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bet-on-me-13 · 4 months

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Dan is Trigon

So! The Teen Titans had been chasing down a Cult lately, and they had finally managed to track down their main bases location.

Unfortunately, they got there just a bit too late and the Summoning Ritual they had been preforming was finished. The Being they had been calling crawled up and out of the Circle drawn in Blood on the floor.

And Raven felt her heart Stop. Because that Being crawling it's way out of the Summoning Circle looked almost exactly like her Father's True Form. But also different.

Where her Father's hair was a White Flame, this one's hair looked like Freshly Fallen Snow. Instead of her Father's Blood Red Skin, this being had Icy Blue Skin. And most strikingly, In place of her Father's Piercing Red Eyes, this being had Lazarus Green Eyes.

But even with all those changes, she could still the similarities in the Bone Structure, the shape of the Jaw, and most importantly the Untold Power radiating off of them.

Before they could react, the Being turned its attention to the Cultists.

"Who Dares Summon, the Ghost King?"

"We do, Out Lord Pariah Dark! We Beseech Thee, take this unclean world and tear it down! Cleanse the World of its Filth!"

"Oh Goddammit, not again." Said the Being, "Look, Pariah hasn't been in Power for Centuries. I, am Phantom. And I don't do the whole 'Destroy all Worlds' thing, you want your own constellation? I'm your guy. Otherwise? Bite it."

"Bu-But my Lord! We summoned you to-"

"Yeah how about no." Said the unimpressed God, "Here, let me send you guys Home. I'll give you guys some riches or something as compensation, but that's it."

And with that, the God snapped its fingers and the cultists disappeared.

"Now, who are you kids?" He turned to them.

Robin stepped forward, "We are the Teen Titans, and originally we came to stop them from Summoning you. Now, I honestly don't know what to do..."

"Oh, you guys are Heroes! That's interesting, I don't come across worlds with Heroes very often." Said the Ghost King, "The last one was the one with those Revengers or whatever they called themselves. The Spider Totem was fun to talk to, and Thor is always..."

As Phantom mumbled to himself, Raven stepped up. "King Phantom, I have a Question. Why do you resemble the true form or Trigon so closely? As his Daughter, I can recognize your similarities easily, and I was curious."

The King stopped dead.

"...daughter?"

"Oh, yes. Trigon is my father, though obviously I haven't talked to him recently." She explained.

"...that asshole." He said, "How could he not tell me I had a NIECE!?"

Wait what?

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fayes-fics · 1 year

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Rescue and Ruin

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Anthony rescues something for you... and it will likely lead to your ruin.

Warnings: None really. Flirting, sexual tension, banter, and the promise of more. A lot of teasing, soaking wet Viscount.

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: Unbetaed. Very belated request fill for @daisfordaysstuff (request: I’m rewatching season 2 again, and I think I need one on this scene [lake Anthony]). I just had to post an Anthony story today to commemorate the birthday of Jonathan Bailey, the man who plays this titan of a fictional character. This is actually my oldest request fill, lingering in my inbox since Sept 2022. Sorry, my lovely; I hope late is better than never. I just got an idea of how I wanted this to play out. I hope you enjoy <3

“I’ll get it!”

A chivalrous call comes as you watch in dismay as your favourite bonnet take off in a gust of wind and flies over the lake, landing almost gracefully about twenty feet out into the gently rippling water.

You had just stolen down to the water's edge to get away from the crowds for a few moments of solitude, drawn to the beauty of the water as the sun danced on the little peaks caused by the gusty breeze. It had looked like a shimmering mirage from the terrace.

You are shocked when the one and only Viscount Anthony Bridgerton gives you a brief, polite nod as he passes you, then dives off a little jetty, still fully clothed, making you gasp loudly.

What on earth?!?

This is his garden party. Well, strictly his mother's, but he is Viscount, and this is the Bridgerton family country estate, Aubrey Hall. You are still awestruck to be here, a guest of your maternal aunt you are staying with here in Kent. Why on earth he would dive into his lake to rescue something as trivial as a hat seems mystifying. You are certain he has staff that could assist rather than take it upon himself and quite clearly ruin his outfit.

He re-emerges to the surface from his dive and swims with awe-inspiring speed towards your hat as it skates across the surface, propelling along not unlike some toy boat. When he finally reaches it, he holds it aloft triumphant and twists to swim back one-handed as he keeps it above the water.

You find yourself drawn down to the jetty he jumped off of. To give your thanks, express your surprise, and take back your hat and hope it is salvageable. You twist around to check, but all the other party guests seem oblivious to the incident or his actions, the string quartet playing so loudly closer to the house and the buffet table so laden everyone's eyes and ears are preoccupied.

“Thank you, my lord,” you demure as he pulls up to the jetty and places your bonnet on the wooden slats by your feet. “That was completely unnecessary, but I am, of course, so very grateful,” you curtsy and pick up the bonnet.

Luckily, thanks to his swift actions, it will be fine. Just the brim and lower edge touched the water. You wring out the soaked ribbons as best you can, then wrap them around your neck and tie them in a secure bow. It may be too wet to wear on your head for now, but at least it should dry while tied securely and draped down over your back. You curtsy again as you feel him watching you, unsure what else to do to convey your gratitude.

He laughs, and you see him fighting with the buttons on his jacket, still standing in the lake, the water around waist height. “There is no need to curtsy or to be so formal Miss…?” he squints up at you expectantly.

“Oh, it's Miss y/l/n,” you rush out and, for some reason, curtsy again.

“I mean it; please stop curtsying, especially to a man in such a state as me,” he says drolly, fighting off his jacket and tossing it, sodden and heavy, onto the jetty.

You are blatantly staring as he peels away his waistcoat and fights with his cravat. His thin cotton white shirt has turned entirely transparent in the water; it is barely there. Under it, you can see so much skin, toned and rippling muscle as his jerking movements strip off his clothing. Over his chest is a patch of dark hair clinging to the material you cannot look away from. You have never even so much as seen how a man looks without a shirt on before, and this sight makes your heart pound and your body tingle.

Glancing up from his actions, the corner of his mouth quirks up, and you know he has caught you—openly ogling him. Your cheeks are aflame, and you cut your eyes away.

“You may look, Miss y/l/n,” his pitch has dropped to something low and velvety, and it buzzes right into your core. Hesitantly your eyes dart back to his handsome face; the lip quirk spreads into a devastating, stunning smile. “It is alright; no one has marked us,” he assures, his gaze cutting to your right towards the house, then back to your face. “You shall not have broken any rules of propriety by talking with me. Or staring at me as you are,” he teases, an eyebrow arching appealingly.

“My lord, that is not what….” You begin to protest, knowing it's a lie even as you voice it; your reflex to appear chaste is so crucial to your need to find a match that your aunt and parents are so desperate for you to make.

But your words die out as he places both hands firmly on the dock and propels himself up and out of the water in one swift, athletic move. Your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth as he unfurls upwards from the kneeling position, drawing up to his full height. Water sluices down his body and makes his clothing cling to every single contour of his toned, defined torso. He looms closer; you tilt backwards, entranced by the tracks of droplets over the lines of his handsome face, his burned umber eyes catching the sunlight and boring into you as he crowds closer.

“Do not lie to yourself or to me, Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles, “we both know you were and, indeed, continue to stare”.

His words make your body riot; your stays feel too tight for your lungs to breathe, your skin pricking hot. He’s so close now you can smell the vaguely mossy lake smell on his skin, on what little clothing he has left on; it’s dancing there on the breeze alongside something spicier and amber that you can only assume is his cologne. You want to stutter an apology, to offer your thanks again, to ask him to leave, to ask him to stay, to ask him to touch you—so many jumbled, contradictory thoughts.

“The more pertinent question is, do you like what you see?” he murmurs and leans in, his words ghosting warm on the shell of your ear.

This is the sort of thing your aunt has warned you about. Rakes. Handsome, wealthy, titled men who will tease and take what they can from young, innocent ladies such as yourself. You want to be affronted, tell him to desist, and give him a scathing remark about appropriate behaviour. But once again, you don't. Your body drawn to him, you want to trace your fingers over the swell of his chest muscles, to feel those strong arms grab your waist and haul you against his sodden form.

“No answer is, in some ways, an answer,” he chuckles with a lilt that is both arrogant and devastatingly attractive.

“My lord, we may be seen at any moment…” Your protest is weak and breathy, not moving away as he continues to stand far too close to you, as lake water drips onto your shoes.

Suddenly a clammy hand wraps around your elbow, and you are being pulled towards the nearby cluster of thick trees and bushes that abut the lake. You almost stumble and smack into him face-first as he pulls up short and releases your arm. The air feels cooler here, with dappled shade, verdant and alive with the scent of flowering bushes and leaves. The view of the house and, indeed, the party guests is wholly obscured. No one would ever know you are here.

“Do you have an answer now that we cannot be seen?” he breathes inches from you, towering over you.

“My lord… I,” you cannot find words, hanging your head. You know this is wrong. Very wrong. Your aunt would kill you for being this wanton, for allowing him to do this to you. And yet…. Every fibre of your being wants this. To see what he will do. To see what you will let him do. You suspect it's more than you even understand.

“Say it after me….” he intones, a finger tilting your chin up to look into his fiery gaze.

“I…” he begins.

“I…” you parrot.

“Like…”

“Like,” you repeat, and the grin on his face grows wider.

“What….”

“What,” your breath quickening with each word.

“I…”

“I,” that finger still lingers under your chin, caressing gently.

“See.”

“See,” you exhale shakily.

“There. Now was that so hard…hmmm?” he teases, that finger now joined by his thumb stroking over the point of your chin, the lake water running down his forearm to the point of material bunched under his elbow that now drips down the front of your dress. The dampness seeps through the material and into your heated skin.

The cord of tension in the air is palpable. You don't know what to say or what to do.

“I have another question for you,” he buzzes, and the fingers on your chin slip lower, over your throat, lighting a line of fire as they trail over your delicate skin. Your pulse pounding in your veins. You swallow hard and feel the calloused fingertips trace into your suprasternal notch. “Maybe this one you can answer,” he huffs a sarcastic laugh as your body spirals and you fight to keep your breath even.

“What is it, my lord?” your voice barely a whisper.

“Would you be willing to help me, your gracious host today, get dry?” he practically purrs.

“How…. how on earth could I do that?” you stumble.

He smiles predatory and so handsome you give up and let your chest heave, ragged breathing.

“Under your dress, you wear a chemise, do you not?” he continues, those fingers tracing over the wet bow of your bonnet strings tied over your clavicle.

“Yes, my lord,” you answer shakily.

“Well did you know such items can be an excellent towel in a pinch,” he shrugs one shoulder and lifts an eyebrow as his fingers slip lower over your breastbone until they reach the neckline of your dress, at the swell of your breast.

There is no point in pretending he is not utterly destroying you now. You can’t school anything—the blush darkening over your skin, creeping up from your chest, the tingle in your lips, the hot flush you feel all over. A viscous pulse in your underwear that feels entirely alien and where your decision-making seems to be centred at right this very moment.

“So I suppose my last question, for now, is, are you willing to give it to me?” you gasp at his turn of phrase as those fingers swirl patterns over the neckline of your dress. “Your chemise, of course,” he amends with a wink.

Utter, utter rake.

“H-how can I give you my chemise without removing my dress too?” you wonder aloud.

“Well, that is the challenge, isn't it?” he smirks. “Now I can see two options here. I can do the gentlemanly thing, turn my back and allow you to undress and then you may hand me your chemise once decent again. I will dry myself the best I can and return to the house to change.”

“And the second option?” you cannot resist querying.

“Ahh, that,” he seems to pull even closer, and the fingers slip over the neckline and onto the silk ruching that covers your breasts; even through the material layers, you can feel his fingers lingering over your nipple and the throbbing between your legs turns almost painful. “The second option is that I am not a gentleman. Not in the slightest,” his answer cryptic but dripping with a dark, forbidden promise.

“What does that involve…?” you pant.

You watch, enthralled, as his tongue pokes out of his mouth and licks his bottom lip, and in seeming slow-motion, his mouth begins to form a shape to speak words…

“ANTHONY!!”

The yell is from a few feet away, on the other side of the bushes. Both of you jump apart as if burned.

“ANTHONY?!” the male voice calls again, “ARE YOU AROUND?”

It's obvious the person has no idea you are merely a few feet away, only that they are looking for him.

Stay here, Anthony mouths silently, and you nod, your heart beating wildly at the whiplash of experiences.

With one rueful glance at you, at the interrupted moment, he turns around and fights through the mass of foliage back out to the lawn.

“Oh, there you are!” the voice exclaims. “We wondered what the devil had happened to you!!”

“Colin…” you hear him respond.

“Hell and the devil. Why are you soaked through?? Did you decide to go for a swim fully clothed? Did you find my special tea??” his voice ramping up in incredulity as he likely clocks Anthony's bedraggled appearance.

“I have no idea what you are referring to,” Anthony’s reply seems clipped. “I rescued a small beautiful creature, if you must know,” he obfuscates.

“Ahh, hero antics,” Colin laughs. “Well, you had better go change right away. Mother expects you to make a toast for our esteemed guests in a few minutes.”

You hear Anthony’s frustrated noise of derision and have to stifle your giggle behind the back of your hand between deep breaths, trying to bring yourself back to a state of normality after the rollercoaster of experiences you just had.

“Urghhh, alright,” Anthony sighs, embattled, “I think I dropped my pocket watch back in the bushes. Give me one moment to find it, and I will accompany you back to the house.”

“Side entrance,” Colin responds dryly.

“Indeed,” you hear Anthony call.

You tense as the bushes before you start to rustle as he fights through them to reach you. He stalks up to you, and you gasp audibly.

“Shhh,” he warns quietly, his lips right at your ear, gusting hot, “it looks as if I must sadly depart. Your chemise is safe for today, Miss y/l/n.”

With a boldness you didn’t know yourself capable of, you grab the shirt's sleeves rolled up around his elbows.

“I would never want not to be helpful to you, my lord,” you whisper tremulant, fingers twisting in the soaked fabric. “If removing my chemise can ever be of assistance to you in future, please be sure to let me know.”

You cannot believe you allow yourself to say something so scandalous.

He pulls back slightly, and it's his turn to exhale unsteadily, his pupils dilated; his expression wild. You can see a vein hammering in his throat.

“Oh goddd,” he moans, closing his eyes as if pained.

“What?” concern suddenly flooding your tone.

His eyes reopen, and they pin you with their intensity.

“Mark my words,” his tone is low, gravelly, “if you continue to talk so brazenly, it will only encourage me.”

It is the sexiest warning bell you have ever heard.

“And if you continue to tease and defy me, I will pursue you. Relentlessly,” he growls, and once again, your body is rioting.

“Good god. How long does it take to find a pocket watch, man?” Colin calls impatiently, once again breaking the moment between you as it threatens to bubble over.

“I've found it!” Anthony twists to call over his shoulder. “I’ll be there presently!”

“Hurry up!” Colin grouses.

Anthony turns back, and his breath is hot over your cheek. He seems to stare at your lips for an inordinate amount of time as you stare back. Transfixed.

“Today, I shall be a gentleman,” he states reluctantly and draws away slightly. “However…” and your heart spikes in victory, “once that clock strikes midnight. I make no promises. And I shall be standing right here,” his tone decisive, his finger pointing to the spot right by his feet. “Just so you and your chemise will know where to find me,” he rumbles, then gives you a polite bow and is gone.

You have to grab onto a tree to stop yourself from swooning. Already knowing you will be stealing away from your room as the clock strikes midnight. Uncaring of consequences.

You want him to ruin you.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton #1k notes #1k notes omg you guys!#2k notes #2k notes holy crap you guys!

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ghost-bxrd · 16 days

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Titans Tower AU

The new Rogue Red Hood is rampaging through Gotham, and it is known that he has something against Robin.

Bruce benches Tim. Nightwing is summoned back to Gotham. But, this being Gotham, there's an unrelated Rogue incident. A magician of some sort.

End result - Dick gets de aged. Into eight year old pre-Robin or early-Robin (early as in just allowed to dress up in the suit and come out on the safe patrol routes) Dick, who is at his most feral Angry Robin phase.

It'll last only a couple of days or so, but that still leaves Bruce with two Robins to take care of and one murderous crime lord gunning for Robin.

Not that Tim gets to call himself Robin now. One look at Baby Dick's reaction to someone else being called Robin and Tim immediately claims he's actually Red Robin. (He had just scrolled past a burgerchain ad, and he was panicking, okay?)

Bruce, remembering how Baby Robin Dick found a dozen escape routes out of the Manor in as many days, daren't risk keeping him in Gotham. He's sent to stay with the Teen Titans. They will look after him...or at least keep him distracted. Hopefully.

Meanwhile, Tim is asked to stay in the Cave, in case backup is really needed.

So, Red Hood, breaking in, does not find the scared but defensive replacement.

He finds - or, well, is found by - a feral eight year old who has been binge watching the Home Alone series, has a very personal hatred of crime lords and can travel unseen through the vents.

It is Jason who ends up triggering the emergency rescue signal Bruce gave Dick. Baby Robin Dick is disappointed he didn't get to play with "red riding hood" some more.

Lmao the crack potential here is phenomenal.

Red Hood: B come pick up your child I‘m scared

#jason todd #batfamily #dick grayson #batfam #bruce wayne #robin #tim drake #red hood #batman

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jame7t · 7 months

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Why so _______

- The ______

Fill in the blanks!

“Why songbirds?” She asked, fiddling with the faux-feathers. “Wouldn’t a corvid be a better fit for a… spy?”

Melvik rolled his eyes again, as if spywork and the elaborate creation of false-life was a simple thing that his temporary protégée was failing to grasp. “Sure, yeah, ravens are nosy little fucks- but when you see one, you watch it. They’re smart. You look at birds like that. You can feel them watching you. And watch one too closely…”

“…you’ll notice it’s fake,” she finished. “Okay, but why songbirds? They make so much noise.”

“It gets drowned out in the pack. Flock. Whatever. And that’s the point, too. Nobody expects a spy to make noise.” He leaned back from the desk, a single false bird complete- one more to the pile. He plucked the soon-to-chirp thing from the wooden bench, and placed it on the metal sheet her siblings sat motionless on. “Five-four. I take the lead again.”

Gloria furrowed her brows at him- it’s not her fault she’s the only halfwit in the spire who knows about faux-life the month before deployment. “Where IS your little helper, anyway? How come I’m stuck here helping you?”

Melvik leaned forward awkwardly to start on another songbird. “He decided he’s an aspirant.” He spit the word.

“Little Crug? He’s an aspirant?”

Melvik raised his eyes to meet Gloria, and gave a single small nod.

“Good lord- The other children call him Crug, how is he gonna be an aspirant?”

“He’s not. He’ll wash out.”

“Right.” Gloria looked down at the spy in her hands, realizing she’d inserted a feather backwards. “Fuck.”

Continuing as if they hadn’t reached the natural stopping point, Melvik sighed- “It’s like he’s ignored everything he’s good at in favor of something that’s get him killed even if he doesn’t flunk out. Which, mind you, he will!”

Fumbling with a misplaced leg, his rant continues.

“Even if he does, somehow, become a pilot, which one would he even drive? The Mercello? The damn Mercello? We need things other than Titans to protect the Keep!”

Gloria nods, half listening. She opens her mouth to interject- not yet sure if she agrees- but Melvik isn’t done.

“He’s going to wash out of training, and when he comes back with half his motor functions intact, he’s gonna be sorry when I don’t let him back in. I can’t!” He meets Gloria’s eyes. “It’d be a security risk at that point. You get it, don’t you?”

She gives him an uncertain half-smile; the act of becoming an aspirant is seen as noble- a sacrifice, even. But those who ‘wash out’ are not often kept in high regards. Gloria’s cousin was one such unfortunate aspirant.

Melvik sees the uncertainty and relents- his eyes close, and he opens them to view the rotten thing in his hand. He managed to insert both legs backwards in his anger- and maybe, he dreaded, his age.

“I just needed one. One guarantee this craft wouldn’t be lost when… when I lose it.”

Gloria grimaced- she didn’t think her workmanship was that bad. “I’m sure there’s others who’ll keep it up. You know? You’re not the only weaver.”

“Nobody knows how to weave like I do.”

“And why’s that? What’s your special secret?”

“Nobody knows how- they-“

“Come on, then! Spill it! Nobody knows how to what?!”

“Fill in the blanks!”

Gloria rolled her eyes. “That’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he groans, continuing far past the natural stopping point. “Real songbirds don’t just ‘start and stop’- real foxes don’t just sit and watch. You have to make them real. You have to make them feel real.”

“So what you’re saying is, the director pays you extra because you play with puppets.” She meant it as an insult- she certainly thought so.

Melvik grins.

He looks to the small, soon to chirp thing in his hands- legs corrected, little beady eyes ready to see. “Yeah…”

He envisions the Titans- the pilots sitting within their puppet-rigs, marching along the ocean front; watching for the minions of the Corpse Moon to meet them along the coastal crags.

“Puppets.”

Maybe he does understand.

#I dodge your challenge deftfully!

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tomboy014 · 9 months

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Arkham Security Guard Danny's Backstory Continues!!!

But Dick Grayson isn’t the only Robin Danny knew.

A couple years after they started being friends, Danny (16) hears that Robin is back in Gotham and decides to head over for a visit. After all, it’s a lot close than Jump City, but when he gets there…

“That’s not Robin.”

Yeah, Dick may or may not have forgotten to tell Danny he’s going by Nightwing now, and instead Danny is left staring down at this kid who looks suspiciously like Dick used to.

Cloning? No.

Kidnapping? He really hopes not.

Maybe a de-ageing beam? Always a possibility in this line of work, but no, this is a new Robin.

And Danny’s got to admit, the new Robin is pretty freakin’ adorable. Dick was still pretty angsty and angry when they met, and after he formed the Teen Titans, was dangerously obsessed with Slade for a while. But the new Robin is as bright and friendly as his costume with all his “Robin gives me magic” stuff.

And he’s just. so. WIDDLE!!! Danny’s still only 16, but he’s finally managed to start growing and has hit a respectable 5’8”, and it’s like when you’re a senior watching the freshmen walk in for the first time. He’s just so itty bitty!

But Danny still associates the name Robin with Dick and can’t use it to refer to this new one, yet, so unfortunately, Jason gets stuck with nicknames. Short nicknames. Shorty, Short Stuff, Tiny, Shrimp, etc. Jason is not a fan of Danny.

After their meeting, Danny calls Dick because how could you not tell me you changed your moniker? …And you’re in Bloodhaven, too?! Dick also needs to vent because he can’t BELIEVE Bruce went and replaced him.

Dick… buddy… how long did we try to get you a little sibling?

…

I’M A BIG BROTHER!!!!

Otherwise, direct interaction between Jason and Danny is pretty limited. Danny is Dick’s friend; Jason is just the little brother. Still, Dick occasionally asks Jason to help Danny study, and Danny will help with pun-filled advice on being a hero. He’s also pretty good at first aid whenever Jason gets hurt and doesn’t want Alfred to find out it’s because he did something stupid.

After Jason’s death, Danny helped Dick search the Ghost Zone for him to get some closure, both for himself and Batman, but no luck, and tries hard to convince Dick that it’s actually better this way.

When Jason came back after his dip in the Lazarus pit, Danny can smell the corruption and calls in a favor from the Far Frozen. Without a way to contact Jason, Danny gives medicine to Dick to pass on.

Outwardly, Jason refuses it and throws Dick out of his place, but behind closed doors, Jason takes it. It’s a lengthy process, and the side effects suck ass, but all the corrupt ectoplasm and pit madness is purged. Nothing he needs to tell his family about, though.

When they meet again at the Asylum, Jason was hoping to lord his new height over Danny. Except Danny kept growing and his 6’8” ass still towers over Jason’s 6’. The short jokes continue. However, no short jokes or nicknames are ever directed towards Tim or Damian. Only Jason.

<<Prev

#dpxdc #dp x dc #arkham guard au #arkham guard backstory #danny phantom #jason todd

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 8 months

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One of the passengers aboard the Titanic was a godly Pastor from Scotland, by the name of John Harper. Harper had recently spent three months ministering at the Moody Church in Chicago. He had not been back in Britain long when he was asked to return. He quickly made arrangements for himself and his six-year old daughter, Nana, to return via the Titanic.

The Titanic struck the iceberg on April 14, 1912. Harper wrapped his daughter in a blanket, told her that she would see him again one day and watched her safely board one of the lifeboats. (She survived)

One survivor distinctly remembered hearing him shout, "Women, children and the unsaved into the lifeboats!" Harper knew that believers were ready to die but the unsaved were not ready. Harper then ran along the decks pleading with people to turn to Christ,he called upon the Titanic’s orchestra to play, "Nearer, my God, to Thee." Gathering people around him on deck, he then knelt down, and "with holy joy in his face" raised his arms in prayer. As the ship began to sink, he jumped into the icy waters and swam frantically to all he could reach, beseeching them to turn to the Lord Jesus and be saved. John Harper then sank into the depths and passed into the Lord’s presence; he was 39.

Four years later, a young Scotsman named Aguilla Webb stood up in a meeting in Hamilton, Canada, and gave the following testimony:

“I am a survivor of the Titanic. When I was drifting alone on a spar that awful night, the tide brought Mr. John Harper of Glasgow, also on a piece of wreck, near me. ‘Man,’ he said, ‘Are you saved?’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘I am not.’ He replied, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.’ The waves bore him away; but, strange to say brought him back a little later, and he said, ‘Are you saved now?’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘I cannot honestly say that I am.’ He said again, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved,’ and shortly after he went down; and there, alone in the night, and with two miles of water under me, I believed. I am John Harper’s last convert.”

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envysparkler · 3 months

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so this. this would be one of the nightwing longfics. the long, character-driven fic that I wish I had time to write but alas.

the crux of this fic is when Tim goes to ask Dick to return to save Batman from his grief, Dick agrees.

Nightwing coming back to Gotham. fighting, every day, to keep Bruce from self-destructing in a manor so full of grief that sometimes he sits in empty rooms and cries. Dick that can’t visit Jason’s grave, it’s too painful, but sometimes he sleeps on the couch in the library and pretends like his little brother is sitting on the other couch and reading. and Nightwing also needs to deal with this precocious twelve-year-old who might not be Robin but thinks that it is perfectly reasonable to stalk them around Gotham.

it’s hard. it’s so, so hard. Dick losing pieces of himself, bit by bit. he sees hallucinations of Jason and eventually, the hallucinations are the only things he talks to truthfully. he has to keep Bruce sane while Bruce keeps lashing out at him. Alfred’s not getting younger. Barbara’s furious and upset and grieving what happened to her. Tim has no parental supervision, what the fuck is going on with this kid, Dick needs to watch out for him too.

it’s slow, but the pressure just keeps piling on.

meanwhile, the people he’s helping start to get better. Bruce notices their baby stalker, figures out Tim’s situation, and puts in immediate paperwork to get temporary guardianship. (Dick still hasn’t been adopted. it’s fine. he doesn’t care. he doesn’t.) Barbara recovers and becomes Oracle, a saving grace to the wider caped community. (she’s so busy. Dick just wants a friend to talk to. please.) Tim is introduced to the Titans and makes fast friends with them. (the Titans were Dick’s first but they’re gone, all gone, why does everyone keep leaving him.)

and then there’s a mention of a new crime lord on the scene, Red Hood, who’s looking to shake things up.

things build and build and build, Hood taunting them and Bruce’s suspicions and Tim’s stalking, until it reaches a breaking point.

a warehouse. Batman and Red Hood and Tim and Dick. everyone is shouting at each other, yelling at each other, accusations flying, emotional barbs thrown. Dick trying to keep the peace and failing.

maybe someone snaps something that wounds. maybe Dick just collapses under his own exhaustion. either way, he gives up. he walks away. he can’t do this anymore.

no one notices him leave.

Dick leaves his suit in the Cave and writes a short note explaining that he’s quitting.

he’s done.

this world--Gotham and Batman and all the heroes and villains--has taken too much from him. he’s barely twenty-one and yet he’s lived lifetimes. he’s shouldered the weight of the entire world on his shoulders for so long he cannot remember what it feels like to fly without a net.

he returns to the first place he called home. there’s a Flying Grayson at Haley’s Circus again.

#fic ideas #dick grayson #the sequel would be dick asserting that he Doesn't Do That Anymore #while batman and the justice league and the titans and deathstroke and ra's al ghul #all try to convince him to come back #feat. the shenanigans of an accidentally-unintentionally-crime-fighting circus

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ladystoneboobs · 5 months

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possibly incomplete list of asoiaf characters described as having red or even "ginger" hair (or red-gold as opposed to red-brown or ghiscari red-black), never auburn:

mycah, the butcher's boy*

beric dondarrion (red-gold hair)*

lharys, member of the three stooges men-at-arms (wild rust-colored hair)**

unnamed and unfortunate mother of robert baratheon's doomed youngest child, barra (light red-haired mother of black-haired baby)*

tomard aka "fat tom", stark guardsman (with his ginger whiskers)*

horas "horror" redwyne (orange hair)*

hobber "slobber" redwyne (orange hair)*

unnamed red-haired whore leaning out a window the day of ned's execution (presumably not the same as above since she was joking about the king's death)*

melisandre of asshai (deep burnished copper. red and terrible and red.)*

a man called jaqen h'ghar (red on one side, white on the other)*

pug-nosed dancy from chataya's brothel (described as red-haired by tyrion in acok but honey-blonde in asos, so presumably hair dye must have been involved between those book mentions.)**

addam marbrand (hair the same copper color as his horse's mane)*

"ginger-headed" maester frenken*

unnamed beardless ginger youth among theon's crew at winterfell*

ygritte, a spearwife "kissed-by-fire" (bright red)*

arryk aka "left" or "right", lady olenna's red-mustached guardsman*

erryk aka "left" or "right", lady olenna's other, identical, red-mustached guardsman*

lord paxter redwyne (tufts of orange hair)**

anguy the archer of the bwb*

a red-bearded karstark rapist dead in a crow cage at stoney sept*

tansy, innkeeper of the peach in stoney sept*

meryn trant (rust-red hair)*

"red" ronnet connington

mero, "the titan's bastard", former commander of the second sons (bushy red-gold beard)

a red-headed soldier who came with stannis to the wall

shadrich "the mad mouse" (bristly orange hair)*

lord rykker's red-mustached maester

marwyn belmore, lysa's former guard captain (ginger-headed)*

lord benedar belmore with a beard that was "a ginger-grey horror"*

lord orton merryweather (reddish-orange hair)

"the red oarsman", one of euron greyoy's followers (fiery red hair)

unnamed red-haired sailor arriving at port in braavos*

lord clement piper

and his son lewys "little lew" piper, who served as squire to jaime lannister in the riverlands

unnamed red-haired youth who first escaped northward with varamyr from the battle at the wall

one of illyrio's washerwomen (dull red hair)**

jon connington (once red hair gone to grey, still red at the roots and eyebrows even when the rest was dyed blue. also had a bright red beard as a younger man.)**

rolly "duck" duckfield (a shock of orange hair)**

a young man among the wildling refugees at mole's town whose red hair reminded jon of ygritte*

the "sunset kingdoms" girl raped by tyrion in the brothel where he was captured by jorah**

hagen's daughter, only other woman among asha greyjoy's crew

roggon rustbeard, one of asha's men

mully of the nw (greasy orange hair)*

bloodbeard, commander of the company of the cat (fiery red whiskers)

"ginger" jack, a toungeless sellsword of the windblown sent to dany, face nearly covered by his bristly, orange beard

gerrick kingsblood*

and his son*

and gerrick's daughter #1*

and gerrick's daughter #2*

and gerrick's daughter #3*

ronald storm, son of ronnet connington

one of the 7 "choicest" enslaved girls from the yunkish ship who were sacrificed by victarion (red-gold hair)

an enslaved redhead boy in line for a well, asking tyrion about dany**

nail, apprentice to hammer, the armorer for the second sons**

maester tybald, redhaired maester from the dreadfort serving arnolf karstark

valena toland, heiress to ghost hill (bright red hair)

teora toland, valena's younger sister with the same hair

uther shett, knight arriving for sweetrobin's tourney (ginger-haired and whiskered)*

*characters whose hair is described in the povs of starks (or jon snow) who only use the terms auburn or red-brown for catelyn, robb, sansa etc. and do not compare said characters to said tully-haired relations

**characters whose hair is described by tyrion lannister, who spent significant time with sansa and exclusively referred to her hair as auburn (without anyone else telling him her hair color as catelyn told brienne)

the only asoiaf characters ever described as having auburn hair:

catelyn tully stark

robb stark (red-brown/auburn tully hair "so like" his mother's, with a beard redder than his hair)

sansa stark (auburn hair lighter than her mother's, most reddish glowing in candlelight)

brandon "bran" stark (hair not bright red enough for him to distinguish himself from young benjen at first glance in a weirwood flashback)

rickon stark

brynden "the blackfish" tully (once auburn hair gone to grey)

edmure tully (auburn hair with a fiery beard, likely brighter than his hair like robb's)

lysa tully arryn baelish

known tully descendants never described as having auburn hair

arya stark (darker brown stark-colored hair)

hoster tully (hair and beard gone from brown to brown streaked with grey to white as snow)

robert "sweetrobin" arryn (fine brown hair, thought by sansa to be his best feature)

fun fact: the only other character that i can find to ever even be descibed as having red-brown hair in the main series is rowan, one of the spearwives who accompanied mance on his mission to winterfell. (described by theon, who had psychological reasons not to think of any hair-resemblance to robb and co.)

tl;dr i suppose my point here is that auburn hair in the real world may be a term thrown around wildly as a fancier way of saying red hair, but grrm and his westerosi creations seem to keep to a much more specific (true) definition. not just specific, almost entirely unique to a certain family, a weird mutation passing down their line somewhat inexplicably, like the magic platinum hair of the targaryens. (ned stark's 4 tully-haired kids being sorta like alicent hightower's 4 targ-haired kids where nobody can really explain why it was so dominant.) except it's actually more unique to the tullys than either black hair to the baratheons or silver hair to the targaryens, with the velaryons also having valyrian hair as well as some people in the essosi free cities too. which i guess makes rowan the wildling the equalivent of an unknown dragonseed or a lysene woman who could pass as a targ, and regular brown-haired hoster and sweetrobin the equivalent of regular blonde-haired alysanne and alyssa targaryen. so the next time someone calls the tullys lame or whatever, just remember that in-universe they're actually more special than the dragonriders, at least hairwise.

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moodymisty · 1 month

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𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝕸𝖊

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Part 1 of 5 - Part 2

Author's Note: It's here! The first chapter of the Yandere Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere Night Lord love triangle(corner) fic! It's going to be 4 chapters (5 actually you'll see tehe) and I drafted a good portion of it in advance so it should be smooth posting? We'll see. Enjoy!

Summary: A Night Lord becomes interested in you while you stand under the eyes of your Salamander guardian, and you find yourself stuck between two titans.

Relationship: Yandere!Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere!Night Lord

Warnings: Hints of nsfw at points, Yandere, Size differences, Very toxic suffocating relationship(s), Some knight/princess dynamics, Demeaning language, Both these guys have hero complexes, Violence blood and bruises and possibly death to say without spoilers

Word Count: 2068

Word travels fast aboard even the largest of ships, you had learned quite quickly.

Space marine legions are not fond of working with one another, was what you had learned first. Many times even different squads within this same Legion can butt heads, as different styles of commanding and battle conflict with one other. Salamanders often try and remain cordial when problems within them arise, but friction was and is inevitable.

The second, was Vulkan was apparently quite firm with his legion that they were to welcome their temporary allies with respect. At least that is what you’ve heard from any Salamander that you’ve heard mumbling as you pass by, or any that have given you a moment of their time. That’s all you know, and these tidbits of knowledge fail to put together a full picture that you can understand. Their lips have been quite tight other than the bare minimum they believe you need to know.

Or what you can get from them if you ask very nicely; Much like the Commissars and Lords you've dealt with over the years, it seems Salamanders aren't immune to a bit of flattery also. You just need to make sure he doesn't find out, as you know how displeased he gets whenever he finds out you went wandering around chattering with his brothers.

Speaking of...

You can ask him about it; You just need to wait for him.

He always visits you in the librarium, once his second round of training is concluded. He then goes for his five hours of rest, and the cycle restarts. Though even if it isn't that time, you know he still keeps a keen eye on you.

You don’t wish to bother him with an issue as seemingly meaningless as gossip, but none of your fellows have been able to piece together what's happening, as none of the Salamanders have loosened their lips about it in the slightest.

It's made you more than a bit unnerved; Knowing that something is wrong but no one will tell you what it is. The tenseness in your neck is worse, and sirens and calls once normal now make you jolt when they sound off.

The large piece of parchment in front of you remains nearly empty, apart from the crude outline. Commander Artellus's face is fresh in your mind, but you for some reason can't put it to parchment.

You hear the sound of harsh, heavy boots on the ground, and turn to see who you've been waiting for coming towards you. You shift in your seat and turn to see him coming.

“Ralkan; You’re back,”

You smile wide at him, a put down the pen you'd been fruitlessly trying to use. The way his eyes look down at you is warm, his helmet hanging on the side of his hip. He stands close to where you sit alone at the massive table, covered in a mess of materials. The ink in your well shakes with waves, when he steps closer.

“You should have been there this time. I feel like I'm missing something now without your curious looks.”

You smile even wider and laugh, remembering the time. He had outpreformed Salamanders his senior, and you wondered if he was overdue for an ascension in rank, or if he was simply showing off.

“I'll come next time. As long as your battle brothers don’t mind me seeing your training again.”

He places a massive gauntlet on your shoulderblades, thumb against the side of your neck.

"They won't, I am sure of it. Though I hope you'll reserve your cheering only for me again."

His hand brushes along the upper half of your back before it slides away, his chainsword hanging neatly on his back. He looks out the massive window to the vast reaches of space directly in front of your makeshift desk for a moment, before pulling his bolter off his thigh and checking it.

He’s always meticulous. He’s been trained into flawless discipline, and it shows in every aspect of his existence. From the way he keeps his thoughts closed to the way each piece of armor and each weapon must be meticulously maintained.

You can hear the mechanics of his armor shift as he moves, but you can only tolerate few more beats of the near silence before you can’t help it anymore. Your pen twirls in your hand as a soothing gesture before you speak up.

“Ralkan?”

You look up to him, sniffling from the disturbed dust in your nose. He turns to look at you as you abandon your parchment, and finally put pen down and place your ink stained hands in your lap.

You hesitate for a moment, pursing your lips and looking away from his hard gaze as he turns back to you.

“What is happening?”

He is genuinely confused by your question for a moment, before he realizes what it is you're asking about, and his face stiffens. But still he doesn't answer. It irks you; Thinking that he’s trying to keep this all from you. You add on to your earlier question.

“I know that you are going to be fighting alongside another legion, but why are all of you acting like it's something you're all dreading?”

Perhaps you might simply be a guest aboard this ship, gifted from Terra to a legion eager to put their deeds to written memory, but you wish to know more than the servitors do. You pull your hands from your lap and lightly slap the table with them, gripping the edge.

“Ralkan, Who are the Night Lords?”

It is so instantly apparent that you struck something in him, as his body visibly tenses and his face briefly flashes with anger as a legion's name other than his own leaves your tongue.

He makes eye contact with you, the burning red of his eyes making your curiosity waver. But you still want to know- need to know. He takes a step closer, and his left hand rests against the surface of the table. He lets out a tense breath.

“The Night Lords are the 8th legion. They," Ralkan tries to find the words, pausing for a moment. "The way they wage battle is in near direct opposition to us Salamanders."

He speaks the name with a stern, cold demeanor. It fills you with a hesitant sort of interest.

These legions; Have they really developed cultures so unique that they find themselves unrecognizable to each other?

“They have no respect. They will cull entire cities for the slightest infraction.” He looks to you, and he catches that your curiosity it still taking hold; You lack the fear that he's trying to instill in you.

He takes a step forward, and you can hear his armor hiss and grind as he lowers to a knee, now only a head taller than you as you sit. He puts his hand on your shoulder again, but it lacks the gentleness it had the last time, as he grabs tight and forces you to face him. You wouldn’t be able to pull away even if you wanted to; And while he is still trying to be gentle, his gauntlet still yearns to bruise your skin underneath your clothing. The seams of his armor dig into your flesh even through the fabric.

“They are going to be crawling over the ship soon. Do not let them even see you. You cannot run from them and they will know it.” His hand makes sure you can’t look even the tiniest bit away from him. “They will take advantage of your weakness. You must stay here, in your quarters, or close to me. I was charged with protecting you, and I will see it through.”

There’s not many places on this ship you go, at least without him. He is your guard, or perhaps more accurately your handler. He is in charge of making sure you don’t wander where you don’t belong, as even if the Salamanders have been welcoming to a remembrancer on their ship, they have their limits. For your safely and their privacy.

This ship- A world for giants, it isn't meant for someone like you either. Ralkan makes it a bit easier to navigate.

Though out of all the titles he's been given, he seems to enjoy calling himself your knight first and foremost. You assume it’s simply a part of their culture, you’ve heard other Salamanders call themselves knights as well. The tone is different, but you assume it’s simply Ralkan’s own brand of oddity. Perhaps he isn't fully cognizant of the intimate undertone behind saying such a thing to you.

Stuck in his grip, your nose wrinkles as you try to say something in defiance, to learn a bit more, but you know this it all you'll get from him. Even if you ask sweetly.

“I just wanted to know what was happening. I'll," You turn your face away from him and blow air from between your tight lips. "I'll stop the questions about it."

There isn’t much you can say otherwise in the matter anyhow. You want to trust him, and to listen to him, but perhaps it’s simply curiosity that makes you hesitate on the matter. Or naivety he probably assumes, as much as that irritates you.

He lets out an audible sigh of relief, and loosens the hand on your shoulder, it drifting up your neck before it cups your jaw. The other joins it on the opposite side, holding your face in his gauntlets. They're so gentle, even with cold ceramite between your skin and his.

“You know I do this to protect you, yes?” He continues, his eyes soft as they gaze over you. “I only want for you to be safe here. With me. I have seen these astartes before; I know what they are capable of.”

His eyes are warm, brow softened. You always enjoy when he looks at you this way, even if you might fear of what lays between you being far beyond the supposed title of knight and his charge.

He leans forward, and his forehead touches your own. You feel like he wishes to do more, but is forcing it back. Your bare hand lays overtop of his gauntlet, and you smile at him.

But after a moment, he leans back away from you.

“I must leave now. My brothers and I are part of the battalion that is due to greet our temporary allies.”

You so desperately don’t want him to leave, but at the same time, you wonder if the weight on your chest will finally dissipate if he does.

He rises, and in doing so also removes his hands from your jaw. His cape shifts behind him just barely brushing against the floor, and you swear you can hear the crackling of a vox channel in his helmet. His battalion must be calling for him.

“I will return soon. Please, do not forget what I have said.” You nod in understanding, and pick up your pen. He smiles at you after you do, and turns to leave. You turn to watch for a moment, until he's out of your sight. You turn back to face the table and let out a sigh, rubbing your jaw.

You didn’t want him to leave, but at times Ralkan can be so, suffocating. His very energy is that way, many of the astartes are, but Ralkan seems to have his grip around you particularly tight.

You sum it up to him being dedicated to the safely of their brand new remembrancer. The sheen of a new toy that hasn't worn off yet. Or perhaps him simply wishing to make sure you don't deviate from the path, and tread where you aren't welcome.

You assume the ladder, though the way he looks at you fills you with doubt.

You aren't opposed to him being fond, but he is so overwhelming. You might consider yourself lucky you think you feel the same way, as you don't know if you'd be able to get free of his grip if you didn't.

You don’t forget his words, but as you write word after word, and the drawing of Commander Artellus's face slowly forms, your mind begins to fall into the paper, and his voice becomes little more than a tickle in the back of your mind.

#warhammer 40k x reader #space marine x reader #salamander x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting #Yandere!Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere!NightLord

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ambrellie · 6 months

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Hello! I wanted to ask for something with Liu Kang, Raiden, Shang Tsung and Cage with all or just one. It would be nice smut. Thank you!

Hello! Of course I can try!! Please excuse me that it’s short and it’s not good enough, it’s been a while since I wrote fanfiction/smut heh 😅

[8:21pm] After the encounter with Titan Shang Tsung earlier that day, your husband’s emotions were high. Too high. He needed a relief from everything. You meet him on the balcony in your bedroom, where he sat and stared into the distance at night. “Liu Kang?” You called out. He didn’t answer. You put your hand on his shoulder and he relaxed. “Calm down.. please?” You whispered. “It’s hard to right now.” He says, turning around to face you. “May I offer a solution?” You asked.

“Liu Kang.. Oh god..” you moaned as he pulled at your hair from behind as he drilled you into the bed. He tightened his grip on your hair and landed a hard smack on your ass. “Does it feel good, my love?” He asks. You moaned in response and he stopped and got close to your ear. “Tell me out loud..” he whispered. “Yes, Yes Liu Kang.. don’t stop please..” you moaned. He flipped you over on your back and pin your hands above your head and continue his movements. His hips snapped into yours harder, signaling that he was close. He groaned out a curse word and looked down at you. “Tell me, who am I?” He said. You whimpered and said it. “Lord Liu Kang..” you said in a low and broken voice, feeling yourself come closer to your own release. “Louder.” He demanded. “Lord Liu Kang” you said a bit louder, moaning, the knot in your stomach tightening. He hand came to your neck, pushing you over the edge. “Again!” He yelled, groaning afterwards and flames forming around him. “Lord Liu Kang!! Im cumming!!” You screamed, fully going over the edge. He moans your name as he finished. You both laid there, breathing heavily, trying to regulate your breath. He comes down and gives you a soft kiss on your lips. “I am sorry for my rough behavior, just now.. I didn’t mean to harm..” he whispered. You smiled. “It’s a release you needed.. I am happy to help..” You said back.

#mk1 #mk1 x reader #mk1 smut #liu kang #liu kang x reader #liu kang smut

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hermesmyplatonicbeloved · 5 months

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An Analysis of Percy's Request for the gods

People like to claim that Percy gave up godhood for Annabeth. Like no??? She had nothing to do with it. If Percy even considered her, he would've realized that Annabeth would've loved to be immortal? She was considering becoming a hunter of artemis in ttc (but couldn't join because she was in love/had a crush on 2 boys) and was offered it by CC in SoM (but rejected it to continue the quest to save chb).

Her whole aspiration is to make something that will exist for the ages so she will be remembered. What better way to remain relevant and eternal than to become a god? If anything he would've turned around and asked Zeus if he could make his significant other a god/immortal like Dionysus did.

Now let's look at the actual reason for Percy turning down godhood.

Percy never wanted to be a god. He never wanted to be a demigod. He actually tries to avoid being the hero (giving Clarisse the fleece in SoM, letting Artemis fight the bad guy Atlas in TTC, and giving Luke the dagger in TLO. There's more but those are the big ones). He actively chooses the mortal world over the greek myth one: every year he spends a mere 2 months at camp and 10 months in the mortal world. There's no way Percy would've said yes to godhood, and none of his reasons for rejecting it involve Annabeth.

Moreover, let's look at his actual request to Zeus. None of it currently benefits Annabeth.

"No more undetermined children. I want you to promise to claim your children - all your demigod children - by the time they turn 13. They won't be left out in the world on their own at the mercy of monsters. I want them claimed and brought to camp so they can be trained right and survive."

Annabeth is already claimed. This request has more to do with Luke's dying request, to help the unclaimed demigods.

What's interesting, however is the wording. We've seen something similar to the statement, "left... at the mercy of monsters," before in TTC. Nico runs away, and after Percy spends all night looking for him without success he tells Chiron. Chiron's response? "Alas, I hope he was eaten by monsters." Percy then spends the rest of the year all the way until BotL worrying and looking for Nico. To this point in canon, Nico doesn't have a home in the above ground world.

This request had more to do with Nico and Luke than anything else.

"And the minor gods Nemesis, Hecate, Morpheus, Janus, Hebe - they all deserve a general amnesty and a place at camp half blood. Their children shouldn't be ignored."

This is similar to the previous request in that it's fulfilling Luke's dying request. Although it is interesting that Percy asked the Olympians to forgive the minor gods. As far as PJO goes, he never meets any of them (until HoO and afterward). However, he does meet some of their children, like Ethan Nakamura. So it's not a stretch to say that this request was made in Ethan's memory; Ethan who was neglected by the gods but was a good enough person to realize what needed to happen and tried to change sides at the final battle.

"Calypso and the other peaceful Titan-kind should be pardoned too."

Remember during botl Percy spent weeks recovering with Calypso? Remember how she saved his life, and fell in love with him and how he was tempted to stay with her? Didn't Percy call Calypso his biggest what-if? Percabeth stans must be rolling in their graves at the realization that Percy's request was more for Calypso than Annabeth. (And don't come at me or Percy for Calypso not being freed immediately, that was on the gods; not Percy. He did his part).

"And Hades [...] Your children should not be left out. They should have a cabin at camp. Nico has proven that."

Remember in bolt when Percy asked Nico to stay at camp with him? And Nico asks Percy if Percy really thinks Nico will be welcomed? And Percy couldn't answer because camp treated him harshly in tlt and SoM - and Percy wonders how much worse it would be for the son of the lord of the dead? It took 2-3 quests for camp as a whole to respect and welcome Percy, and Poseidon's domains are much less scary than Hades'. Yeah. Percy is literally using his one gift from the gods to give Nico a home, a safe space at camp half blood.

Also, it's interesting that Percy is the only demigod that Percy calls out by name, even though what he's doing primarily benefits all demigods.

"No more pact of the big three. That didn't work anyway. You've got to stop trying to get rid of powerful demigods. We're going to train them and accept them instead."

This is the only part of Percy's request that he really benefits from. Since the summer than Percy learned of his heritage, he's been told over and over that he's too powerful/dangerous to exist, that Zeus and Athena and the others are considering killing him. Remember in TTC where its hinted at that the gods were considering voting whether or not to kill Percy? Yeah. This is Percy asking the gods to let him be, to stop lobbying for his death.

Not to mention, in scene after that council meeting in TTC Percy learns that Nico is a child of Hades, another child of the big three. He's immediately adamant about keeping it a secret, against the wishes of both Annabeth and Grover. Percy (unlike Nico) knows that the only reason why he isn't dead is because Poseidon vouched for him. Nico, who's father doesn't have a seat on the council, doesn't have that luxury. This request is as much about Percy as it is about Nico.

So in summary, why did Percy turn down godhood? Because: he wants to live a mortal life, he wants to honor Luke's dying request (better life for demigods), he wants to protect Nico and because he wants the gods to stop having reason for wanting him dead.

Thank you for listening to my TED talk lol.

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elizabethemerald · 1 year

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Son of the Red Hood: Part 2

Timely Conversations and New Fathers

Diana Prince strolled through the gardens of Themyscira enjoying the moment of peace in between missions for the Justice League. Flowers of all manner were blooming and flourishing in the gardens, small birds and butterflies flying lazily from flower to flower. She smiled to herself as she rubbed her fingers against one of the blooms, releasing more of the heady scent.

“Diana!” A voice she recognized called to her from behind.

She turned and midway through the turn realized something was wrong and pulled her blade as she completed the turn. Sophia, her dear friend stood a few yards away, her arm upraised in greeting, though frozen in place. The butterflies were similarly frozen in place, some mid flap of their wings.

Diana turned again, keen eyes trying to pick out any threat. When she once again faced the same direction she had been walking in she saw a grandfatherly being with teal skin and a purple robe. She may not recognize the being’s face, but she could feel the energy coming off him well enough. She slid one foot back as she settled into a fighting crouch.

“Lord Kronos.”

“Peace God-Killer.” The being said. “I have no wish to cause harm to you, your home or this world. Besides, your work is already completed in my regard.”

She stayed tense, ready for any attack but when none came she strode forward and thrust her sword into the being’s chest. Kronos looked down at the blade with a grimace but didn’t otherwise react.

“You are a spirit.” Diana said simply before withdrawing her blade.

“Yes I am. Among my kind I am known as Clockwork now.”

Diana stepped back, but stayed wary of any trick. Spirits were just as known for trickery as Titans were known for aggression. She did not know what to make of the spirit of a former Titan.

“Very well, Lord Clockwork. Why have you come? And what have you done to the inhabitants of Themyscira?”

“I have simply frozen you and I in a single moment. When I depart things will resume as they were before. As for why I have come…”

Clockwork hesitated, and before her eyes aged backwards until there was a young man standing before her. His hand went to his chin as he considered the problem before him.

“I have come to ask for your help in training the next king of my kind.” He finally said.

Diana paused in confusion. Of the great many things she had expected to be asked, assisting in training was not one.

“The next king of the Titans?”

“No. The next king of Ghosts. The last king, a tyrant by the name of Pariah Dark was dethroned in combat by a mere boy. A child, half of this world, half of the next. He has much he needs to learn before he takes up the crown and while I have given him as much time as I can he is still largely untrained.”

There was a lot of information there. Diana felt for a moment that she was sitting in one of Batman’s debriefs. She settled back from her watchful stance to consider the issue.

“If the boy-king needs training, why not train him yourself? Or have another of your kind do the deed?”

Clockwork sighed, Diana watched as he deaged again until he looked like a child himself.

“While the boy is powerful, wise and just beyond his years, in my efforts to buy him the time needed to be the best king the Infinite Realms has had, I have made him vulnerable. If the ghosts who wanted the throne knew of his vulnerability they would take advantage. I am restrained in how much I can interfere. Besides all that he is of the world of men. He needs as much training in this world as he will in the next.”

Diana considered his words carefully. Finally she nodded.

“I will train this little king. Where may I find him?”

“You may take your time to search your histories and consult with your sages, I don’t expect you to take me at my word. But you will find the boy-king in a city shrouded by darkness and cloaked in death, guarded by one to whom the shadows cling. When the time comes, follow the one who calls to you.”

Diana blinked at the riddle and by the time her eyes were fully open again, Clockwork had disappeared and she could once again hear the sound of bird calls.

“Di-Oh! Diana! Have you been training with those speedsters of the world of men? I’ve never seen you move that fast.”

She turned to address Sophia who seemed to be unharmed from her brief moment being frozen.

“Sophia, were you calling for a specific reason?” Diana asked as she turned to her friend.

“No reason, I just was wondering if you would be joining us for a celebratory dinner tonight.”

Diana nodded.

“I may be a little late. I need to spend some time in the archives. I have much to consider.”

Sophia looked a little confused, but ultimately didn’t bother her, she knew Diana had many responsibilities from her work with the Justice League.

“Very well, Diana. I will be sure to save you a plate.”

Diana smiled at her friend and strode quickly towards the Library of Themyscira.

Jason swung through the city of Gotham from one grapple point to the next. Normally when he went through the city he took his bike. The grapples he stole from the bats just weren’t made to carry the amount of armor and weapons that he normally carried on his person as Red Hood, but sometimes, he just needed to remember what it was like to fly.

Now he needed to fly because he was following a strange pull on the Pit. Anything that made the Pit sit up and pay attention was something to be concerned about, especially when whatever it was pulled him to a building just outside his turf. That seemed deliberate. Like someone was purposefully trying to draw him out of where he controlled.

Jason hated the Pit. It was rage and hatred and vengeance, and he thought he had wanted that, but it was also blood and death and threatening his family, and fear in their eyes and their blood on his-

Now that feeling in his chest that burned and turned his vision green called like a siren’s song. He needed to find whatever was calling him. If it was a threat he would remove the threat with extreme prejudice. If not… then at the very least he would remove it from anywhere it could threaten the rest of the bats. No need for anything Pit related to be outside Hood’s territory.

He landed in a crouch on the rooftop that had been calling him and stood cautiously looking around for any threat, or the source of the call. He didn’t have to look very hard. There was a child laid out in the center of the roof.

A child. Alone. On a rooftop in Gotham. If Jason wasn’t seeing green before he certainly was now. He dashed forward, keeping a weather eye out, just in case one of his enemies decided to use a kid as bait. If they were he was going to tear their bodies apart. Their corpse would be unrecognizable as human.

Jason fell to his knees alongside who couldn’t be older than five, a small collection of personal items next to the kid like they had been dumped here alongside the kid. Worst of all was the green glowing puddle next to the kid. It didn’t have the consistency of Lazarus Water and was closer to the thickness of blood. Jason’s hands hovered over the unconscious form of the child, their chest shallowly rising and falling with each breath.

A crunch of gravel at the other edge of the rooftop made Jason whirl around bringing his guns up, his eyes blazing green. When his brain caught up to the fact that the person was Dick it took all of his self restraint not to squeeze the trigger anyways.

“Dammit Dickiebird! You should know better than to try and surprise me!” Jason snapped, his voice harsh.

“Oracle noticed you were out of your usual turf and I wanted to make sure-” Dick froze as he looked past Jason. “Is that a kid?”

“Yes, it's a kid! It’s a kid and he’s hurt and he’s barely breathing and for some reason I can feel him through the Pits!” Jason’s voice was hoarse as he whispered, he holstered his gun, trying to ignore the way his hands shook.

Dick was immediately at his side, kneeling next to the kid. He looked over the other things, the hat, the gloves, a teddy bear dressed as an astronaut. That last one was actually kind of adorable.

“Who just leaves a kid on a rooftop? In Gotham of all places?” Dick said. He picked up the teddy and looked at it closely as Jason returned his attention to the kid.

“Someone who wants them found by a Bat I’ll bet.” Jason said softly.

Dick examined the bear for a moment longer before he squeezed the bear’s paw. Both of them were surprised when they heard the voice of a young woman come from the space themed bear.

“I love you so much Danny, no matter what.” The voice said. They were both just as surprised when the kid, Danny maybe? stirred and looked around.

“Jazz?” The kid said as he sat up.

Jason immediately put a hand on the kid’s back to keep him as steady as he could.

Dick pressed the bear’s paw again and that same voice called out.

“I love you so much Danny, no matter what.”

Danny reached for the bear and Dick willingly handed it over. The boy looked confused at the beat before pressing his face to the bear’s fur.

“Hey kiddo. Are you Danny?” Dick asked.

The kid nodded his head.

“Is your mom named Jazz?” Jason asked. It wasn’t the weirdest idea that the kid would call his mom by her first name, but Danny immediately shook his head.

“No! Jazz is my sister!” Danny had the pouty voice of a toddler who thought the other person was being stupid. “She’s the best!”

Dick grimaced, but carefully hid his face before Danny could see it. A child abandoned on a rooftop and a sister missing in the wind. None of this seemed good to them. Danny made to stand on wobbly legs, but winced and held his stomach, falling back onto his backside.

“My tummy hurts!”

Dick and Jason immediately crouched at his side again, concern clear in their movements.

“Hey buddy, tell us where it hurts.” Jason said, trying to keep his words soft past the voice modulator in his helmet.

Danny grabbed his side, just below his ribs. Jason reached towards the buttons of Danny’s star themed footie pajamas with shaking hands.

“Do you mind if we take a look? If you’re hurt we can take care of you.”

The kid thought for a second before nodding. Jason helped him undo his buttons one by one. He could feel a burning rise in his gut as the top of a scar revealed itself. A few more buttons and he could see where the two up branches of the scar joined in the center of his chest and continued further down. Someone had vivisected this kid.

Someone had VIVIsected this KID.

sOMEone HaD cUT OpEN thIS KID

Someone had Cut open this KID

Green filled Jason’s vision and with the last of his self control he turned away and marched over to the edge of the rooftop. He was going to kill- he was going to tear them- Blood he needed blood- All he could feel was rage-

He felt a small hand take his own.

His head snapped down to look at the hand with unnatural speed. Through the haze of green in his eyes he could see the little boy, pajamas still unbuttoned, had grabbed his hand. Danny was desperately tugging on Jason’s hand, trying to pull him down all the while waving his other hand in the air as if he was trying to waft away smoke or bugs.

Jason crouched down next to Danny. Distantly he could tell that Dick was watching him closely, hands anxiously outstretched in case he hurt the kid, but Jason could no more hurt this boy than he could cut off his own hand. As soon as he was on the kid’s level Danny used both hands to wave around Jason’s head with an annoyed look on his face.

“Go away! Leave him alone, green monsters!” Danny shouted, still waving his hands around in the air. He scowled almost as well as Damian at whatever he could see around Jason’s head.

The green that filled his vision slowly faded. He could still see the vivisection scar on Danny’s chest and it filled him with rage, but the rage was his own and there were no murderous impulses. Jason took a deep breath and slowly released it, letting the tension and fury drain from his body. Eventually he would deal with whoever did this to a kid, but until that time he had different priorities.

“Thanks kid.” Jason said. He could see Dick relaxing in the corner of his vision, but he stayed focused on Danny.

“Of course! It’s why I’m here! To protect you from the green monsters.” Danny said proudly, jutting his little chest out. Then he sagged against Jason, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Now I’m tired.”

“Go ahead and take a nap kiddo. We’ll get you somewhere safe.” Jason said.

It only seemed to take a moment before Danny was fast asleep, his arms still wrapped around Jason’s neck. He picked up the kid easily and settled him on his hip before he turned to look at his brother.

“Dickolas. This kid just ended the Pit Rage by asking nicely. I don’t know what happened to him before, but if anyone tries to hurt him I’m going to end their entire bloodline.” He sighed out. “Until we find his parents or his sister, Jazz, I’m going to keep him safe.”

“Understandable, though he might be safer at the Manor-”

“If you tell B about him I’m going to blow your brains out.” Jason interrupted. He wasn’t going to let B get another kid killed. Dick put up his hands in surrender.

“I’m just saying, how many guns do you think are currently on your coffee table at your place?”

Jason wanted to growl in annoyance, but he couldn’t really deny that.

“Could you come with me?” Dick could have only looked more surprised if Jason had asked to have a family dinner with Bruce. “Just come, keep an eye on the kid while I baby proof my apartment.” Jason grit his teeth for a moment. “Please.”

He could see Dick’s eyebrow raise even with his domino, but he nodded all the same.

“Yeah, of course. What are brothers for if not for babysitting strange children with mysterious powers over the Rage of the Lazarus Pit.”

Jason scowled but the two of them still descended the building together and made their way into Crime Alley towards Jason’s apartment. He kept a firm hold on the sleeping Danny the whole way there.

#dp x dc #Jason Todd #dick grayson #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #Wonder Woman #clockwork #writing emerald #son of the red hood

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racfoam · 3 months

Text

A Killer’s Poem (WIP)

Summary: Harry met her husband in the library when she was twenty. He was an elderly gentleman named Tom, a retired university professor. Harry doesn't know her husband is a serial killer - the same one who carved the scar on her forehead and orphaned her - and when the police arrests him she says that must be wrong but all the evidence points otherwise...

These are only some scenes I wrote for the fic. Thanks to @loneamaryllis for providing some great lines! 💕💕❤️

Harry couldn't believe she was at the police station with Mr Lestrange, the lawyer whose number she found in the phonebook Tom gave her for emergencies. Having policemen drag her husband and cuff him while asking Harry if she was hurt — No, she was not, why were they cuffing Tom — and a detective calling Tom a “sick bastard” after he recognised Harry as the almost-victim of Lord Voldemort (a serial killer who was never caught). He’d pulled Harry away from Tom like Tom would hurt her, and told Tom, “You’re under arrest, Lord Voldemort.”

Harry thought the policemen had gone off the rails. Her husband was a man of poetry and prose, not of a dagger and a gun. He held books, not guns or knives. He was seventy-four, for God’s sake!

Harry insisted going with the policemen to the police station.

***

The police officers showed her the pictures of all the victims. They were all similar, young women with dark hair and lovely faces.

In the files of their eye colour, all of their eyes were green.

Harry tried not to tremble.

“It wasn't Tom.” she repeats, feeling like a broken record. Tom, who was seventy-four, grey-haired and grumpy in the mornings before his tea — or sex. Tom, who quoted all sorts of poems and literature to her. Tom, who took her to theatre and suffered through Titanic with her every time on the sofa, soothing her as she sobbed over Jack’s sad fate.

“I'm surprised he used his former name with you.” said the police officer, and Harry wanted to grab him and shake him, shout that Tom isn’t Voldemort, that Voldemort isn’t Tom. “But then again, you knew him by his alias, Voldemort.”

“It isn't Tom,” Harry spat.

The detective sighed. He walked back to the doors and whispered to one of his people, “Bring her to the screening room.”

The agent looked surprised. He glanced to Harry with worry.

“Sir, are you sure we should —”

“She deserves to see the real him. Now move it, Diggory.”

Liar. thought Harry acidly, glaring at the detective. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar.

***

Tom is on the other side of the glass. The detective is showing him the same photographs of the dead bodies — Voldemort’s victims.

“This isn’t being recorded.”

“I’m aware.” replied Tom coolly.

“You can be honest here. Why did you kill them?”

His smile was dark and menacing, sending terror down Harry’s spine.

In the light, his brown eyes turned red.

Red...

Harry remembered the red eyes vaguely, always waking up in a cold sweat, remembering the crimson red, their flames threatening to engulf her, destroy her...

“Because they weren’t her.”

“It means something different, that sentence, with you, doesn't it?” asked Detective Shacklebolt.

Tom smiled again — that terrifying smile.

Who is this? This can’t be Tom. This isn’t Tom.

“Yes, indeed,” murmured Tom silkily. “If I killed Harry, I would never feel that rush of victory again. It would be completely over. I killed them because they weren't her. They weren't her, so I could kill them, imagine it was Harry, for those precious moments... Without ever truly hurting Harry.”

Tom smiled gleefully, grinning wide.

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” he crowed.

***

“We’ve lost the evidence.”

“Lost?” asked Harry, cringing at the hoarseness of her voice. “What do you mean, lost?”

“We’re releasing your husband from custody at 9 am when the paperwork is done.” said Detective Kingsley; he sounded defeated. “Mr Lestrange is already here, filling out the paperwork. Your husband’s suing us, including for emotional abuse inflicted on you.”

Harry gulped. “I... I don’t want to sue —”

“Your husband’s suing, either way.” said Kingsley with a tired sigh. Harry could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Harry. But at least you know now.”

What was that worth now?

“He's sending Lestrange's brother to pick you up. He... how did he become so attached to you? He didn’t stop asking about you.”

Harry didn’t know.

***

“Does your stomach still hurt?” he asked. His old, slender, large, thin hand reached out to touch her.

Harry scooted away from its reach, like it was a spider about to gorge itself on her flesh.

Voldemort’s grey eyebrows furrowed. He brought his hand back to his side, but his eyes were dark, and his gaunt jaw tense, showing clear displeasure.

“I’ll go make you some tea.” he said. Before Harry could scoot away, he leant down — she flinched, closing her eyes, hoping the killing blow would be quick — and kissed her sweaty forehead.

He stood up from the edge of the bed and left, closing the doors behind himself.

Before Harry could stop them, she burst into tears, the salty trail rushing down her cheeks.

Nausea hit Harry again. Clenching her teeth, she moved her legs to the side, setting them on the floor.

Another bout of nausea hit Harry as she stood on uneasy legs. Feeling the bile rise up, gagging midway through the bathroom door, Harry collapsed against the bowl of the toilet and threw up.

Panting and shaking, Harry couldn’t help as another gag assaulted her, and she vomited into the toilet again.

Harry heard footsteps rushing up the stairs. She tried to get up, but only ended up on the bathroom rug again.

Her muscles felt weak, all her energy suddenly stolen from her by the bout of nausea.

Voldemort rushed into the room, nearly knocking the doors down from the force he opened them with. When he entered the bathroom, he looked insane.

Harry’s eyes fluttered close and opened again. The face of a murderer was replaced by an expression of concern.

By the time Harry realised he was touching her, it was too late to tell him to stop.

“It’s all right.” he said.

No it isn’t. thought Harry, but she didn't say anything, too busy catching her breath, too busy leaning back into his warmth on instinct, on habit.

Voldemort whispered comforts in her ear, and when Harry gagged again and threw up, he held her hair back. And when she collapsed back, all saliva and sobs and tears into his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, as well.

It felt like nothing changed. If she closed her eyes, she could call him Tom in her head again, and he’d be her wonderful, attentive husband.

Harry heard the water flush, and she felt dizzy, just like the spinning water. She felt hands cradle the back of her head and her knees, before she was being lifted up. She kept her eyes closed, focusing on the soothing smell of her husband’s cologne.

The plush, soft mattress was like paradise, and her head was placed on an upholstered pillow.

“Did those fools give you expired food?” hissed Voldemort. The sound of his cold, menacing voice broke the illusion.

Harry shook her head twice. “Didn’t eat anything...”

A hand pressed to her forehead. Grey eyebrows furrowed.

“No fever.” he said. “When did your stomachache start?”

“I dunno...” she slurred tiredly. She just wanted to sleep... “Two hours after I got to the police station. I threw up the first time there, too, but that was...”

After it sunk in you are my would-be-killer.

The silence stretching along made her more nauseous.

“I’ll call our doctor.” he said, bending down and kissing her on the forehead; his lips were warm, and she melted into the pillow. “Stay in bed. I’ll bring you a bowl if you need to throw up again.”

Harry found herself dozing off, aware yet not, finding a bowl cradled in her hands the next time of awareness, then their doctor’s voice murmuring as her temperature was taken, then the pulse, Voldemort’s fingers holding her hand...

A hand was caressing down her hair. Recognising it, Harry instinctually leaned into it. Tom was whispering her name, his silken voice bewitching her deeper into sleep.

“Wake up...”

Harry didn't want to. She felt nice and warm here, on the bed with Tom whispering gently to her...

“Harry.”

Harry opened her eyes. Tom was looking at her, his face stern.

“You need to go to the bathroom, darling.”

Blinking, sleep still weightening her eyes, Harry stared at her husband, wondering why he was telling her she needs to go to the bathroom.

“You need to take a pregnancy test.”

That woke Harry up. Her eyes shot open, stretching wide.

“Very funny.” said Harry, not finding it funny at all. “Taking the piss out of me after everything you did. Let me sleep.”

Harry turned away from him.

“I’m not joking.” said Voldemort behind her as Harry closed her eyes to go to sleep. “Everything is normal. It’s better to do it and remove the possibility of your nausea being caused by pregnancy. That way, we’ll know if it’s a stomach flu —”

“Leave me alone.” said Harry.

Harry could feel Voldemort's eyes boring into her skull. With a yawn, she said, “I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m tired.”

Harry felt Voldemort leave the bed, his weight disappearing from her side, taking his warmth with him. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, and she fell back to sleep. Harry woke with another sense of nausea.

By the clock on the dresser, it was 7am. Voldemort’s side of the bed was used, but he was nowhere around.

Probably in the kitchen making breakfast.

Harry took a bit to wake up fully. When she did, she had to pee very badly, and decided to get it over with. She took the pregnancy test on the night table and went to the bathroom.

Twenty seconds later, she laid back on the bed and yawned, placing the pregnancy test stick on the night table.

When she next opened her eyes, two pink lines on the pregnancy stick were staring back at her.

A surge of panic hit her, and she shot up from the bed, grabbing the stick, then her glasses, because surely she was seeing double...

She wasn't. Two pink lines stared back at her, no matter how long she stared at them.

Harry felt a mad laugh of despair bubble up in her throat, but she forced it down. How was this her life?

In that moment, the doors opened.

Fuck. No time to hide it. No time to fake it.

Voldemort, carrying a tray with toast and strawberry jam, entered the room.

His eyes settled on the stick.

“What does it —”

Before he could finish, Harry launched the damned fucking stick at him — he could read it for himself, the damned bastard — and rushed to the bathroom, locking the doors.

#tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #female harry potter #serial killer voldemort #my writing

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outofgloom · 10 months

Text

THE MENDER

"You've returned! But how can this be? They said there were no survivors after the attack on New Kar. Come in, of course! Come and sit by the fire. You look terrible."

"Thanks, I...I guess I just got lucky."

"That's an understatement. We've heard reports that the islands offshore were nearly wiped clean by the battle. I can't imagine what happened to the city itself."

"It was bad--worst thing I've seen--although the forces of Lord Kalmah put up a good fight, even in his absence. I was in the central fortress when the armies of the...the--"

"--They are called the Brotherhood, I think. The Turaga says that the Great Spirit has turned his back on the Lords of Order, and so now the Brotherhood will carry out his will."

"I believe it. I mean, they came up every street--those shrieking creatures with their staffs. They must serve the...Brotherhood...as well. The soldiers stood no chance, really. Some of them even surrendered, but it didn't matter to those things."

"Best not think about it--the important thing is that you're safe! How did you get out of the city? You must tell me; what an adventure, I'm sure."

"It was! Well, to start with, I was...um...I was looking out from the walltops, and there was a huge noise and smoke in the city. The ground shook, and I ran down the steps. I think the fortress must have been struck by some power, and it collapsed all at once, and I thought I was dead. And then...and then..."

"...and then what?"

"Well, then things are a bit murky. I was alone, I think. It was night by that time. I remember stars. I was hurt badly--my arm and my side, but...but I'm not hurt now."

"Oh, are you sure you were hurt? You look good as new to me."

"I thought I was...It's the strangest thing. I must've been delirious, my mind was wandering or something, but...Say, do you remember some of the legends of New Kar?"

"Which ones? There are so many. You've sat by the Amaja more times than I have."

"I mean the ones about the Founding, back at the very start. It used to be Old Kar, right? And it was named for the being who lived there in the Before Time: Kar, the Mender."

"Oh, I do remember that one--it's a dark tale, my friend. Did you know that 'Kar' is just a shortening of...ahem...His name? The Turaga hereabouts won't even say it. I think it's a bit silly. Sometimes you stub your foot and just have to shout 'to Karzahni with it!', I say."

"Yes...yes, I know."

"But anyways, what were you saying?"

"I was saying...maybe you'll think it's silly then, after all..."

"No, no! Don't say that! I'm just glad you've come back--we were all so worried. Tell me your tale."

"Alright then, as I was lying there injured...or maybe not injured... looking at the stars, there was someone else there with me."

"So you weren't alone then? Was it another survivor?"

"Not quite...So, in the old legends, you know they say that Kar the Mender lost his way amongst the islands one day and never returned to his duty, right? But sometimes, when there is an earthquake, or a battle--something where people are hurt--they say he arrives, and ...helps them. You remember that part too?"

"Can't say I've heard that bit of the story. Maybe you're mixing it up with the one about the, uh, Wandering Toa--the Air-Toa, you know?"

"No, it's not that one, I'm sure. There were some veterans of the first War of Order who would tell stories sometimes. One of them had been left for dead on a battlefield of the Barraki, but as he was trying to crawl through the muck, he saw a figure in the distance. He said it was a giant--a titan with eyes like globes, stooping over the corpses, picking up bodies."

"And did this titan help him out?"

"No, I guess not. He survived the battle, but maybe it was just an old soldier's tale..."

"Well, tell me the rest: What did you see?"

"That's what I've been trying to say. There was...it was...He was there, in the ruins of the city."

"A giant, like the soldier said?"

"Oh, bigger than a building. I sat up and he was right there, stooping over me. I thought his eyes were great stars at first, looking down on me. He picked me up like I was nothing, and set me on my feet. He plugged my arm back into its socket, and snapped my ribs back in place, though I screamed--"

"--I thought you weren't injured."

"I...wait...no I was injured. I was! It was...I can't describe it."

"Hm."

"After that, he just stared at me for a while. I couldn't...I couldn't move at all, under those eyes."

"It was just you and this being?"

"Yes, just us."

"And then he let you go?"

"Well...I suppose so."

"You walked out of the city, right? And came back here, to safety."

"I don't think...I don't know."

"You must have! How else?"

"Yes, I...walked..."

"Well anyways, I'm so glad. We missed you, and the Turaga will be overjoyed to have another set of hands to help with the work."

"Where--"

"--The Brotherhood is making some new rules, you see, and we have to make sure the village is up to code."

"I'm...glad to help, but why--"

"--What a day you've had! But it's all behind you now. Would you like to rest?"

"I'm tired, yes. I'm tired and it...hurts."

"Oh dear, I didn't realize the time. There's no time to rest actually. The Turaga wants everyone to assemble at the--"

"Why are you doing this."

"Why...I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"Tell me why you are doing this. It hurts."

"It doesn't hurt anymore--you said so yourself."

"I do hurt. It isn't...it wasn't done right. He didn't do it...right."

"Don't say that. It was done right. And anyways, who are you to question it? The Turaga says--"

"I hurt. My arm and my side. Please stop. Let me go."

"You are just a little Matoran. You should not speak out of turn."

"My arm still isn't right, and I can't breathe well. You need to--"

"--I need to do nothing."

"Your eyes...they are too bright. They burn my eyes. I want to look away."

"How ungrateful. Why should I do anything for you...any of you. You're all wretches. I do my best work, and no thanks at all."

"Let me go. I am the last survivor of New Kar. I must tell them what happened. Surely--"

"New Kar? What a fantasy. There is no such thing. You Matoran make up such wonderful futures for yourselves in your small heads."

"No...such thing? Ah...it hurts."

"Stop that. It doesn't hurt. It's fine."

"It...doesn't hurt. I have to go--"

"No, you are here now. You always have been. You have nowhere to go but here."

"Your eyes...they burn me."

"Oh my, are your eyes bothering you?"

"Yes, yes, they are."

"Ah, how terrible. But you are fortunate: mending eyes is a specialty of mine."

"Please, what can be done?"

"You are broken, little Matoran. What a shame. The whole world is broken. Every fiber and sinew of it, every wasted rock and stone, every cursed breath of wind, ah...I can barely stand it."

"Please."

"Every dead star-rise and every pointless shift of the gray tide..."

"Oh, please."

"Broken from the start, useless from the start. By the Great Beings, it should all be put to rest--"

"--Please, I am broken."

"Oh, of course you are. But don't worry--not for long. Now, stand still, and let's try this again..."

Please

I am broken

"--and try not to scream so much this time. It distracts me."

Please

I am broken

Mend me

#bionicle #art #writing #outofgloom #fanfiction #karzahni #works

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