could be dreams too, until they were there in front of you.

Dread settles in Lyney's chest, it drops like a heavy stone into a still pond, sliding in without resistance. It sinks to the bottom of his chest where it's weight aches with a dull pain, “Don’t say that," he clears his throat awkwardly, "please, don’t say that.”

She stares back at him, unseen dread haunting her dull eyes, “What?”

Lyney swallows thickly, his breath shuddering in his chest, rattling like fragile marbles in a glass container, “don’t say things like that,” he whispers.

She drops his hands, where they hang like dead weights. She searches his eyes for something she can't find, for something she won't find. It was like the sun, desperately trying to reach the moon, yet finding only it's reflection in the burning daylight, “Things like what?”

She does not want to know the answer to that question. But a burning sensation compells her to ask. Perhaps, with a single word, an entire tragedy could be rewritten.

Looking at Lyney now, she knows that the feeling is mutual. That is an awful realisation to come to, she turns her head away to avoid looking in the mirror.

Lyney, the other half of her, the mirror that she never needed to look in. Lyney, who was the only one who could attune to her soul. Her Lyney who had never been lost for words like he was now, who'd never fumbled or been uncertain.

"Things like what?" She cries, when met with silence. Her hands twitch uncontrollably, and then she's lunging forwards her hands reaching out like desperate claws which latch onto Lyney's shoulders.

These hands of hers were gentle, they were kind. So now, seized by grief as they were, her fingers could not quite grasp the hatred that she wanted them to.

They were strangers to force yet they exerted a violence that was comparable to a monster, "tell me!" It's not a scream, by the time the words drag out of her mouth, it's a mangled, broken tangle of words.

"It's not fair, it's not fair," she says hoarsely, "why do you- you can't-You don't get to do this to me!" She yells, and it's a sound that wretches at Lyney's heart.

"Answer me! What things?! What things shouldn't I say?" Her hands were not made for violence, they were crafted with love in mind. But they tightened on Lyney's shoulders, trembling all throughout.

“Things,” Lyney finally chokes, blinded with tears, “that make it sound like loving me was a mistake,” his hands reach up clumsily, with none of the dexterity or reflex they usually moved with.

She was silent, tears streamed down her face in long, ugly rivers. They fractured her face and drew shadows across her face that did not belong there.

“It’s not a mistake. This wasn't a mistake,” Lyney whispers desperately, not trusting his voice, yet continuing treacherously.

This is a one way path, a lonely dark road with no return tickets, “you loved Lyney, just plain Lyney. You would never lie," he pauses as his voice wavers, "you didn’t take me by accident, you chose me…didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, lowering her head, she had never admitted defeat. Giving up was not an option, yet she could not conquer this mountain. The shadow of its height, and sheer slopes rendered the fire in her heart cold and frigid.

“I don’t know you. Do I really love Lyney? Who was I in love with?” She asks herself, there is no reply.

This is another question that she doesn't want to know the answer to. But perhaps there is no answer, she's left grasping for strings that have already been broken. The gray cannot be defined, nor described, and in the face of such uncertainty, she doesn't know what to do.

Neither does the magician standing before her. His face is the image of forced apathy, like a puppet with no strings.

"Lyney..." Regret, and immutable yearning surge into her chest, where they mix together like a tapestry woven wrong. The strings are tangled, and the only remaining option is to cut the fabric entirely.

"Perhaps the greatest tragedy of it all is, the more I talk to you, the less I know of you..."

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gardens-light · 2 years

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Honey I'm Home

After escaping his imprisonment from the Waking World. Morpheus returns to his kingdom, only to find it in ruins and his creatures gone. Vowing to rebuild of what was once lost, and turn his realm back into his own image. But before his kingdom can return to it's former glory, he must reclaim his queen first...

Content: Fluff/Smut. Fingering. Female reader receiving oral.

Grief struck his heart as Morpheus stood at the gates of his realm. His once beautiful world, now reduced to nothing but rubble and ash.

"What happened here? Who did this?"

"My Lord... you are 'The Dreaming'" Lucienne kindly spoke. "The Dreaming is you. With you gone as long as you were... the world started to decay and crumble."

"And the residence? The palace staff?"

Lucienne bit her lip before continuing, "I'm... afraid most of them are gone..."

"Gone?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Some were worried and went looking for you. Others believed... that perhaps you've... gone weary of your duties-"

"So they believed I've abandoned them? Do my subject's truly think that little of me?" Morpheus lowered his head. As he made his way back to what was left of his palace.

Standing in the crumbled remains of his thrown room. Watery eyes wondering at the broken stained glass pieces, rocks and rubble from the decayed arches above.

"I kept a journal for a while. Just a chronical of what had happened in your absence." Lucienne weakly smiled, as she stood proper with her hands behind her back. "But..." her smile soon faded, "after a while the words... faded. And soon enough, every book within our library became just empty volumes of blank pages."

"What felt like less than a day, I suddenly found the whole library gone. I... never found it again..."

Morpheus heard the hurt and pain in her voice, "and yet... you remained? While others fled. A royal librarian in an abandoned kingdom."

Lucienne weakly smiled, "I never said I felt abandoned, sir. I knew you'll return."

He lowered his head, not knowing weather to be thankful, or apologetic towards Lucienne. An ache throbbed in his heart, as tears built up behind his dark eyes. "And what about my wife, Lucienne?" it was a question he didn't want to ask, but it held the answer he was dying to know.

"I don't feel her presence here."

"Do not fret, my lord. My lady is still here. Just... not in the palace-"

His eyes flashed up at her, gleaming with hope. "Then where?"

Lucienne couldn't help but pull a slightly shocked expression. "My lady is within her gardens. She's staid there since you've left. It's... the only place that didn't fall to ruin. And a small handful of the residence took shelter there-."

"Take me there, Lucienne! She needs to know that I've returned!"

"Of course. At once, my Lord..."

Morpheus was indeed different upon his return, Lucienne could sense that clearly. She couldn't help but attempt to hide her smirk, when she saw him fussing over his own appearance, within her peripheral vision. From tidying up his hair, to adjusting his black trench coat. Brushing off the small specks of dust, upon his dress shirt.

Towards the inner wall of the city. Hidden behind vines and leaf's was a gentle yellow glow. Brushing them aside, Morpheus' heart fluttered. Before him was small stone steps, each lit with delicate iron lanterns which housed a singular firefly. As the lanterns rested close to the flower beds, beside the steps. Entering further into the garden, smooth sandstone beneath his feet, replaced the gravelled path. The path gracefully wind down the hills of luscious green grass, beautiful flowers adorned the surroundings with colours.

Although the sky was grey and murky, birds still happily chirped. Approaching the shallow stream of clear blue water, with rocks creating small ponds for the coy fish. Morpheus stepped forward onto the wooden arched bridge which crossed the river.

"My Lord! Wait!" Lucienne warned, as she quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Lucienne?!-"

A low rumble vibrated through the air, and shook the ground. A section of the ground broke away from the hills, on the other side of the bridge. Leaf's, trees and flowers broke away, as something rose. The pair was soon greeted by emerald green eyes of a dragon like creature. It's scales the same colour and texture as the nearby trees, small branches, moss and shrubs, camouflaged the guardian.

"Redwood, the Forest Guardian" Morpheus gleamed. But his smile faded, when the forest dragon growled at his second attempt to cross the bridge. "What's the matter with you? Do you not recognize your own king? I created you, Redwood."

Lucienne's hand slowly moved from his arm to his shoulder, gently pulling the king a little further away from the dragon. "Sir... he guards and protects, not only the gardens but the queen too. No matter whom approaches... Redwood wont allow anyone to pass, without her permission."

"Why?"

The librarian bit her lip and lowered her head, "b-because... Nightmares and demons tried to claim the queen, my Lord."

Morpheus' hands curled into tight fists, "claim?"

Lucienne hesitated before nodding slowly, "yes... my Lord-"

"Was any... did any of them?-"

"No, my Lord. She was never harmed or disrespected. All thanks to Redwood's devotion to loyalty and duty. But I'm afraid... regardless if friend or foe, familiar face or not. Nobody passes unless, my Lady, says so. After all, these gardens are her domain, I suppose."

To Lucienne's surprise, Morpheus knelt down against the sandstone path. Looking at Redwood with a hopeful gaze, "Redwood, Forest Guardian. Please tell Y/N, the Queen of Dreams, that her king has returned. Send this message, so I can be granted save passage-"

"It's ok, Redwood."

Morpheus' heart fluttered as you stood at the end of the bridge. Your gentle reassurance settling the guardian, "you've must of known it was only our king. Calm down, my guardian. Rest and not worry."

The dragon nestled back against the nearby hills, adjusting it's position and resting it's head upon the large rocks, near the river. It's eyes still locked on the Lord of Dreams.

"You've returned, my Lord. Just as Lucienne always knew." You shared the librarian's smile, before gazing at Morpheus whom still knelt against the ground.

"My wife. My light. My dream. Please allow me to enter your domain and embrace you." His voice was soft and almost pleading like.

You pulled a puzzled expression. Confused as to why he asked for permission, when he never done so. And not quite sure on how to answer, "um... yes?... You may cross."

You've never seen him move so fast, nor hold you so tightly. Morpheus wrapped his arms around you, feeling your body and breathing in your scented perfume.

"I apologize a thousand times, and a thousand times again for leaving you so long!"

"No need for apologies, my Lord" you formally spoke, still with a suttle hint of confusion within your tone. "I am aware of your imprisonment. I'm glad you've returned safely-"

"I've missed you, Y/N."

You froze. Throughout your arranged marriage, Morpheus has never called you by your name. Sure he greeted you with "darling", "my love" but mainly you both always dressed each other as, 'my lord' and 'my lady.' But he's never shown this much affection towards you. Something inside him has truly changed.

"You can leave, Lucienne. I wish to be alone with my wife." The librarian simply bowed and started to walk back up the sandstone path.

Morpheus guided you by the hand, leading you towards the nearby gazebo. The circular construction held by five thin pillars, holding up the arches that supported the dome roof. With a wave of his hand, the vines which crawled over the white gazebo, grew over the arches and openings. Creating a small place of privacy.

You stood with your hands behind your back. Sighing deeply, attempting to keep things proper. "And I have missed you, my Lord. Apologizes I could not uphold the rest of your kingdom. But Lucienne has been a great value to you and your people.-"

"Enough with the formalities, my darling. Indeed Lucienne has done well to upkeep whatever she can. But I'm just thrilled you're still here and alright. Did you... ever feel like I abandoned you?"

You could hear the sincerity within his voice. A genuine question which held worry within his heart.

"Sometimes..." you lowly admitted. "Despite how much Lucienne spoke of you returning... at times..."

"You didn't believe it?..."

"No... well not all the time. There were also moments where I felt... lost and alone. Sometimes I also thought you've may... have left me for another-"

"Never!-"

"Oh!"

Morpheus gently pushed you onto the seat behind you. He leaned into you, placing his hands on the back of the bench. "Nobody could compare to you. You've been more devoted and loyal to me, than you should have been."

"My Lord?-"

"No, Y/N. Please don't say anything, for we both know it's true. Our marriage has been nothing less, of a business deal between our parents. Only in order to reunite both kingdoms. And we've been treating this whole thing as such. A business deal."

Your bottom lips curled a little, "perhaps that's... indeed true. But you haven't been awful towards me. If that's what you feel guilty about-"

"I feel guilty of many things. And taking you for granted was one of them! But no more, my love. For I will earn your affection and love, instead of demanding it."

You blinked multiple times in confusion. "Earn it? My Lord, I have already grown to love you-"

"Then let's show it. Express it"

Your eyes widened as he got onto his knees, kneeling at the hem of your dress. Slowly removing his trench coat, as he reached for your dress. Realization begun to sink into you.

"Here?" You questioned, "b-but there's residents here! My Lord! People will talk if they hear, let alone see-"

"Hear and see what? That a king submits to his queen in her domain? That I will happily please you in your place of rule, like you've pleased me in mine?"

Your cheeks reddened as he lifted up the skirt of your dress, gently placing the gathered fabric at your knees. His hands moving from the skirts hem and onto your thighs, massaging your muscles while he leaned closer. Placing his lips softly against your skin, leaving delicate kisses.

A slow but deep breath left your parted lips, feeling the warmth building in your core. Your soft spot clenching around nothing, as Morpheus' kisses slowly edged nearer to your close. Only stopping when you placed a hand upon his head, fingers intertwining into his messy black locks.

"Do you want me to stop? Say it and I will." His voice spoke with a heartful promise.

You bit your bottom lip, "no Morpheus. I don't want you to stop. But I do want you to continue, only if you truly wish it. You owe me nothing, my love. Weather this marriage started off the way we wanted, or not."

His dark eyes softly gazed up at you, never have they ever shined with such love and passion. "Being imprisoned gave me time to reflect on past behaviours. Showing me the error of my ways. Reminding me of the times I denied you love, but only to demand such from you. Treating you as a second class citizen, rather than my equal."

Morpheus gently grabbed your left hand, brushing a thumb over the black diamond ring, which rested nicely upon your wedded finger. Placing a gentle kiss upon your knuckles before continuing, "but I've should of told you how much I adore you. How your loyalty and faith in me has left me speechless. How your beauty cannot be compared to anything, or to anyone. You are my light and my dream, Y/N. Please allow me to be the king. The husband you should of had, and more!"

A cheeky smile spread across your lips, your fingers tightening within his hair, gently tugging upon his scalp. "Then claim your queen, Lord of Dreams."

There was no hesitation. No holding back.

His hand reached for between your legs, grabbing the lacey fabric of your undergarments, and ripping them apart. His lips kissing and sucking onto your clit in such hunger, you never felt. The fire within your core erupting and bursting into ambers, as his sliver tongue plunged into your already wet centre.

Morpheus' hands reached up and cradled your bare ass. Squeezing your buttocks and thrusting you closer with gentle thrusts. Muffled moans and gasps of pleasure escaped him, as your fingers ran through his hair. Pulling him closer towards you, as he thrusted your centre closer to his mouth.

Muffled moans and gasps of pleasure left him, while you bit hard onto your bottom lips. Attempting to hold back your low whimpers, as you rested your head against the pillar.

His tongue withdraw from your wet pussy, and teased it along your clit, while two fingers thrusted deep into your centre. Your insides clamping tightly around his hand, as his peace quickened. Ripping a small moan from you that he's been begging to hear

"Allow me to please you, my love! I will not hold back regardless who sees!"

You placed your hand towards your mouth, muffling the moans which left you. But it was only for a moment, before Morpheus grabbed your wrist and placed your hand back atop his head. Encouraging your fingers to run through his strains again, and gently tug at his scalp.

"Don't deny what I give you, my darling! Moan! Scream! Shout your pleasures till you can't no more. Cry till you have no voice! Cum so you cannot walk! Your king has returned, my sweet! And I promise to take such good care of you. That our time apart will feel like a distant memory!."

Tag List

@thecrazytealady

@aurorarevenclaw1927

#sandman x reader #sandman netflix #netflix the sandman #sandman x you #sandman x y/n #x fem reader #x reader #fanfic #gardens light #morpheus x reader #lord morpheus #morpheus sandman #dream of the endless

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aliceismypixie · 9 months

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The villain of my story ∥ All the way to the north

Summary - "The villain will always be the villain if the hero tells the story" or atleast that's what they say. No one knew why you became what you are. But you wanted your revenge on Isabella Marie Swan and you were ready to do anything to have it.

Pairing - Twilight x villain!reader

Pronoun - she/her (but can be read as a male reader or gn reader)

Warning - The reader is an immortal child, burning people, mention of dying (burning)

Words count - 1.43k~

Set - After Breaking-Dawn Part 2

Chapter 3 - Masterlist

"Soooo, is this what villains usually do all day ?" Redacted Renesmee asked, putting a red yellow on the piles of cards.

"Well, I don't think so. But your parents are taking too long to get you and you were being annoyingly talkative so I had to shut you up somehow." You replied, putting a plus four on the piles with a smirk and she glared.

"You're so cheating ! How come you only have good cards while I have almost half of the pack !" The hybrid weird kid exclaimed and you rolled your eyes.

"Life isn't fair child, I don't see why I should use some fair-play when no one was ever fair to me. Plus I love to see your face fall each time you take four cards." You calmly explained and she scoffed before throwing her cards on the ground.

"That's just rude and mean ! Why are you so mean to my family and I by the way ?! It's unfair. We did nothing to you !" Rikki Takki Tavi Renesmee pointed out and you glared at her with a scoff.

"Your mother specifically did nothing when we were younger ! She would never do anything ! Watch from the side or just ignore the truth ! I'm making her suffer like she made me suffer !" Your answer was cold and the kid frowned in confusion.

"My mom wouldn't just make you suffer for nothing !" The golden brunette defended and you rolled your eyes, feeling the fire slowly taking over your palms.

"Spoiled brat like you could never understand." You walked away and locked Renesmee's door behind you.

You could feel the flames wanting to burst out of your fingers as you reached the mail room of your lair and you immediately punched the wall in one swift yet hard motion causing the wall, as well as your cold stone skin, to crack.

You could feel the unshed tears in your eyes of anger as you remembered your childhood. It was horrible. Kids like Roseate could never understand the struggle of being in foster care. Kids like Renesmee were spoiled to the core and they thought that they were better than the rest because they were. They had the power, the looks, the love anyone envied. You never had it. Jumping from house to house but always ending up in the same mess every single time. You were lonely but then you got fostered by the Swans, then adopted by them under Isaella's request and then, she stabbed you in the back and never looked back at you.

You could feel your lips trembling as a few sobs escaped and you fell on the floor, broken, with a cracked hand and a cracked heart, not being able to let out those pained cries nor tears as you closed your eyes.

You were once again suffering.

And only by yourself.

They only had three more days. Most of the Cullens feared that something happened to their little treasure in the past week but Jacob's imprint link was still there. As long as it was there, Renesmee was still alive. And as long as she was alive, they had a chance to save her.

"Do we at least have any clues ?" Leah asked.

"We know that the scent of the stranger is their way of hiding. They smell like lavender and wet grass which makes them blend into nature and hide themselves but, we've got you three. As much as it pains me to admit it… your sense of smell is better than ours so we'll need you." Jasper started and everyone nodded, they were all around the table of the meeting of the Cullen's house.

"When we went out with Seth two days ago, he could pick up their scent going south but we don't know more as we couldn't track it after the river. But we have a lead." Alice explained and once again everyone nodded.

"But what if this was a fake trail, what if they have Renesmee captive but more toward the Canadian border ?" Rosalie asked and everyone took in her words.

"This… could be an eventuality but for now we will check the south. A small group will go up toward the Canadian border to take a look and we will alarm the others if we notice anything." Jasper finished.

Being an ex-soldier of the army was actually pretty cool, and very hot but that was Alice's point of view (and mine), in this type of situation. Everyone could be organized in a military way and knowing that their enemy was a child was just better. Why ? Because as a child you don't think like an ex-military soldier. So they had the upper hand.

They could take their enemy by surprise and for all they know, their enemy was alone while they were twelve. Whoever was targeting them stood no chance.

Or at least they thought so until Alice's eyes turned glossy.

Once again there were flames everywhere. But this time they were still fighting, or at least they were trying to.

In the middle of a battle field stood a little girl, fire bursting from her palm as she aimed toward Emmett who quickly moved out of the way.

Thought there was someone who didn't move behind the big vampire.

It was Rosalie.

And the blond Goddess fell on the ground, screams escaping her lips the fire took over her cold marble skin.

And Emmett turned back around, his expression fell as he saw his wife slowly dying and in his moment of weakness, the little girl shooted him too.

But then the vision changed.

Jasper and Carlisle were the one burning on the ground.

But it changed again.

Esme and Edward.

Seth and Alice.

Jacob and Bella.

Leah and Seth.

Jasper and Emmett.

"Every single duo sent to the north is going to die either way…" Alice trailed off her eyes still looking elsewhere and Jasper clenched his jaw.

"You don't see any alternative ending ?" He asked softly to his wife who shook her head.

"Then we're abandoning the idea." Jasper solemnly announced and Bella frowned.

"But we will need to go to the north eventually. Renesmee could be there !" The shield expressed and everyone turned their attention toward Jasper.

"We can not. Two lives for one isn't―"

"But we're not just talking about one random life Jasper. We're talking about my daughter !" Edward replied stubbornly and Jasper scoffed.

"And I'm not talking about two random lives either Edward. I'm talking about two lives of our family. And Renesmee is not dead yet. We can not risk two lives to save someone who doesn't need saving at the moment." The ex-soldier pointed out and Edward growled.

"Edward, you saw it just like I did. You couldn't possibly think about killing two of us in vain. You already know that the plan couldn't work. Why would you want to send two of us there ?" Alice harshly pointed out and her brother looked toward his tortured wife on the side causing Rosalie to scoff.

"We should have known. You were always like that anyways. Putting everyone's life in danger for a human and now because she's your wife you're ready to sacrifice two of us just for her." The blond beauty expressed with a hint of venom.

See Rosalie Lillian Hale was the perfect example of an anti-hero. The one who does good only if it serves their interest. At least that's what she was in Bella Swan's story. No one clearly tried to understand her point of view. See Emmett tried, but most of the time he simply sticks to his wife. Rosalie Lillian Hale was only on Bella's side when it benefited her. But on the other side, she was probably the most attached to the family after Esme, holding on to the last thing that made her feel human.

But we will not talk about that. Rosalie Lillian Hale was only the anti-hero of Isabella Marie Swan's story.

"Rosalie please…" Esme tried to sooth her first daughter as much as possible until a paper plane passed through the opened window of the living room and posed itself on Rosalie's lap.

"What is that ?" Emmett asked and Rosalie opened the paper, her frown turning into an horrified expression.

"There's not only two of us that will go north." The blond vampire announced putting the paper on the table for everyone to see the words written on the unfolded half burned paper plane.

'All the way to the north you go. Or all the way to south she falls'

Chapter 5

#twilight x reader #villain!reader #child!reader #alice cullen #jasper hale #rosalie hale #emmett cullen #carlisle cullen #esme cullen #bella swan #edward cullen #resume cullen #jacob black #leah clearwater #seth clearwater #twilight imagine

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inglourious-imagines · 10 months

Text

Coming Back to You (Donald Malarkey x GN!Reader)

Summary: After Bastogne, Malarkey is more distant than ever, barely talking to you anymore. But we don’t give up on those we love, right?

Requested by: @love-studying58 (Your last Malarkey post I requested got me in the feels and I’m requesting a similar one cause Malark is my fav. )

Prompts: 85 – “He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.” (used as a setting, not as words being said) & 8 – “I said I’m fucking fine.”

Warnings: just some swear words

A/N: Finally wrote it, yayy! Hope it's alright.

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @teenmagazines @meteora-fc @eugenesmorphine @band-of-brothers-cz @real-fans @not-john-watsons-blog @tealaquinn @ok-roemanov @mrseasycompany @punkgeekchic @wexhappyxfew @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @rayofshanshine @mavysnavy @easynix @georgeluzwarmhugs @easy-company-tradition @immrsronaldspeirs @snafus-peckuh @curraheewestandalone @warrior-healer @justamadgirlinabox @happyveday @order-of-river-phoenix @whoahersheybars

The internal debating whether not-knowing or knowing would be worse is slowly taking its toll on your mental state. Ever since your Company heard the news about the patrol and the rumours that Malarkey is the one to lead it, you’ve been anxious and terrified beyond words.

It is almost evening, and you’re sitting with other Easy Company soldiers in a basement of one of the buildings in Hagenau, slowly sipping on the liquid the army so casually likes to call coffee. But it’s hot, and it warms your cold shaky hands. Even breathing is hard now, anxiety spreading to every part of your body like an infection. You’re terrified and you’re not even supposed to be on the patrol. All because of your heart that clings maybe too hard onto a broken soldier with a green beanie.

Your eyes scan the room, trying to find him but he’s nowhere to be seen; part of you wants to get up, find him, tell him all the things you’ve been dying to say since Toccoa, the other part keeps you glued to the old wooden chair and it seems you are stuck at dead end, neither of the sides taking the initiative.

“Don’t you look like Webster when the Krauts shot him,” George laughs as he plops himself on the chair next to you. You know very well he’s just trying to cheer you up, knowing exactly what’s gotten you down, but to say you look like David when shot? That’s a bit far.

“Fuck you too, Luz,” you retort, but a smile tugs at your lips anyway.

George puts up his hands in a surrender-like manner, grinning like a kid. “Well, maybe not, but you do look terrible.”

This time you let out an amused chuckle. “You sure know how to compliment a person. Thank you.”

“Come on, now, Y/N, you know what I mean.” George says as his face slowly gets more serious but the soft smile of his never disappears. “Someone should go talk to him,” he continues, his voice gentle and somewhat soothing, and you, for a split of a second, let yourself believe that this is your older brother giving you relationship advice. That thought warms your heart more than the coffee ever could, and you pick up your gaze at George, offering him a sincere smile.

You don’t have to ask, for George already knows your next move.

“Walk up the stairs to the first floor, then the first door to your left.”

You pat his shoulder while getting up, leaving that cup of unfinished coffee on your chair. “Thanks, G, I might just let that earlier insult pass after all.”

---

You slowly walk up the stairs, with each step losing a bit of the sudden courage you felt before, but you don’t stop, you simply can’t. The doors are slightly opened, so when you peer in, you can see Malarkey quietly discussing something with Babe. You don’t want to disturb them, for both of them seem deep in thought, serious and so tired, so you slowly step back.

You don’t have to wait too long, in a few moments, Heffron is standing in the hall next to you. He gives you a sympathetic smile and without a word leaves you be. You don’t know it yet, but almost every soldier from the original Easy Company squad knew about your little crush that apparently is reciprocated, even though somewhat badly and without words so you have no idea. George will tell you, once you reach Germany, about all the secret bets concerning you and Malarkey, that even some of the officers are in on them. And you will laugh, rosy cheeked, and George will laugh too, saying how bad of a secret agent you would make.

Malarkey is looking out the window when you enter the room.

“Hi,” you say quietly to announce your present and take some steps towards him. “Are you okay?

“I’m fine,” he immediately answers without looking at you or even turning his head a bit.

You sigh, “You can talk to me, Don, if you’d li-“

“I said I’m fucking fine.”

That makes you stop in your tracks. Malarkey has never been harsh to you and even though it might be just fatigue and stress talking, his words hurt you. You reckon he wants to be left alone, to deal with whatever’s coming at him on his own, so with a heavy heart you turn your back to him.

But then he speaks again, this time his voice is soft and gentle. “Wait.”

You let out a sigh, knowing you would do anything he asks you to. So you turn to face him and the sight breaks your heart. He looks more exhausted than ever, the war aging him, making him look a lot older than he actually is.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and without any warning, Malarkey crosses the distance between you two and brings you in for a desperate hug. You’re taken aback, the sudden show of emotions isn’t something you’re quite used to with Malarkey, so it takes you a few moments to truly comprehend the situation and wrap your arms around his torso.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice so quiet you can barely hear the words. He’s clinging onto you like the drowning to a life vest, like his life depends on it and he’d break if he let you go.

You know he’s been hurting but it isn’t until now that you can physically feel his pain through his touch. Your eyes water but you forbid yourself to cry, focusing on Donald’s heartbeat to help you to remain calm.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you finally answer.

“Yes, yes, I do,” he’s quick to retort, his grip on you only tightens and it is slightly harder for you to breath now, but you don’t complain, how could you, when his touch is also the solution to all your problems.

“I finally realized something I should have realized long ago,” Malarkey continues but pauses right after. Then he’s suddenly pushing you away, gently, with the words: “I need to look at you when I say this.”

Your heart is in your throat by now. You try to calm yourself down but Malarkey grabs your hands and you’re dizzy again, but the good kind, the kind that makes you feel like you can do anything you want.

“I realized that if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it through this war. You’ve always been by my side, through Currahee, through the jump, through Bastogne and I know I haven’t appreciated you enough for it and for that I am truly sorry.”

His voice is stronger now as he gains more confidence in his words. Your cheeks are red as tomatoes, and you can feel yourself smiling like a little child.

“And if your feelings haven’t changed, I’d like to spend all the moments I have left proving to you, that you, Y/N, are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Malarkey pauses for a second, his eyes fixated on you, a soft smile lightening up his face. “The truth is, my Y/N, I lov-“

“Don’t say it!” you interrupt him, surprising him and yourself. He looks at you confused and hurt that it almost breaks your heart again, but you know you have to say this.

“You can’t confess that to me, not yet, not before the patrol. I wouldn’t be able to let you go.”

His shoulders visibly relax a bit and the wrinkles leave his face.

“Come back to me,” you smile at him, “come back to me and then you can have all my moments, all of them will belong to you, they always have.”

And then, after such long years, Malarkey is finally smiling, no, grinning happily, and you see the three years younger man in him, just like when you met him in Toccoa, Georgia. His face lightens up and he’s hugging you again, saying, “Then I shall come back. I’ll come back.”

You’re laughing as he spins you around in his arms and suddenly it is very hard to contain all the joy, luck and love in your heart.

“I’ll always come back to you.”

#imagine #hbo war #fanfic #band of brothers #band of brothers imagines #george luz #band of brothers imagine #donald malarkey imagine #donald malarkey #donald malarkey oneshot #lewis nixon #ronald speirs #eugene roe

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