#if you need me i am on the floor indefinitely

[technicolourtelevision]

SUCCESSION || 4x02 || Rehearsal

#ken on his austerlitz shit taking the piss out of his dad i cant breathe #if you need me i am on the floor indefinitely #kendall roy #i am on my kneeees #succession #succession spoilers #season 4 #4x02 #my gif #gif #rehearsal #logan roy #succgifs

[b00kdiary]

Dreamer | Rhysand (I)

Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand begrudgingly goes to Hewn City to secure a marriage pact that will indefinitely bond the two Courts together- but the fine ladies of the Court of Nightmares are not what he wants or needs.

Instead, he discovers Lady Y/N, and she has no qualms about telling him how he has failed this City and her. This is more than just coincidence, it’s fate.

Warnings: long chapters, mature content (18 +) swearing, eventual smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

"High Lord, Rhysand of the Night Court."

I reach the top of the dais as my name is announced, my footsteps echoing against the polished floor and the sound bounces through the room, through the tense silence. No one speaks, they barely breathe, as I slowly turn, my face a sheet of ice as I settle onto my throne.

I let a nonchalant smile tug at my lips, the dark mask of a tyrant slipping into place as I eye the endless room before me. A macabre and dreary setting with its ebony walls and onyx ceiling, the beasts carved into the cavernous stone a mirror to the type of Fae who lived in this City.

I emulate the darkness as I lean back, my long legs spreading apart and my fingers curling into the engraved snake form that curves around the throne, the head peering out over my shoulder, my own personal monster.

I cock my head at the dozens of males before me, Council Members, my violet eyes twinkling in amusement as they all remained bowed, knees pressed to the floor, heads lowered and waiting for my word.

"You may rise," I drawl, my tone the picture of boredom, and as Kier and his peers rise to their feet, I see the apprehension and distaste on their faces for me, for my inner circle. Kier observes me, his brown eyes flickering at the prolonged silence. "Kier?"

"As usual, it is an honour to have you here, High Lord," Kier inclines his head, scurrying forward as he speaks, his own mask of reverence slipping into place as he stops before me. "As the steward of Hewn City, I am delighted by your decision to unite our two Courts through marriage, as are the Council present here today."

I see the way my Court stiffens, Mor, Cassian and Azriel all flanked at the bottom of the dais seem to go unnaturally still, the stones in their eyes wholly- unable to hide their disapproval of this whole arrangement.

"We all have our duties, Kier, the Court must always come first," My lips tilt in a mocking smile, and Kier shrivels under the tendrils of dark power that dance around me, an omnipresent threat so at odds with my amused gaze, "My marriage to a Lady of Hewn City will be a victory for us all."

Marriage.

The word tastes like poison on my tongue, any hopes and dreams I had once harboured turning to ash in my mouth at the cold reality I was faced with. To marry a female, I didn't know or love, to mate with her and sire a child, and secure an alliance with the Court of Nightmares indefinitely.

Heavy is the head that bears the crown indeed.

"It will be an alliance venerated for generations to come, I'm sure," Kier smiles, an ugly, wretched sight and I saw Mor shiver in my peripheral, an imperceptible movement, a conditioned reaction to her father. "High Lord, may I introduce to you the fine ladies selected by the Council."

I brace myself, masking my dread with an entertained smirk, drawing on the worst parts of myself, the worst parts of this place to hide the male that roared in warning to me inside. A click of doors opening at my left, and then several soft footsteps echoing into the chamber.

I stare, unyielding and silent, as several young women stride into the room, their heads bowed and back straight, adorned with fine clothes and finer jewellery as they stop at the foot of the dais before me.

They were fine, lovely even, tall, and thin, typical of High Fae female beauty and yet, despite their soft smiles and delicate frames, I frown.

"You can't be serious, even you wouldn't be this cruel," Mor releases a horrified, tight breath and both Cassian and Azriel step forward in unison, an impenetrable wall, as Kier's eyes turn to Mor and his lip curls. "These 'fine ladies' are girls, children, how old are they?"

The room shifted at her sharp words, Kier tensing at the accusation and the males of the Council muttering amongst themselves, their eyes burning as they glared at my cousin- at her supposed insolence for speaking out of turn.

"Their age is of little significance, girl," Kier sneers, that simpering fool mask he wore melting into revulsion and anger as he took in his outcasted daughter. My fingers curled around the throne under me as he spoke, that pit of darkness inside me churning. "They have all had their first bleed-"

"Cauldron," Cassian swore, his dark hair shifting as he moved his gaze over to those girls, and I saw his throat bob at the sight- so young, broken, pawns moved and used in a game of power.

"You're disgusting," Mor hissed, and I heard the pain clawing at her throat, her face pulled into a devastated frown as she took in those girls- and it was as if she were looking into a mirror, to the girl she had once been. "These girls are not chattel; you cannot sell their innocence for your own gain-"

"These ladies are being honoured, girl, an honour that you will never understand," Kier snarled, his emphasis on honour so clear, an indirect assault on Mor's character, on the choice she made to free herself. "To marry the High Lord is a privilege, one these ladies are eager for-"

Azriel's shadows thrum around him, restless, wild, and I knew his control was wearing thin the longer Kier spoke, the longer those girls stood before us, trembling under the burden on their shoulders.

"Enough." One word, low and sinister, and every mouth in the room closed, every Fae in the room turned utterly still at the command.

I grit my teeth, letting the furious power within me radiate into the room, let it dance through the air, brush against my subjects, let them feel the warning, the threat, that I was. I smile as their faces pale, flinching back from the vile magic, a reminder that I could destroy them without even lifting a hand.

"Kier, I am going to choose to believe that this decision was made out of sheer stupidity rather than insolence," My voice is a calm storm, but my eyes- they rage with a current of violence and death, the kind that made males twice my age blanche- and they do. "I will choose to believe that you did not invite me here to waste my time- you wouldn't dare be so foolish, would you Kier?"

I shifted forward in my seat, my eyes narrowing down at the male, and it took all the restraint in me not to shatter every bone in his body, to not pluck his eyes from his head and tear his tongue from his mouth- and he sees that desire to inflict pain upon him in my gaze.

"Never, High Lord, I would not dream of-" Kier barely contains his stuttering words, a mixture of fear, indignation and humiliation lacing through his widening gaze, but like the worm he was, he bowed his head to me in remorse. "It was a grave misjudgement, one that will not be repeated again."

"Good- I desire to sire a child, Kier, not marry one," I sneer, my disgust prevalent across every hard inch of my face as I turn from Kier, moving my eyes across every last council member, "Just as I am sure you all agree, these girls have many more years left to enjoy their youth, yes?"

I make the threat clear in my words, make them clear in my eyes- touch these girls and die.

None oppose me, their hearts hammering in their chests as they nod their head in agreement, subservient and controlled- and a small kernel of satisfaction fills me, that they felt a fraction of what the girls before me did.

"Kier, join me in the Council Room," I stand from my chaise, and as if it were muscle memory, every single person in the room falls to a knee and drops their heads as I descend the stairs. "Let us discuss the consequences you'll all face should you disappoint me again."

***

"Y/N, a union between the High Lord and a Lady of Hewn City is exactly the chance we've been waiting for," Cassandra pestered, her wide eyes pleading with me, but I ignored her again, choosing to instead clean the Council Room for the next meeting with haste. "It's a chance for change."

"Who are you trying to convince, Cassie- me or yourself?" I mutter, raising a dark brow at her as I tuck in the oak chairs, shoving them into place harder than was needed. "This marriage is a farce, and you're deluding yourself by thinking otherwise."

Cassie groans, the sound reverberating through the empty room, and I try to not laugh at her as she rushes around the endless table, her sea-blue eyes rolling as she stops beside me.

"Why must you be such a pessimist?" Cassie demands, her cold, slim fingers ripping the papers from my hand and slamming them onto the table before me. "With a lady from our Court married to the High Lord, we can finally hope, we will have someone on our side- to help us, to fix this Cauldron-forsaken City-"

"And who would that be?" I scoff out a laugh, a bitter, hollow sound as I turn my hard gaze to her, strands of my loose hair brushing my hot cheeks as I move, "Thanatos's daughter despises the Court of Dreams, Kier's nieces care more about fine jewels and clothes than people, and the other daughters are afraid of their own shadows, they would shit themselves at the sight of the High Lord and his inner circle."

Cassie purses her lips at my harsh words, and I frown, sighing deeply at the look of dejection on her lovely face, hating myself for snuffing out the light that had filled her eyes. But it had to be done- some people were not meant to dream.

"I'm sorry, Cassie, I know you wish it were otherwise, I do too," I force back the lump in my throat as I turn from her, hating the way my lip trembled and my hands felt weak, "But this marriage will benefit nobody but the High Lord, his court, and the males of the Council- that's it. They have never and will never care, there is no one on our side but us."

Silence fills the room at my hoarse dead words, and the reality of them, the reality that we were truly and irrevocably stuck in this life, in this cycle of hell made my eyes burn.

"It saddens me that you feel that way, My Lady," A deep, velvety voice rasped from behind me, and the air went taut at the unfathomable power that penetrated the room.

Cassandra gasped, something spilling from her hand and dropping to the floor with a deafening crunch. My stomach twists into knots as I brace myself, all the blood leeching from my face as I turn- to where the High Lord stood, his inner circle and Kier watching on either side.

"High Lord," Cassie choked on the title, choked on her fear and before the male before us could speak, she stumbled down to a knee, her head bowed and her golden hair falling forward to shield the terror on her face.

I couldn't move, not even as the voice inside me screamed and begged for me to bow, to submit myself to him- for I had heard stories of Rhysand.

Of his abilities as a Daemati, able to shatter a person's mind without lifting a hand, of his ruthlessness as High Lord, reducing people to ash with a smile on his lovely face, of all the horrific things he had done in his five hundred years of existence.

And it seemed he saw it on my face, perhaps even saw it in my mind, the nightmares and tales, the horrors spread about him in the City, about the kind of male he was.

His violet gaze narrowed, the constellations in them beaming as he stared at me, as he cocked his head, his lips pursed into a thin line- as if observing me. I shook under the silent act, the unyielding hold he had over me, as well as the gazes of his court at his side.

"Y/N!" Cassie hissed under her breath, her head turning and her silver-lined eyes meeting mine, tears sullying the usually tranquil blue as she pleaded with me to move, to bow.

"Insolent girl," Kier spat, his gaze hard as he glared at me and the breath caught in my lungs as a dark eclipse of magic shot from him, striking against my stomach, hard enough that I lurched forward in pain and then another hit a second later, slamming into my jaw. "Bow before your High Lord."

I groaned as I fell to a knee, the impact of the bone against the polished floor striking through my whole leg and up my body, but that was nothing compared to the throb that burned through my stomach and the cut at my lip, the taste of metal filling my mouth.

I heard a gasp, a feminine sound of surprise and concern from above me as I leaned forward, my eyes pinched shut and every breath feeling like glass in my lungs as I tried to compose myself- forcing down the pain in my jaw, in my stomach, in my heart.

I heard footsteps and then the room went still, as if a blanket of ice had fallen over us.

"High Lord, she-she was being impudent-" Begging and broken words, riddled with fear and my eyes shot open at the sound of a sickening crunch, an agonised scream following it, and the aura of death filling the space.

"No, you are impudent, Kier," That voice again, but now it sounded different- the kind of mercilessness that could haunt a person's nightmares, that could be found in the darkest hollows of hell. "You do not touch her, or any other female, ever."

Another crunch and I recognise the sound now, it was bones splintering, tendons tearing, blood gushing and Kier cried out again, a horrible, strangled sound.

"Leave," The High Lord breathed the command, and I felt the floor shake under his restraint like he was funnelling his power down into the ground as an anchor. "and do not heal that hand, I want you to remember my words today, Kier."

I keep my head low, staring at the floor, unable to look up as footsteps bound away, fast and stumbling and I cringe at the sight of blood leaking against the floor, a trail following after Kier as he exits the room.

And despite the tendrils of pain still wrecking through me- I internally groaned at the thought of having to clean the blood up.

An amazed huff of air left the High Lord, it sounded almost like a laugh, but I didn't dare raise my head. Not even as he slowly sauntered over, his footsteps deliberate and slow, I didn't even look up when that trail of blood vanished, magicked away, leaving behind not even a stain in memory.

He stopped before me, and my heart thrummed so loud I knew they could all hear it.

"My Lady," Rhysand murmured, his voice soft now, like a caress of wind against my skin. I swallow down the bitter taste in my mouth, my eyes fluttering as I lift my head- to see the hand he had reaching down for me. "Please, rise."

I blink at the outreached hand, heat filling my cheeks at Rhysand's tender gaze, any whisper of violence or darkness gone, replaced by something so much sweeter. I gnaw on my cheek, my hand sweating and shaking as I reach forward, gently placing my palm in his.

The second our hands connect, something charges through me, bright and sharp and strong and for a second Rhysand's eyes widen, just for a second, but then he blinks at it's gone- as if I had imagined it.

"Thank you, High Lord," I breathe and his fingers curl firmly around my palm as I wince, my knees shaking and knocking as I rise to my feet. He whispers something gently under his breath, his head glancing sideways, and I sigh when Cassandra rises too, her slender frame curling back as she stands.

I crane my neck to meet Rhysand's eyes, and upon seeing my face, seeing the cut leaking blood at my lip, his expression hardens. He still hadn't let go of my hand, his large, ringed fingers still gripping around me like a vice, calming the trembling shakes that ran through me.

"I apologise for Kier's actions," Rhysand sighed, his dark lashes fluttering as he slowly slipped his hand from mine, moving to the pocket of his jacket, his fingers pulling free the cloth there. My hand felt cold as it fell back to my side, but as Rhysand lifted the cloth between his fingers, my head hazed.

I didn't breathe, couldn't, as Rhysand gently brushed the soft cloth against the cut at my lip, soaking the material with blood and being so careful that I didn't even feel the pain stinging at the touch. I feel the surprised stare of Cassie at my side, of his family at his back, but nothing deterred Rhysand.

"I should be the one to apologise, High Lord," I stutter, finally feeling like I can breathe as he pulls his hand away, and I blink away the fog, clearing my throat as I step back, as I let the bubble, he created around us pop. "I spoke out of turn, and I should have bowed-"

"You don't need to apologise for your honesty or anything else," He shook his head, the soft waves of his blue-black hair shifting with the movement, and I forced myself to not stare at every inch of his handsome face. "I don't punish Ladies for words spoken in earnest between friends."

I nod, uncertainty and weariness shining in my gaze as I take in his intense half-smile, a smile that seems to brighten when I glance at Cassandra, looking equally as confused as me, and I shrug weakly.

"Though I will admit I am rather taken aback by your words, Lady Y/N," I shiver at the sound of my name on his silver tongue, at the way he cocked his head down at me, a purely predatory move, as he spoke. "I would like to hear more of your thoughts on the matter."

Hear my thoughts?

I go still at his easy words, at the question rather than a command, and Cassie releases a puff of air- like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room to placate her aching lungs.

"What?" I croak and then wince at the insolence behind my words, a habit that I couldn't shake in front of the High Lord. I pinch my eyes shut at the way his lip quirks, and my embarrassment is worsened by the small chuckle that General Cassian huffs out. "I mean- I'm not sure that's-"

"Now, now- don't go all shy on me, My Lady," Rhysand purred, nonchalance highlighted in every inch of his muscled form as he tucked the cloth back into his pocket and grinned at me, like a lion before devouring a lamb. "I think we're past the point of formalities, yes?"

***

"There is no one on our side but us."

The words were so hollow and defeated, the type of ruined that spoke of no hopes, dreams, or future, just nothing. And it was hard to explain what I felt at the words, like a sharp pain as if she had reached into my chest and torn out my heart with her bare hand.

She said that they have never and will never care- 'they' being me, my court, the people around me now and the ones left behind in my City of Starlight.

Sincere words, loaded words, spoken by a female behind closed doors, in confidence to her friend- and yet, I had overheard.

I wasn't sure what to expect when stepping into this room and wasn't sure what kind of female I would be confronted with. I had anticipated a female full of loathing and darkness, a kind of anger that would burn in her eyes, that could be seen through every breath she took, in every inch of her skin as she moved.

And yet, as I stared at the girl before me, I was met with the exact opposite.

The other lady, Cassandra, had become a shaking mess the second her blue eyes laid upon me, her breaths gasping from her as if everyone would be the last. She was terrified because that was all she knew in this city; it was all she knew of me.

But Lady Y/N was different- she was frightened by me, yes, I saw it in her doe-like eyes, saw it in the memories that flashed through her mind of me, the tales of my cruelty and brutality, the blood that stained my hands and the darkness that tainted my heart.

But she didn't look away, as if she couldn't.

Here she was faced with a monster that mothers warned their children about, yet she stared at me as if she saw me- and was as beguiled by me as I was by her.

"Now, now- don't go all shy on me, My Lady," I smile, the tightness in my chest easing as a stain tints her plump cheeks, and her chocolate eyes widen, "I think we're past the point of formalities, yes?"

Her friend swallows, audible and thick, as if struggling to get down air and Azriel shifts on his feet, his brow furrowed as if concerned the girl might collapse. Y/N glances at her, and amusement fills me at the small, confused shrug she gives her.

"You won't uh-" She clears her throat, her hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, and I watch every single movement as she tucks the silken strand over a perfectly arched ear, revealing the smooth column of her neck. "You won't turn me to dust, right?"

I snort, a short and amazed sound, and she gnaws on her lip, avoiding the cut there and I have to begrudgingly tear my gaze away when my court steps forward, my brothers half-smiling and Mor looking at Y/N as if she was as charmed by her as I was.

"No, no, Lady Y/N," My mask slips and slips until it's completely gone, and I'm glad that Kier left, glad that none but her saw me like this because it felt freeing, to be in this Cauldron-forsaken place and be able to genuinely smile. "No one will be turned to dust, on my honour as High Lord."

"Please do tell us," Mor steps forward, a small smile on her red-pained lips and Y/N's breath hitches at the eyes on her, at the attention. "Contrary to what you may think, we do care."

Y/N considers, and I can hear her heart hammering in her chest, fast and loud and endless, but despite that she lifts her chin and something raw runs through me at the look in her eyes- the bravery.

"I- I think that Hewn City is a cesspit, full of the worst kind of Fae and every amoral despicable thing a person could do happens here," She breathes, and her soft body trembles with the exhale, as if speaking these words aloud were exactly the catharsis she needed. "And to be honest, I blame you for that."

Surprise- it fills me and every single other person in the room.

"Y/N!" Cassandra gasps, and her eyes seem to widen further, impossibly big, latching onto me and full of pleading, "She doesn't mean that- she must be more delirious than anticipated from the-"

"Cassie, please," Y/N scoffs, a hollow and low sound, and the tension in the air goes thick as they glance at each other. "Someone needs to say it, it might as well be me."

I fold my arms across my chest, my lips pursing as they stare at each other, some internal telepathic conflict waging between them, in their eyes and despite my abilities, despite the fact, that it would be so easy for me to slip into their minds and wade through all their thoughts, I don't.

I glanced back at my Court, who stood just behind me, and their faces were contemplative too- not angry, nor offended, but shocked- here was this girl, no older than twenty, with eyes as soft as a doe's, telling us exactly how we have failed.

"Please, continue," I nod, and I hope my eyes are encouraging, because even if I do not wish to hear her words, she was right, they needed to be said and I needed to hear them.

"For centuries, the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams have been segregated and somehow we've fallen into two categories: good and bad," She swallows, and something aches in my chest at the sorrow on her lovely face, the burden, "But no one is born bad, people aren't inherently evil but growing up in a place like this? What else is there but the horrors we see and endure, what else are we destined to become?"

Another shaky inhale, a more broken exhale, and my magic burn inside me as if every desperate breath from her is like a call and my body is begging in answer.

"Your court has washed their hands of us, all of us because it was easier to believe that we were all damned than to try to help- the small minority have ruined the majority," Silver lines her hardening gaze, and I feel us all, every single one of us, go tense at the single tear that trickled down her cheek.

I hear a strangled sound come from behind me and my burning gaze glances back- to Mor, tears brimming her eyes and her lips trembling, watching the girl before us, and feeling every single atom of hurt as if it were her own.

"Morrigan was lucky enough to escape this City, these people because she had you- but do you truly think that she is the only good person born here, that in all these years, she is the only one worthy of salvation?"

More tears leak down Mor's face and Y/N's, endless, eternal, years of suffering in one single moment and I feel the guilt of my actions barrel down at me, a truth that I have spent years avoiding coming to light, like a thunderbolt to the heart.

I let my magic hold me down, let it root me in my spot- because those tears on her cheeks are tormenting me, ruining me, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and brush them away.

"So, forgive me if I have no hope left, that died in me, in all of us, long ago," Y/N clears her throat, her chest rising and falling in powerful waves and my throat is as dry as sand as she wipes the tears from her cheeks, "I- I think we could have all been dreamers- if only you had given us the chance."

In five hundred years, the mask I wore never slipped, never faltered, never was hard to wear- until right now. Right now, as my gaze locked with her, as I saw all the horrors she endured, because of my neglect, I couldn't even find that mask within me- it was gone.

There's silence, heavy and long and burdensome for what feels like hours as I stare at her, and I don't think I could look away even if I wanted to do and I don't, I don't want to.

Y/N inhales a sharp breath as I stalk towards her and the magic in me dances and whirls and strikes through the air, dark and ominous and wholly powerful. My jaw locks as she grabs out to her friend, Cassandra whimpering as Y/N yanks the girl behind her- a shield, against me.

Brave- so utterly brave. Willing to face off with a male five hundred years her senior and her High Lord, to protect her friend.

A Queen in her own right.

I stop before her, so close that I feel her breasts brush my chest, feel the small trembles that wreck through her body, can smell the lavender and jasmine on her perfect skin. She raises her eyes to me, and I see every ounce of her character, her heart and soul, as she tries to not cower before me.

"How old are you, My Lady?" I mutter, and she shivers under my easy words, her brow furrowing at the non-threat. "And what do you do here, your role?"

"Twenty-one, High Lord." She swallows, her tongue flicking out nervously to wet her lips and my hands clench at the sight, at the moisture on her pink mouth. "My father was Captain of an import chain for the City, I was given the role of Lady-in-waiting as a reward for his work."

I sense the curiosity and shock of my court behind me, the way they imperceptibly inch closer to me, to us, drawn in by my words- by the intention behind them.

"You believe the alliance is a farce, that it wouldn't change anything?" I ask, softer, and my power slips from me, curling around her curved hips and soft thighs, moving through her silken hair and over her sensitive skin- and she shakes her head, unable to speak. "What if I were to find a Lady of Hewn City who shared your sentiments, who desired for change and salvation just as you do- would that make you more inclined to hope?"

Cassandra sucked in a sharp breath, her blue eyes widening- in realisation. And I felt the air tauten, my inner circle going still, knowingly.

But Y/N cocked her head, a youthful move, not seeing what was right in front of her.

"Yes, I think that you marrying a Lady who genuinely cares for this City and its people would be a step in the right direction," She considers, and I can't fight my smile at the tender, sincere, confusion that pinches her lovely face. "Thought I seriously doubt you will find any such female here."

"Hm," A lazy grin stretches across my face, bright and sure, drawing from the feeling blooming in my chest, raw and new and terrifying as I stare down at her, "I already have."

"High Lord? I don't understand-" Her words melt into a gasp as my fingers caress her cheek, moving ever so gently against that sore cut at her lip- and satisfaction fills me when her eyes flutter, a breathy sound slipping from her.

"I have already found the perfect Lady to marry," Her face burns as I run my eyes languidly down her figure, across her entire face and body- and she stills as realisation fills her, "All you have to do is say yes, Y/N darling."

#acotar #rhysand #rhysand smut #rhysand x reader #smut #sarah j maas #azriel acotar #cassian acotar #rhysand acotar #rhysand x y/n #acotar fanfiction #sjm #the bat boys #acotar smut

[krashoutluv]

Ur writing makes me emotional im literally writhing on the floor jason let me take care of u bbg 😭 can u write smth ab him letting his s/o take care of him after a rough patrol? Can be sfw or nsfw

HEHEHEHE THANK YOU ANON!! I GOTT YOUUU

im so proud of this it took long but im literally writing this at 3:49 AM bc of the idea that popped up in my half asleep brain

Taking care of ak!Jason Todd after patrol!! (SFW FLUFFY FIC)

Night after night, Jason Todd would come home to you. Sometimes bloodied and bruised, sometimes frustrated and annoyed, sometimes his feet were dragging and his whole body ached. Tonight he slipped through your apartment window, smooth jazz played so lightly it took him a second to register it. A light in the dining room was on. He could’ve just showered to let the running water tell you he was home, and be greeted with your presence when he came out. But, tonight his eyelids were heavy and his body felt empty. Like a lost ghost, he longed for something that gave him a peace to rest his lamenting spirit. Jason wandered to you, it was second nature at times, he found you sitting at the dinner table working on your laptop.

Your gaze flicked upwards, the red of his helmet catching your eyes. “Welcome back!” You said warmly. Almost in an instant his body felt full, heavy, like he was about to melt into a puddle right then and there.

“Hey.” The helmets voice scrambler hid Jason’s mellowed tone. Slightly frowning underneath it because of its harsh manner, he promptly took it off. After sliding the cold metal off his head, his eyes met yours. You were smiling tenderly at him. Jason drifted toward you, when he got close he felt like his whole body would’ve dropped to your feet and he could in a dormant rest for centuries. As long as you stayed there of course. Hardly noticed how close he stood over you until he felt himself moving down to kiss your cheek. Jason stopped himself, “Can I?” he whispered to you feebly. You nodded to him with that warm smile he longed for desperately. Jason pressed his cold lips to your cheekbone, the sensation of your skin soothed that longing feeling. He pressed another one firmly, helplessly trying to quarrels his yearning soul. Jason caught himself, skin flushed as he dragged himself away.

A sigh escaped his lips and he started turning away,” Would you like one too?” He fixated himself back on you, you were still looking at him lovingly, your finger pressed against your lips, waiting for his response.

Wordlessly he bowed his head back toward you, turning his head for you to kiss his unbranded cheek. Jason wasn’t ready for you to touch that side of him so directly. He didn’t want you to meet the oily black hate, the only other thing that touched his heart, his longing, his ache as comfortingly as you did. The discomfort seeped from him when he felt your plush lips meet his skin, it wasn’t quick, not too long either. In Jason’s mind it was perfection, it made that tar that stuck in his veins seem like a pathetic substitute. It made his breath heavy, all but burdened with a swollen heart. It made him feel untouchable, not in his brutal norm but in a heavenly stillness. It made him scared. That you could take care of him, not just when his body bled but when you filled something enigmatically empty inside him. Something that he could only fill with that hate that he clutched onto like a boy to his mother.

Jason lugged himself away from you. He wasn’t sure what would hurt him more and he wasn’t ready to find out. He sat across from you pressing his callous palms against his face.

“Bad night?”

“Mhm. Something like that.”

“Need anything?” He already got it.

“No.”

He would be lying if he were to say he wouldn’t wish to a star like a child, asking for your ease indefinitely.

i love him☹️

#arkham knight x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #arkham knight x gn!reader #jason todd x gn!reader #red hood x gn!reader #arkham knight x you #jason todd x you #red hood x you #|| 🪼krash responds to u #🪼krash writes fanfic #🪼krash rambles about ak!jason todd #skullkidwithsunglasses

[vampiretendencies]

come out and haunt me, i know you want me — jj maybank࿐

summary; putting words in jj’s mouth after an unexpected pregnancy has you uneasy about the future of your relationship along with a gnawing emptiness of what jj will think. warnings; pregnancy, one mention of throwing up, suggestive, talks of sex, fluff, all of my characters are always aged up but they had to be in school for this so i set them in high school, as seniors, making them 18. this takes place somewhat in season 3, except JJ’s house never got the eviction notice and they went back to school. also mention of luke. did it this way cause i felt like i was i need of a new setting other the chateau (rip it will be missed :/) pairing; jj maybank x fem!pregnant!reader authors note; decided to put this one out, as i have gotten a lot of requests about dad!jj and i’m giving them a separate masterlist of their own. i figured they needed to be in order lol. so i guess in a way this can be considered the first of dad!jj series. cred to gif owner !

You’re spiraling over the life forming inside of you and JJ—oddly enough is fretting about his class project final. Something that would usually be of no concern to JJ, but he actually wants to pass senior year.

Building an ancient, time-consuming model of some old landscape and having an actual child were two completely different things. From opposite worlds and of varying natures.

Spontaneous cravings all the way down to a late period.

It’s instinct really, to skip school and confirm your suspicions— though, it’s pretty much certain. JJ caught on half way throughout the school day, so wrapped up in this project that he hadn’t noticed you slipping away. Sneaking out of the exit door after throwing up rancid lunch. If he was aware, there’s not a doubt that he would have followed. He was the one that showed you that escape route from the hell site on a monday long ago when school was too much to bare— that was when the two were freshmen, for now they are seniors carrying the weight of the future on their shoulders, including the plus one in your belly.

You’d sobbed profusely into your knees, they were pulled all the way up to your chest on that tiled floor. The detrimental pregnancy test, with two lines, is sat atop JJ’s bathroom counter, taunting you in a manner of ‘now you have to face me.’ Debating whether or not to take this as life altering or life shattering. You knew JJ like every crevice in the palm of his hand, but you could never be set on his reaction for something like this. Always prominent in his ways about 'being in this for the long run', could having a baby change that?

You had to tell him, there was no other way around it. For it's always been a do tell promise that nothing goes unsaid in the relationship.

"What the fuck am I gonna' do?" Is all that curses past your lips repeatedly through choked tears.

The tears are not for the tiny being inside you; its fear. The fear of the unknown, or the uncertainty. So young, so much ahead. A small sliver of a thought that maybe you'd have to do this alone.

Your heart almost falls to the heals of your feet at the doors opening and closing, and the throwing down of book bags. Shakily pressing your finger to the phone that's beside you, the time reading 2:30 PM, meaning school was over and you'd have to get your act together to face JJ. Whom, had left you several missed calls and text messages concerning your whereabouts. Even so, it would be of no surprise to JJ that you were here; basically, here every day and home when you had to be, that's how the story goes. It's imaginable that you'll be sticking around as often as you'd be able to, because telling your parents would indefinitely make them disown you. Having a baby with the Luke Maybank's son and the towns 'well-known kleptomaniac' wouldn't exactly be music to their ears. The only positive in that picture is that Luke's not around, you and JJ have been slumming it in his childhood home since. You'd helped him fix it up so that it would be 'livable', and he adored that someone would cherish him that much to do such things. He'll have another form of adoration, soon enough though.

"JJ, a beer is not gonna' help you get this shit done."

You could hear John B mumble at JJ, and as it would to most curiosity strikes. Taking in the push and pull of the standard refrigerator, not far away, the bathroom, kitchen, and living room all but feet away from each other. Easy access to eavesdrop and hear whatever words were to slither out of someone's mouth. God, you swore the walls were bound to cave in and topple atop of you. You picture John B's mouth agape and disgusted at JJ's lack of focus.

"Get's my brain goin', y'know."

His voice that you'd usually get giddy everywhere from hearing, is now taunting you; making your insides turn to mush. Quick to your feet, you clamp your ear to the chipped door whilst fixing your disheveled hair in the mirror, by tucking it behind your ear and wiping away the salty tears with pad of your thumb. Something JJ would do impulsively. As well as, the little pink and white stick that's knocking the breath from your lungs and tucking it in the back pocket of your printed shorts.

"You ready to start?" John B sighs exasperatedly. Aware that his best friend is never prepared for anything. You aren't sure of what they are 'starting' but you can't help but wonder if JJ's caught on, if he's noticed the tendencies you've acquired since becoming pregnant. Already being hesitant on telling him of the stick you peed on, or that this is going to dictate the course of the rest of his life. Is the new formation of hormones within you causing you to twist words or is it plain truth?

One could only hope.

"M'not even ready yet, need to do so much stuff before I'm ready."

It stings; like multiple daggers had been chided at your heart or a million bee's attacking. This only makes since that he's referring to not wanting to be a father, right? What else could he possibly not be ready for? It's assuming, it's jumping to conclusions, but right now it makes a hell of a lot more sense than anything else. JJ's capable of eons of things, being stuck with you and a baby for the rest of his life may not be in his peripheral. He's confirming it right now, you just heard it with your own two ears.

Unbeknownst to you it was a about a damn silly school project and that he would've stretched time and space to keep his profound little family in one piece. If only he'd known. If only you'd told him.

There were no supplies, no class instructions, to justify that it was only a monumental historic copy for Mr. Sunn's class. Just conversation.

You physically can't allow the words to come out of your mouth, for it will be in the form of word vomit after his resonating and everlasting statement. You can't face him, no, not about the life he helped form. Too soon, and too much. Selfishly, he's not ready but you want to hang onto him a little longer. With JJ is where you reside, and you desire to bury the love he's giving you and harvest it deep down; enough for two. He's not prepared, and all you're hearing is this is this the end of all you've ever known.

World record for misunderstandings.

John B was on the verge of speaking, yet he doesn't when the bathroom door creeks open. You appear in frame, a shell of the person you were moments ago, unevident that you'd shed enough tears for a small river. The hiding is beginning, you decide to swallow it down and keep it there. Dreaming up all the ways you'd have to conceal as huge a secret as this.

Trepidation; of JJ, and for yourself and the baby; blistering, mirroring that of an open scar.

"Is that my girl?!"

You're met with John B sprawled out on the vacant leather couch, another thing Luke destroyed alike with JJ. And, JJ's practically jumping from the recliner and swarming you in a hug that makes you form a half enticing grin whilst smothering you into his large chest. His sleeveless arms bulking in size at this gesture.

"Great, now we really aren't gonna' get anything done," John B grabs at his temples in annoyance. The partnered project supposed to be the focus of today. Conscious of the fact that anytime you are around JJ loses all logic because you become the center of attention. As if half his brain flies out the window he's so invested in you, rather than anything else. He gives up on any aspiration that this replica will be finished. You still saunter on about what exactly they 'have to get done', but they are almost always up to something. JJ's out of context words were what gave need be, and you were fixed on that.

"What happened today? Been thinkin' about you like crazy."

"Nurse sent me home."

You fib so harshly that is burns past your lips, the lie is so loud you're amazed he didn't see through it. You mumble into his chest has him releasing you, only to cup your cheeks in a squishing manner. He’s disastrously anguished to maul you with affection, but he decided to spare John B the show.

"Everything alright?"

And he tries to read your wandering eyes, but still taut eye contact is there so he thinks nothing of it. It is when you won't look at him that he's concerned, however you still do.

An 'act normal' practically engraved in your thoughts. When you really want to break away from his hold and run for the hills.

"Just a bad lunch."

"Yeah, that school meatloaf'll get you, baby."

Blonde fluffed out tresses catch glance and your mixed up mind is pondering on what color hair the baby will have. Will the small child be a constant reminder that their dad 'wasn't ready?" Stood together in the open space of his connecting hallway, you'll look back on this in utter agony.

"She told me to rest."

You mutter it softly whilst JJ has a stupid lovesick grin plastered on his face, peering down at you like you are his lifeline. And you're peering up at him, with a small glint and awareness that he'd be gone with the wind when you reveal the surreptitious unknown.

"Want me to come with you? I'll have this wrapped up in like ... five minutes," he's eager that you'll say yes, mustering a middle finger at John B who is sighing in vexation. What he would give to pass senior year, John B fully know's he'll have to beg Pope to do this for the both of them.

It's an immediate no, he's 'not ready', therefore a cuddle is the last thing that needs to happen. Maybe if you wouldn't have eavesdropped you could've just lived in ignorance bliss.

Though it was never the truth.

"No!," you somewhat interject, keeping the cause of all this in mind. "No J, m'really tired, finish what you were doing yeah?"

His grin immediately falls to a pout, he can't force you if you won't let him. Instead he says nothing, shaking his head 'yes' with knitted eyebrows. Pulling your cupped cheeks in closer to feather multiple light pecks to your hairline, each one more eternal that the last.

With recollection that you'd be gulping down this hard to swallow pill on your own.

Coping; all you can manage to do.

Between punching multiple hard to find holes in your bedroom walls and covering them up with posters to gut-wrenching, pillow-screaming whimpers.

How does one ever truly 'get ready' for bringing a new life into this sought out world?

You'd been wallowing in the despair of having to be both a mother and a father, with JJ saying such things— it's nearly certain he'll be out of the picture.

Alike with you, avoiding him on any given occasion.

Saturdays were date night and he consistently topped the last date, because even if schedules weren't aligning throughout the week he'd have that day to make it up to you, how ever he saw fit.

You ditched.

Texting something about, 'parents are on my ass, can't come tonght.'

On all occasions you found a way despite your parents thoughts, so JJ's suspicion is growing like immovable fire.

With that being said, a day later, he was secure in providing you with a loving semi-guilt trip, along the lines of 'if you don't come over tonight you are confirming that you don't love me anymore,' with a dauting smiley face.

Such a baby, unfortunate that he's not prepared for one because they would've gotten along just fine.

The reasoning behind why you are hopelessly distant from JJ in his twin sized bed. He's grumbling and mumbling after you pushed him away with a 'm'too hot right now.' Blankets thrown about in such a dimly lit room, his vivdly colored TV played a miscellaneous movie whilst his bedside table lamp joined in with its yellow toned rays.

His arms behind his head, colliding with the headboard in such a sensous way, shirtless figure scanning yours in yearning. Jesus, he just wanted to delve into your skin.

How could he ever resist you.

If he can't consume you with his fondling embrace, he will caress what's in reach.

Touching hard on his thoughts, whilst the likelihood of raising a baby on your own is arising in yours.

It's roaring loudly, along with the reality that you hid it from him.

What would've been the right thing to do?

A wash of panic prods, with JJ's lingering touch now against your skin. His digits dance like clockwork, ghosting your inner thigh. Before you can even retch out a 'stop' he's beneath the material of your old Bait Shop t-shirt that he lended you. Palming the skin expertly, and while he's at it he inches closer with his breath thick against your ear. Your mouth ran dry, lying still and flat in awkwardness, prying your focus on the random film. The small twin bed not giving you enough time or space to come up with another excuse.

"Missed you so much."

His voice is raspy against your ear, igniting every filament of your body that belonged to him. The hold he had on you, sickening and you are conversant with what's about to leave his mouth.

The more he keeps circling, and clinging to the small mound of your stomach, the more his mind goes blank. It had this particular bludge to it and he can writhe it beneath his fingertips. Horror fills your irises, whilst a bewildering form of fascination filled his.

There's no right way to ask as woman if their stomach has gotten bigger or if they've been eating more. That's like asking to get beat with a bat. You just don't.

JJ has foraged every unreachable portion that molds you and that ... that wasn't there.

That undeniable little Goddamn baby bump wasn’t there.

He’s studied you inside and out, and that just wasn’t there.

It’s freshly shaped and growing with glee.

His repeated motions are coming to a halt and they pause directly in the middle. Feeling for what he deemed this to be.

What the fuck? It runs rampant in his mind— not negatively he just doesn’t know what to think, how to say it, or how to not come off as a complete dick by asking what he’s about to ask.

“Your belly is more round than usual.”

Merely thought out, and not too harsh. Just stating the obvious at the rounded baby bump that’s colliding with his calloused ring-clad fingers. The entirety of his large hand sprawled out in separated fingers. He sits straight up, hairs on the nape of his neck screeched outwardly.

“M’ a bit bloated.”

You don’t take his words to heart as it’s obviously not from that. You smile, lying through your teeth once again. And JJ senses it, this is as pregnant a stomach if he’s ever touched one. His hands fall backward, beaming down at you in longing that you’ll change your answer.

“Bloated baby? That’s— that’s not … bloated.”

There’s no interest in continuing on with this facade he’s felt it, he’s not a complete idiot. What informed John B of chants wickedly and is beckoning you not tell him. You’ve found you way back to his room with reason, so what’s the use in hiding it anymore. The bump would’ve become more noticeable anyway, you couldn’t have gotten away with it forever.

“M’pregnant J.”

You are seated upward now, facing him whilst reaching for his large hands to take them into your smaller ones. Shared hands, facing eachother in criss crossed stances on that same old twin mattress. He shakes his head back in forth in disbelief— how is this real?

“W-what?! When did you find out? How?— shit. I mean I know how … there was the time in the bathroom at the Wreck … and that one time in the twinkie … and-and let’s not forget about the time in the kitchen-“

“J, that’s not important right now, focus.”

You remind in interruption, nagging off his antics about the shared sexual rendezvous. The only only thing … the only fucking thing JJ feels right now is sheer euphoria at the moment he gets to meet the little baby.

Always envisioning of being a father and giving his children all the love he had stored away from the beckoning of Luke. The love he got from his father was convenient love, and after every fight his dreams of the future family he could have grew tenfold.

“We’re having a fuckin’ baby?!”

The fact the you didn’t tell him beforehand is in the back of his mind, but he’s overlooking it in sheer elation. Joy for what’s to come. For even that promise to tell each other everything is not enough to ruin this moment for him.

“Yes, J.”

“Let me see!”

He’s anxiously lifting the bottom of the shirt up, revealing a plump baby bump purging outwordly. And a toothy shit eating grin is plastered on his sweet lips, awe is evident and he’s stricken with amazement. You couldn’t have asked for a better reaction, a better lover. Breezing past the part of him not being ready, because clearly you read into things too deeply if this is his truthful response. And it is, it’s so genuine you feel it in your bones. As he’s colliding his hands with your stomach once more, and connecting his lips with yours in celebration. Molding and mixing them together with ease, an effortless depiction of besot.

If only he could frame this and let it drift on for eternity.

“Carrying our baby so perfect, pretty girl.”

Letting this little heavenscent angel inside of you be a reminder that misunderstandings are a bitch.

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#jj maybank #outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank angst #obx3 #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank x kiara carrera #jj maybank x kook!reader #jj maybank headcanons #jj maybank smut #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagines

[that1emowitch]

At the end of the world / Or the last thing I see / You are never coming home, never coming home

Prompt from @tuna-f-b: Do you still do request? If yes and angst is o.k: what would happend i all the bats died? Like how would the hero community react. The supers alone. Clark having to deal with losing his best friend(?) and the kids he basically co parented- as well as seeing his sons lose their best friends(?) Specially as ships that would be awesome angst

A/N: I'm not crying you're crying (Also, for those who don't know, Izzy is Duke's canon gf and one of the Robins from We Are Robin)

Words: 2504

TW: Mentions of blood, Major character death, Coping with loss, Self-blame, Mentions of relapse (drugs)

“If you’re watching this, I am either deceased or indefinitely unable to continue my duties as Batman. But the world still needs Batman. Gotham still needs Batman. My son Damian Wayne, if he is an adult, shall inherit my mantle— if not, Dick Grayson will take over until he is. In the event that he, too, is unavailable for any reason, the mantle goes to Tim Drake, after him, to Cassandra Cain, then Duke Thomas, then Stephanie Brown, then Jason Todd, should he accept it.”

In the video recording, Batman pauses, taking a deep breath.

“In the unfortunate event that the entire family is… deceased… I have a list of contingency plans on both the Bat-Computer and the Justice League’s primary databases. Oracle will help you access it, but in her… absence… the password is “a6ghr83kc02m”.”

Then video-Bruce takes off the cowl, his pale blue eyes looking straight into the camera.

“I know I was never the best with feelings. But I would like my children, my allies, and friends to know that I’m proud of you. And to my fellow Justice Leaguers… Diana and Clark, I am truly grateful for your companionship. I would never have made it this far without you. Barry, Arthur, Dinah, J’onn, you’ve all been good friends. Oliver, Hal… you’re not so bad either.”

Bruce turns around, and looks over his shoulder, the shadows of the Batcave making the scene even more dramatic.

“I wish you good luck.”

Then the clip ends.

A shuddering breath leaves Clark.

It’s real.

He’s really… They’re all…

He can’t do this anymore. He turns around and walks out the door, leaving the other core Justice Leaguers staring sombrely at the now-blank screen.

He doesn’t know when he started flying, when he started trying to escape. The walls of the Watchtower seem to be suffocating him, but he has enough sense not to just leave the airlock yet.

Instead he finds a corner by a window, far, far away from the others, where he can see a majestic view of Earth, the moon, and the Sun in perfect sync with each other.

He falls to his knees.

His breathing’s uneven, a tear rolls down his cheeks.

Then he feels a hand on his shoulder— soft, trembling, yet steady.

“Kal,” Diana whispers, sitting on the floor next to him. She doesn’t continue— she isn’t sure what to say.

“They’re all going to die, you know? We’re going to bury all of them. Everyone on Earth, everyone we know.” Clark’s voice trembles, in a way Superman’s never does. “It scares me so much.”

“Kal,” Diana says again, pulling Clark into a hug. “It’s okay. We’ve lost… We’ve lost so many of our friends. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to grieve.”

“How are you— how are you so—” Clark can’t form his words properly. He turns to Diana, to see her face tight with grief, eyes misty with unshed tears.

Her voice breaks slightly as she speaks. “I don’t want to believe they’re gone. But… we have to carry on. We’re the Justice League. Our people need us, Kal.”

“So we just go on and on? Forever?” Another tear runs down his cheek. “Ollie, Hal, Dinah, Lois, Jon, they’re all going to… they’re all going to die one day and we just have to… to go on?”

“I’m sorry, but it is the truth,” Diana whispers, her eyes stinging with hot tears. “We must find peace in the fact, right now, that Batman— Bruce, the Robins, they— they were so brave. Brave till the end. And they fell as warriors, defending our world. I’m sure they’ll all reach Elysium.”

“And Dickie, Damian, Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke—” Clark’s voice is hoarse. “They were so young, just kids… I… I know Dick, Jay, Tim, Cass… they were adults, but… they’re gone, they’re gone…”

“They were heroes, like you and me. Don’t forget that.”

“I… I know, I just—” Another shuddering breath escapes Clark. “I just— I…”

“It’s okay,” Her voice is forcefully steady, but with an undertone of heartbreak. “It’s okay…”

Dinah looks around the room, her heart heavy.

Clark has left, Diana’s gone after him— both of them need their space, she knows. They were close to Bruce and the other Bats in a way no one else in this room was.

Was.

The word still weighs down on her.

Hal speaks up finally, breaking the deafening silence. “I always thought he hated me.”

No one replies for a long moment.

“I miss the kids,” Barry says finally, his voice quiet. “They were just… Robin was only 14. The others, even Nightwing, they had… they had their whole lives ahead of them.”

More silence.

“Jason, when he was Robin— do y'all remember? Kid was always my favorite,” Ollie says finally. “Was always so sassy. Roy loves him.”

Loves. Dinah winces, but doesn’t correct him. It’s easier to believe they’re just gone for a little while.

“Bruce was a good man,” Arthur adds. “They all were.”

“Tim was, I believe, the smartest,” J’onn says, somber. “It was his plan that allowed us to save Earth.”

“Damian!” Dinah says suddenly, jumping from her seat. “His… his mother. She shouldn’t have to find out from someone else.”

Everyone freezes, faces tight.

Dinah sighs, looking down. “I’ll do it.”

Then she leaves the room, dragging what feels like a heavy weight tied to her soul. She has to do this.

Roy’s sitting in a corner of his apartment, hugging his knees. All he can think of is Jason.

He’s never coming back.

He can still feel the lingering ‘goodbye’ kiss Jason gave him not two days ago, he can still hear him say, “I’ll be back before you know it, babe.”

He never came back.

He’s dead. Dead— dead dead dead DEAD DEAD—

“Small Red not okay?” A booming voice snaps Roy out of his thoughts. He looks up to see Bizarro’s pale blue skin and cold eyes looming over him. He’s crying. “Red him coming back.”

It takes Roy a second to register that Bizarro speaks backwards. It takes everything in him to not punch him for saying that, for giving him false hope.

He feels something he hasn’t felt in years— feels that whisper in his mind— one hit and it’ll all feel better. Just one hit.

NO! He screams mentally. He feels like bashing his head open.

Instead he lifts his dead eyes to survey the rest of the room— Kori’s on the couch, staring into space. Artemis has a crying Lian in her arms, she’s showing her something— old photos of Jason. Talking, whispering in a broken voice.

No, no he should be the one comforting Lian—

What’s he gonna say?

That— That Jason— That her Papa’s gone forever? That he’s never— he’s never coming back?

No— Jay— Jay deserved so much better, he— he already died once before, he’s been through so much, things were supposed to be better now— not— no, he’s— 

Roy feels Bizarro sit beside him, gently patting his arm.

He snaps out of his thoughts again, turning to Jason’s former teammate, his eyes red-rimmed. His voice raw, he whispers, “Jay’s gone…”

Wally’s standing in the Hall of Heroes, staring up at the holographic projection of Dick— he looks so majestic, so mighty, staring ahead with nothing but hope and courage in his eyes.

Nothing like the cold, dead body that Wally held in his arms just two days ago.

He’s surrounded by his teammates, his friends— Kaldur, M’gann, Artemis, Zatanna, L’gann, Garth— yet he feels so alone.

He sees it again— Dick bleeding out it his arms, his wounds so fatal he died before help arrived. Wally’s the fastest man alive, damn it, yet he couldn’t even save his best friend— his boyfriend. He feels the moment when Dick’s breathing stopped, when his body went limp, when his grip on Wally’s hand loosened.

Everyone’s quiet. M’gann’s stress baking again, L’gann by her side. Artemis and Zatanna are sitting together, Garth’s lingering in a corner, and Kaldur’s standing right beside Wally— close enough for comfort but not so close he’s lurking. He’s shaking.

He can still hear it, hear Dick forcing out his last words, telling Wally it’s okay, that he loves him, that it’ll be fine.

It’s not fine. Not without you.

He wants to scream.

He wants to cry, yell, hit something, do anything.

But he can’t move.

So he just stands there, almost as still as the holographic projection of Dick before him.

Kon is left reeling.

Tim… Tim is…

Tim’s dead.

Tim’s really gone.

He thinks, for just a second, that this is how Tim and Cassie must have felt when he and Bart “died”.

Bart is sitting beside him on the couch, leaning on his side, Cassie’s got her head on his lap. Neither of them speak— Bart’s not even fidgeting— they’re all just trying to be there for each other.

The other Titans are up and about, but staying close for comfort. Jaime and Gar are making food for everyone in the kitchen, Raven and Vic have come back to the tower to make sure the others are okay, and he’s sure Karen’s around too, somewhere.

Yet he feels so empty.

Feels nothing at all.

How can he, when his best friend is dead?

Jon hasn’t spoken in a bit. Not when his Mom brought him his favorite soup, not when Grandma and Grandpa showed up to ‘help’ him and Dad through this, not when Krypto plopped down beside him to comfort him.

He hugs the dog close.

Krypto’s technically Kon’s, but Jon’s sure Kon wouldn’t mind if he stole Krypto for a day.

Another sob escapes him, and he buries his head in Krypto’s back. The dog whines, licking Jon’s hand.

He can’t believe Damian’s gone. 

Really gone.

And he didn’t know just how much he would miss his friend.

Dinah finds Talia Al Ghul on a building in Metropolis, overlooking the city. Her face is tight with sorrow, but she keeps herself in check, her back straight, head held high.

She already knows, Dinah deduces.

“I… I’m sorry,” Dinah starts, unsure of what to say. She knows, from her experience as a psychologist, that ‘sorry’ is the last thing a grieving person wants to hear, but she doesn’t have anything else to say.

Talia doesn’t reply for a long time. Then she says, her voice numb, “I should have known, when bringing Damian into this life, that I would also be bringing him amidst the dangers that come with.”

Dinah’s brows furrow. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything at all.”

“I should have trained him better, I should have kept him close, I should—” Talia takes a shuddering breath. “I should have never brought him into this life.”

Dinah can’t argue with that— she knows how Damian had come to be, and it… wasn’t the best birth ever.

“Now leave, hero,” Talia says, her voice numb and cold. “Go back to protecting the world. Leave me be.”

Dinah wants to say something better, comfort the woman, but she can’t. So she just turns back, and leaves.

By the time Harper Row makes her way to the Clock Tower, there’s already quite a crowd there— Kate, Renee Montoya, Harley, Ivy, Silena, and Helena Bertinili— they’re crowding around Babs, comforting her. Luke Fox and Isabella Ortiz are at the computer, looking through something.

Harper tries to open her mouth to speak, but she can’t get the words out.

She makes her way over to Luke and Izzy, shoulders hunched.

Just three days ago she’d been hanging out with Duke and Izzy and Cass and Steph— they’d all been so carefree, so happy…

And now…

Once she gets close enough she realizes Izzy’s crying, and immediately wraps her arms around the shorter girl. Harper’s trying to hold back tears of her own, too. She feels Luke putting a hesitant hand on her shoulder, squeezing tight.

No one speaks for a long time, they just stand together, seeking comfort in each other.

Then Babs rolls her wheelchair to the center of the room, wiping at her bloodshot eyes. But when she speaks, she sounds surprisingly steady. She’s compartmentalizing, Harper realizes. Putting away Barbara and bringing Oracle back.

“Gotham needs her heroes, now more than ever,” Oracle says, head held high. “We must honor our friends by doing the one thing they’d have wanted— to keep fighting. Keep Gotham safe.”

She sighs, her face tight to fight away tears. “Luke. Batman’s contingency plan, in the Robins’ absence, was to pass you the mantle of Batman. Do you accept?”

Luke’s eyes grow wide slightly, but he straightens himself, looking away. “I… I accept. Dad isn’t going to be happy, but… Gotham needs Batman.”

“Thank you.” Oracle nods at him. “As per Bruce’s will, all Wayne assets, the Manor, and the Batcave are split between Kate, me, Alfred, and Lucius. I… Lucius and I are still figuring out who’s going to take over Wayne Enterprises, but on the vigilante side, I’ve got a plan.”

She turns to Ivy, Harley, Kate, Silena and Helena. “The Birds of Prey are needed here, now more than ever. Dinah— Black canary has offered to help us with Gotham, too.” 

Harley nods, sniffling. Beside her, Ivy speaks up, “The… Most Rogues aren’t happy about this. They’re not rampaging— Bane has fashioned his own version of the Batsuit, he’s going around ‘saving’ people, screaming that Batman never dies. The Joker’s searching for Lazarus Pits and Bruce’s body. Jervis Tetch and Nygma held a get-together yesterday, in the memory of the Bats. I… I think they might help us.”

Harper’s gotta admit, she’s quite surprised about this. Even Babs freezes, taking in this information.

“Gotham needs Robin as much as she needs Batman,” Izzy speaks up from beside her, her voice small but firm. “The Robins can come back, this time you can give us formal training so we can actually help.”

Oracle turns to Luke. “Taking on Robins is your decision, Batman.”

Luke winces at that title— it doesn’t feel like an honor to him, it just feels like an incessant reminder that he’s the last one left. Because his friends are dead. But he nods, anyway, not trusting himself to speak right now.

Then Oracle addresses Harper. “I… would you like to be Batgirl?”

Harper’s heart stops. Memories flash into her head— seeing Steph in the Batgirl costume, seeing Cass in the Batgirl suit, both of whom are now gone.

“N— No,” Harper stutters out, eyes tearful. “I can’t— I’m sorry, Babs. I appreciate the offer, but… Cass was Batgirl. I can’t take her place.”

“I understand.” Babs just nods, lips pursed, misty-eyed. “We will all need to work hand-in-hand until everything settles, we will need to be vigilant. Carry on Batman’s legacy, for as long as we may need to.”

No one speaks again.

They all just let it sink in, hearts heavy.

They’re going to have to do this alone now.

#batfam #batfamily #justice league #core four #bruce wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #duke thomas #harper row #barbara gordon #luke fox #jayroy #dickwally #birdflash #timkon #damijon #jla

[ghostradiodylan]

do u have a favorite aspect of a blood pact au? is there a specific set of counselors u prefer to be infected over the others for postgame fancontent?

-cas @chrashley

Okay so I am going to confess to something right now… I’m not actually the biggest blood pact fan! And by that I mostly mean blood pact as in them becoming werewolves and just being content to stay that way and living as a pack indefinitely (other than the meowclops one because it’s hilarious and meowclops is always immaculate). Like I get the appeal of that but I don’t think they’d really be okay about it like they are in some AUs. I like it more when they’re still working to figure things out and get themselves cured, though I think obviously you can tell a compelling story either way.

(And the less A/B/O vibes the better IMO. I just don’t see the appeal of a sexual caste system unless the whole point of the fic is to upend those expectations.)

I think the best thing about blood pact though, as the characters try to navigate being infected for however long they need to, is how much you can have it brush up against the ordinary world and be infused with realism. I love Jacob and Nick buying out the butcher shop in They Say I’m Dancing With My Demons. The use of outsider POV there really works to reinforce that boundary between the infected counselors and the ‘normal’ world and it makes it so funny. I love Ryan’s grandmother saying “I fed a wolf-man salami on my kitchen floor last night,” in As We’ve Done Before (shoutout @insertlovelyperson) I love seeing ordinary people try to find ordinary solutions to extraordinary problems, it’s just so much fun.

As much as I love the angst of werewolf infection (what have I become? Is this who I really was all along just being allowed to come out? Am I responsible for the people I might hurt when I’m transformed, etc) the fish out of water comedy of it always hits so hard for me!

As we’ve discussed, I’m all about duality and getting to be surprised with the unexpected, so seeing softer/meeker characters as werewolves is always fun for me. Like, all the counselors are kinda soft one way or another tbh but I love to see someone like Abi or Dylan really cut loose in a feral rage. Ryan too, we never got to see him really lose control and I think maybe that would be good for him to just vent some pain. I love the pre-transformation expressions of their insecurities and hidden fears too. I guess I mostly just crave whatever we never get in the game!

(They should have let Dylan eat people. I would hate that for him but it should have been an option.)

#the quarry #blood pact #ryan erzahler #dylan lenivy #abigail blyg #let my boy eat people #beautiful asks from beautiful people #ask bunny #thanks for the ask cas

[kimaixun]

[The Last Wish] [SKZ Han JiSung x SKZ Lee MinHo]

The Sequel

‼️Breaking News! JYP Entertainment announces the passing of our beloved F/N M/N‼️

A week after M/N’s passing and a small funeral ceremony, only dedicated for close family and friends, the news was finally disclosed. Everyone was shocked and dismayed. Some even speculated that M/N had committed suicide because of the break up he had went through and Han JiSung was put under the bus.

SKZ went into hiatus immediately mainly because of two reasons. M/N was their closest friend, family member and they needed to mourn indefinitely to where their heart would take them. M/N was with them since the start and there was no way he could be forgotten in any way. To SKZ, M/N was their advisor, the parent of the group, a significant being who had always been there for them.

It was a day after the funeral ceremony when Chan had told Lee Know to meet him at the late’s M/N studio. Lee Know obeyed and went over to the studio. When he entered, Chan was sitting on the chair, staring onto the computer’s blank screen, tears streaming down his tears albeit the emotionless expression. Lee Know closed the doors behind him and went over to the leader. He was about to invite himself onto the chair next to the leader only to have the leader standing up and punching him across his face. 

Lee Know stumbled to the floor at the forceful blow, immensely taken aback. Chan had his fist clenched tightly still even after the punch; his breathing was heavy as he finally let out a cry. Lee Know knew that he deserved the punch. The only possible reason could be maybe Chan knew something. 

“He told me not to punch you or hurt you but, i can’t help it!” Chan yelled in frustration, falling onto the couch and he cried harder. 

Lee Know gathered himself before cautiously taking a seat beside the leader. He wraps an arm over his shoulder, comforting the older. It took a while for the leader to calm down and once he did, he mutely gave the dancer a black book. The two spent the next five minutes staring from the book to each other than back to the book. 

“I knew what had happened. I knew you and JiSung are in a relationship prior to their breakup. M/N told me everything. First of all, I’m sorry i punched you because i am very sure you know why and now, i happen to break one of M/N’s promise.” Chan sighed, “I can’t help it. If JiSung was here, i would punch him too, honestly.” 

A light chuckle left Chan’s lips as he finally calmed down, “the day M/N told you to bring JiSung to the training room was supposed to be the day M/N propose to JiSung. M/N saw you guys kissing, that was why he did not appear in the training room. He told me that he did not realise that 6 hours pass by just like that as he locked himself in this very studio. M/N was punished with the hanahaki and he did not deserve it. For two months, M/N suffered with the disease. The doctors told us there was no hope left unless JiSung would fall back in love with him or have a surgery to get it removed with the consequence of not being able to feel anything. He chose not to do anything with JiSung anymore because he saw how happy he looked with you.”

Chan got up to take a black velvet ring box, “before he collapsed the other day, he gave me this. He said you would need it when it’s time for you to propose to JiSung.” Lee Know took the ring box, opening to see a shiny diamond ring with JiSung’s name engraved on it. “Please tell Lee Know to take care of JiSung, make him happy. That was M/N’s last words to me before he was wheeled into the emergency room. So, it’s all in your hand now. The book is for you and JiSung. I hope you could fulfil M/N’s last wish.”

********

Han JiSung found himself in the tub, filled with white petals as tears stream down his cheeks. He had been unwell ever since M/N’s passing and discovering about the Hanahaki disease he know had was just an unfortunate bonus. Han JiSung could not stop thinking of his late ex boyfriend. Everything seems to have crash down on him.

“Sungie~, are you okay in there?”

JiSung panicked upon the voice, he cleared his throat, croaking out a reply as he gathered all the petals, throwing them into the toilet bowl, “I….I’ll be out in a minute.” He felt the regret as he flushed down the system. He washed his face before going out of the washroom, meeting Lee Know. He screened the latter’s face, seeing a forming bruise on his left cheek. “Your face…. What happened?”

“Nothing much. Are you okay? It’s almost two weeks you’ve been throwing up and coughing. I think we should see the doctors.” Lee Know said.

JiSung shook his head subtly before making his way over to their bed. He could see a black book on it. Curiosity had him. JiSung picked up the book, turning to the dancer, “what is this?”

“This belonged to M/N. We should read them together.”

JiSung could feel the ache in him as he plopped down on the bed, the book on his lap. His hands trembled as tears, once again made their way down his cheeks. Lee Know sat next to him, putting an arm around his shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze as he opens the book.

‘As I laid eyes on you, the world stopped. You stood there, grinning as Chan introduced me to all of you but, out of all of you guys, only you, Han JiSung caught my eyes.’

‘I joined in the practice today because I was suppose to help Chan after the practice on song writings but, he had something to do urgently. So instead, I stayed back with you in the training room and we had our first ball dance after we joked about High School Musical. It was euphoria as I felt my heart sparks into fireworks when I held your hand.’

‘I realise I started to like you. I like the way you smile, I like the way you are passionate about your career, I like the way you persevere in everything and there is so more to it that I swear I can write a 10 series book about it. I think I might just love you.’

‘You had a breakdown from the recent dance practice. It keeps getting harder and you were exhausted. You begged to be held and I held you in my arms, assuring you softly.’

‘I finally decided that I am in love with you and today just happened that I confessed to you. You accepted my confession and I cannot describe how happy I am. I love you, to eternity and beyond.’

JiSung sniffled as Lee Know gave him a cup of tea. They had decided to take a pause from reading the black book once owned by M/N. Lee Know could feel the tremble from the rapper as he sat next to him.

“Let’s stop for the night and continue tomorrow. Let’s get you to bed, you need the rest please.” Lee Know told the rapper as he placed the black book onto the nightstand, pulling JiSung to bed.

JiSung followed the latter as they tugged themselves under the covers. The rapper shifted closer to the dancer until his back met his chest. He felt Lee Know’s arm around his waist , giving him a tight comforting hug. JiSung sinks into his hold, letting a sob soft out. He felt the itch on his throat as he cries but, he knew he couldn’t cough. He shouldn’t cough because, a petal might just be out.

The next morning, JiSung forced himself out of bed, taking a warm shower and got ready. Lee Know was still fast asleep beside him and he doubt any of the member would be awake too. He grabbed his belongings and the black book on the night stand before tiptoeing out of the room. A sigh of relieve left his lips seeing no one in the living room. The rapper exited the dorm and made his way towards late M/N’s studio. He felt the tears accumulate in his eyes as he entered the studio.

“Hi love. If you’re somewhere up there watching me, I miss you, a lot.” JiSung mumbled to himself as he sat on the roller chair. He finally opened to where he last stop reading and continued.

Lee Know woke up in panic, feeling the empty space next to him. He jolted out of bed, running out the room, searching everywhere around the dorm but, failed to find none other than Han JiSung. He barged into the leader’s room, waking the latter up in the process. Lee Know became even more panic-stricken. He jumbled on his words, trying to croak out that JiSung was missing. Thankfully, The leader understood and got out of bed, waking the rest of the guys.

Lee Know ran as fast as his feet could bring just to everywhere he could think of JiSung could have gone. His mind went out of the line showing him pictures he didn’t wish to see. He was worried. Anything could happen to his lover and only god would know what. JiSung could be out there doing something deadly and even be dead by now. Lee Know stopped for a second, shaking his thoughts away. He took a deep breath in and calm himself down before making his way to that one place that happens to pop up in his mind.

The cemetery.

Lee Know thanked the world for showing him where JiSung was. He could finally breath as he walks over silently from behind to where the rapper was. The rapper sat cross legged in front of M/N’s tomb, the book still in his hand. Lee Know felt something wrong. He wasn’t facing the rapper but he just knew something was not right. As he nears the rapper, he could hear the soft sobs from the latter.

“Sungie~” Lee Know called out. JiSung jolted in shock as he turned to the voice and Lee Know gasped. JiSung had white petals all over him and a stream of blood ran down the corner of his lips.

Hanahaki

“I….I can explain.” JiSung stuttered.

“No,” Lee Know replied sternly, “there is nothing for you to explain. You’re coming with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Hyung, M/N had Hanahaki disease because of me. For two months, he suffered so let it be, let me be the one suffering this time. I deserve it.” JiSung cried.

“And then what? It’ll be my turn to suffer?” Lee Know yelled, out of the worrisome, “so one day you will pass on just like how M/N did and leave me alone? I love you JiSung and you know that. Trash around, hit me, curse at me all you want but, I’m taking you to the hospital. We’re getting the surgery.” The dancer swept JiSung off the ground and begin walking away from the tomb. JiSung trashed around like kid, hitting Lee Know wherever he could reach for. Lee Know felt his heart break hearing the cries grew softer and softer until JiSung finally gave in, lifelessly hanging on Lee Know’s shoulder.

It was pure silence as JiSung laid on the hospital bed and Lee Know sat right beside him. They had settled down in the hospital after registering for the Hanahaki removal surgery, only waiting for their turn to be called on.

“Sungie~, listen.” Lee Know sighed, “I’m sorry I’m forcing you to this but, please, I just need the best for you. I can’t afford to let you suffer with the hanahaki the way M/N did and I made a promise. I love you, Sungie but, please. This is your only chance to stay alive.”

“What’s the point of staying alive anymore? Hyung, I will lose the capability to love someone after the removal and do you really think you could make me love you?”

Without hesitation, the dancer answered, “yes and I swear to eternity and beyond that I will love you and I will make you fall for me one way or another.”

“Really?” JiSung’s eyes softened as he felt the sincere words from the dancer. Lee Know nodded and grabbed the rapper’s hand.

“M/N’s last wish is for me to take care of you and make sure you’ll be happy and I will make that happen. Han JiSung, I am going to propose to you to be my forever and always.” Lee Know opens the black velvet ring box, “this was the ring M/N wanted to give you. I assume you have read the book finish so you know what was supposedly going to happen. Even though it is not M/N who is proposing to you, I want you to think that it is. I will take care and love you for the rest of my life and M/N will be watching over us, always.” The dancer slips the ring into JiSung’s finger.

“To eternity and beyond of his last wish?” The rapper asked, tears streaming down his face.

“To eternity and beyond of his last wish.” Lee Know affirmed and hugged the other.

The sequel of Hanahaki is up, finally! Dedicated to my dearest reader. Here’s for you.

@v3n0mszn

#kpop x male reader #malereader #stray kids x male reader #straykidsxmalereader #han jisung #lee know x han #leeknowxhanjisung #last wish #sequel

[blackjackkent]

OK, picking up with Hector the morning after fighting Aradin. Apparently Aradin's body is just going to remain on the floor of our hotel room indefinitely, which is kind of a bummer.

Hopefully we can move him or something later, but for right now we have important business, namely helping Aylin beat up Lorroakan.

(To recap: Lorroakan not only tried to have Aylin captured/kidnapped and probably has Bad Intentions for her, but he also had a trick rigged up in his shop that almost straight up murdered Hector, and also seems like he beats Rolan as his apprentice. So this guy needs a thrashing.)

The questlog item says we need to go to Ramazith's Tower, which is in the Upper City, but it seems like the only way we can do that is by going in through the portal upstairs in Sorcerous Sundries (the right one, that is, not one of the ones that almost killed Hector).

Since we're currently barred from entering the shop, it's time to load up Jaheira's Wind Walk spell again. Technically Gale's invisibility spell, since it lasts a full minute, would be sufficient this time since we know exactly where we're going, or even (it occurred to me after yesterday's session) Disguise Self, but Wind Walk is objectively much funnier, which is worth a sixth level spell slot.

Out of gas form and into the correct portal we go.

Lorroakan is sitting on a chair made of books in front of another pile of books, perusing a book. Rolan, looking bruised and somewhat cowed, is standing nearby. Both wizards look up curiously at the sound of Hector and his companions flowing through the portal one after the other-- and then Lorroakan starts to his feet as he recognizes Aylin among them.

She doesn't give him time to speak, but strides towards him with fury in her gaze, her wings furling behind her with an elegance that belies the violence she is capable of. "What have we here?" she snarls, her voice resonant with the divine power of her birth. "A magician in a tower, hiding away from the frightening world..."

"What are you so scared of, magus? Not the Nightsong, surely... why, she's nothing but a relic to be purchased and pursued!"

Rolan's head snaps back, his eyes widening. "My gods..." he mutters hoarsely. "The Nightsong is a person?"

But Lorroakan does not share his apprentice's shock. He simply stands slowly from his throne of books and stares down at the newcomers with a slow, satisfied smile.

"At last..." he murmurs. "There you are, my dear..."

"You will address me with due deference!" Aylin thunders in response; her wings give a sharp flick in emphasis. "I am Dame Aylin! And you are a whelp without honor, without pride, with nothing but a tower full of trinkets!"

Hector can almost feel her rage; unlike Karlach's which cooks the air with physical heat, Aylin's is the cool blue-white of moonlight, icy and sharp. Is Selune watching this confrontation, he wonders somewhat dizzily. Does she witness her daughter's struggles, and those who stand beside her?

Lorroakan, uncowed by the aasimar's anger, simply smiles wider, and gestures with one hand in an elaborate mock-bow. "My apologies, *Dame Aylin,*" he says. "I meant no disrespect. Perhaps we could start over. I am Lorroakan. I am *most* pleased to make your acquaintance."

His eyes flick to Hector. "And that of your fine companion, who perhaps heard I was looking for you."

Hector abruptly finds himself remembering another moment, quite different in tone but not in import - Araj Oblodra turning away from Astarion dismissively and treating Hector as the vampire's keeper. In a way, this feels similar; Lorroakan thinks he is about to make a trade with Hector for the life of this woman, as if she was nothing more than an object to be bought and sold. It makes Hector feel more than a little uncomfortable.

Were it not for the questions about the whole business that still linger - and the fact that Rolan is here, potential collateral damage - he would simply stand back and let Aylin loose. As it is... he has to play this carefully.

"You've offered a huge sum to whoever brings you the Nightsong," he says. His voice is tightly controlled, carefully reserving his anger until he is certain Lorroakan has said everything of use that he might have to offer. "Explain why."

"Dame Aylin," Lorroakan says brightly, "I have discovered a device that would allow your immortality to be shared. It would cause you no harm, no pain of any kind." He takes a cautious step forwards towards her - apparently blind to the fact that her wingtips are lifting again, her fists clenching at her sides. "You serve your mother, Selune, I belive? She who has blessed our realm with so many gifts. Honor her by sharing yours."

His smile is beatific, dramatically warm-- but Hector thinks he can see past it to something darker underneath. He is not telling the truth; he can't possibly be, based on everything Hector has seen. The magic that bound Aylin to Ketheric was built on a torture chamber. And certainly the words are only having a further galvanizing effect on Aylin; a muscle is working in her jaw and there is fear mixing with the anger in her gaze.

"You do not seek to share my gifts - you seek to poach them!" she cries furiously. "You dare to threaten me with the same magic that held me in torment for a hundred years!"

At once the smile on Lorroakan's lips turns brittle and cold. His fingers flex into a clenched fist and he sneers disdainfully at her. "I had hoped to appeal to your better nature," he says with a dismissive click of his tongue. "Perhaps I overestimated you. No bother..." His eyes narrow threateningly. "I have an arsenal of implements capable of convincing you to see reason."

Hector shifts involuntarily forward onto the balls of his feet; he can sense the situation rolling towards violence, already almost out of control. His companions are doing the same.

"They say madness and genius are separated by but a hair's breadth," Gale mutters. "Perhaps the same is true of madness and stupidity."

Stupidity indeed, Hector thinks regretfully. Just like Aradin's stupidity last night - an unmatched level of hubris, greed, and cruelty, all intermixed. Foolishness.

As if the daughter of Selune would not have more support above her and behind her than these fools could ever hope to conjure...

"A man named Ketheric Thorm already tried stealing Nightsong's immortality," Hector says quietly. "He's dead now."

"But his magic lives," Lorroakan answers gleefully.

Hector feels his jaw tighten. Dimly he had wondered if it was somehow possible - if Lorroakan really had found some miraculous magic that could do what he said without hurting Aylin. It would be nothing without Aylin's approval regardless - but it would have been a sign of something less than abject cruelty on the wizard's part.

But no. It is Thorm's mechanism for immortality that Lorroakan has learned of and wants to harness. It is the same sadistic tool that kept Aylin trapped for a century. There is no nuance here, no benefit of the doubt to be had.

"I'd hoped you'd keep an open mind," Lorroakan goes on. "But it seems you're determined to make this as difficult as possible."

He snaps a finger in Rolan's direction. "Boy! At the ready. once I"ve taken control of the aasimar, she must go directly into the caging runes."

Rolan has been very still, watching this all unfold. Unlike the confident, even arrogant scholar Hector met on the road, his attitude in the shop and in the tower has been more like a cowed pup, kicked too hard by the master it wanted to love. But out of the corner of his eye, Hector has been able to see that he has been troubled by this development...

And whatever gears have been turning in his head have finally come to a decision as Lorroakan snaps the command.

"No, Master Lorroakan," Rolan says. He straightens up, his shoulders squaring, his chin lifting defiantly. The sharp bruise along his jaw shows darker as the torchlight moves over it. "I would never have assisted you if I knew you planned such horrors. You lied to get the Nightsong here - made us all believe she was nothing but a relic."

His eyes narrow. "I have seen what true leadership can accomplish. But never under your tutelage."

And... astonishingly, he turns to look towards Hector with an air of both regret - and respect.

Hector looks back at him steadily. And equally astonishingly, what he feels is pride. Pride in Rolan for seeing through his blind admiration to the true heart of the situation, yes. But pride in himself, too, for how Rolan has just described him-- a leader, and someone who could raise those around him to be a better version of themselves.

We have both come a long way from the Grove, haven't we, lad? he thinks with a slight smile.

Lorroakan's carefully precise air begins to unravel at this expression of disrespect from his lackey. He sputters in astonishment, raising both hands as if to strike the young tiefling across the face. "Watch your tongue, you child!" he roars. "I could make it such that no wizard in the realm will touch you!"

But Rolan stands his ground, his golden eyes narrowing to slits. "If they're all like you," he answers firmly, "I think that sounds like an excellent bargain."

"Ho! Face us, charlatan!" cries Aylin with a cold, mocking laugh. Her wings spread out behind her fully now, the pale glow of moonlight starting to rise around her body. "We who detest you so!"

Lorroakan, too, has no further patience for this conversation. "Myrmidons - imperatum!" The power of the spell rolls through the tower, a wizard's incantation on his own ground, and Hector feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

The armored elementals around the room, inert until this moment, begin to stir, their power linking with their master's as he pulls his staff from his back.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #eyyyyy atta boy rolan! #time to beat this guy up

[prettyboykatsuki]

What’s the list? I also have trouble with telling the difference between needing to isolate or needing to clean my room

my mental health checklist for when im in the thick of it

- am i physically taken care of (for me this is 3 catergories. hair (is it brushed / detangled), skin (have i washed my face / do i need to wash it again), general shower (when was the last time i took a good shower)

- is my space taken care of? (room cleanliness basically. can i see my floor? do i have more than 6 bottles or cans in my room? are my bedsheets dusty / do i need to vaccum? does it smell etc.)

it doesn’t have to be an indepth clean every time, but usually the state of my room will greatly effect what im going through so little life changes are important for me

- have i eaten in the last 3 hours? and if i have has the meal had any protein or fat/fibre? sometimes you can only manage ramen but like throwing some egg in there is more than enough to make sure i dont fall through the floor

- subcategory but also hydration. but i actually do a decent job of that 🙏🏽

- do i need sensory stimulation / suppression ? the above often interacts with this category to some degree. but sometimes i need to stim or be in a low sensory room. soft blankets, noise canceling headphones, low lights and chewlery / fidget. sometimes its noise and vibrating my vocal chords or tearing up cardboard. depends on the day

- do i need fresh air? for me thats sitting on my balcony for 15 or talking a walk. you need vitamin d and outside time. related but physical activity (pilates is low energy and gets me out of bed)

- have i masturbated recently 🤞🏽 it is just something that quells the agony and such

- have i spoken or interacted with anyone other than myself today etc and have i taken my meds

it’s important to understand that this list isnt like. i need to do all of this to be mentally okay. but if ik really going through something in the moment, it is indefinitely going to be worsened / exacerbated if some area of my life is especially riddled with neglect. its not usually possible for me to do everything to completion

but my mental breakdowns impact can be softened if i smell okay and ive slept a bit. if ive put on good lotion and charged my vibrator. they’re not fixes

but you can only approach your problems if youve taken care of your base needs and can view yourself with some humanity and not as a shadow monster. which seems counterproductive because thats often the hardest thing to do but unfortunately doing these things with all your remaining effort is the only way to rebuild your stamina for being alive. if ive done all of the above and im still in the throes- then i know i need to step back from everything

but almost always everything is more managable when im able to tackle one of these small tasks. sometimes it takes me days if not weeks but it gives me answers or a distraction. its my full proof system lol

#return to sender

[b00kdiary]

Dreamer | Rhysand

Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand begrudgingly goes to Hewn City to secure a marriage pact that will indefinitely bond the two Courts together- but the fine ladies of the Court of Nightmares are not what he wants or needs. Instead, he discovers Lady Y/N, and she has no qualms about telling him how he has failed this City and her. This is more than just coincidence, it’s fate.

Warnings: long chapters, mature content (18 +) swearing, eventual smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

"High Lord, Rhysand of the Night Court."

I reach the top of the dais as my name is announced, my footsteps echoing against the polished floor and the sound bounces through the room, through the tense silence. No one speaks, they barely breathe, as I slowly turn, my face a sheet of ice as I settle onto my throne.

I let a nonchalant smile tug at my lips, the dark mask of a tyrant slipping into place as I eye the endless room before me. A macabre and dreary setting with its ebony walls and onyx ceiling, the beasts carved into the cavernous stone a mirror to the type of Fae who lived in this City.

I emulate the darkness as I lean back, my long legs spreading apart and my fingers curling into the engraved snake form that curves around the throne, the head peering out over my shoulder, my own personal monster.

I cock my head at the dozens of males before me, Council Members, my violet eyes twinkling in amusement as they all remained bowed, knees pressed to the floor, heads lowered and waiting for my word.

"You may rise," I drawl, my tone the picture of boredom, and as Kier and his peers rise to their feet, I see the apprehension and distaste on their faces for me, for my inner circle. Kier observes me, his brown eyes flickering at the prolonged silence. "Kier?"

"As usual, it is an honour to have you here, High Lord," Kier inclines his head, scurrying forward as he speaks, his own mask of reverence slipping into place as he stops before me. "As the steward of Hewn City, I am delighted by your decision to unite our two Courts through marriage, as are the Council present here today."

I see the way my Court stiffens, Mor, Cassian and Azriel all flanked at the bottom of the dais seem to go unnaturally still, the stones in their eyes wholly- unable to hide their disapproval of this whole arrangement.

"We all have our duties, Kier, the Court must always come first," My lips tilt in a mocking smile, and Kier shrivels under the tendrils of dark power that dance around me, an omnipresent threat so at odds with my amused gaze, "My marriage to a Lady of Hewn City will be a victory for us all."

Marriage.

The word tastes like poison on my tongue, any hopes and dreams I had once harboured turning to ash in my mouth at the cold reality I was faced with. To marry a female, I didn't know or love, to mate with her and sire a child, and secure an alliance with the Court of Nightmares indefinitely.

Heavy is the head that bears the crown indeed.

"It will be an alliance venerated for generations to come, I'm sure," Kier smiles, an ugly, wretched sight and I saw Mor shiver in my peripheral, an imperceptible movement, a conditioned reaction to her father. "High Lord, may I introduce to you the fine ladies selected by the Council."

I brace myself, masking my dread with an entertained smirk, drawing on the worst parts of myself, the worst parts of this place to hide the male that roared in warning to me inside. A click of doors opening at my left, and then several soft footsteps echoing into the chamber.

I stare, unyielding and silent, as several young women stride into the room, their heads bowed and back straight, adorned with fine clothes and finer jewellery as they stop at the foot of the dais before me.

They were fine, lovely even, tall, and thin, typical of High Fae female beauty and yet, despite their soft smiles and delicate frames, I frown.

"You can't be serious, even you wouldn't be this cruel," Mor releases a horrified, tight breath and both Cassian and Azriel step forward in unison, an impenetrable wall, as Kier's eyes turn to Mor and his lip curls. "These 'fine ladies' are girls, children, how old are they?"

The room shifted at her sharp words, Kier tensing at the accusation and the males of the Council muttering amongst themselves, their eyes burning as they glared at my cousin- at her supposed insolence for speaking out of turn.

"Their age is of little significance, girl," Kier sneers, that simpering fool mask he wore melting into revulsion and anger as he took in his outcasted daughter. My fingers curled around the throne under me as he spoke, that pit of darkness inside me churning. "They have all had their first bleed-"

"Cauldron," Cassian swore, his dark hair shifting as he moved his gaze over to those girls, and I saw his throat bob at the sight- so young, broken, pawns moved and used in a game of power.

"You're disgusting," Mor hissed, and I heard the pain clawing at her throat, her face pulled into a devastated frown as she took in those girls- and it was as if she were looking into a mirror, to the girl she had once been. "These girls are not chattel; you cannot sell their innocence for your own gain-"

"These ladies are being honoured, girl, an honour that you will never understand," Kier snarled, his emphasis on honour so clear, an indirect assault on Mor's character, on the choice she made to free herself. "To marry the High Lord is a privilege, one these ladies are eager for-"

Azriel's shadows thrum around him, restless, wild, and I knew his control was wearing thin the longer Kier spoke, the longer those girls stood before us, trembling under the burden on their shoulders.

"Enough." One word, low and sinister, and every mouth in the room closed, every Fae in the room turned utterly still at the command.

I grit my teeth, letting the furious power within me radiate into the room, let it dance through the air, brush against my subjects, let them feel the warning, the threat, that I was. I smile as their faces pale, flinching back from the vile magic, a reminder that I could destroy them without even lifting a hand.

"Kier, I am going to choose to believe that this decision was made out of sheer stupidity rather than insolence," My voice is a calm storm, but my eyes- they rage with a current of violence and death, the kind that made males twice my age blanche- and they do. "I will choose to believe that you did not invite me here to waste my time- you wouldn't dare be so foolish, would you Kier?"

I shifted forward in my seat, my eyes narrowing down at the male, and it took all the restraint in me not to shatter every bone in his body, to not pluck his eyes from his head and tear his tongue from his mouth- and he sees that desire to inflict pain upon him in my gaze.

"Never, High Lord, I would not dream of-" Kier barely contains his stuttering words, a mixture of fear, indignation and humiliation lacing through his widening gaze, but like the worm he was, he bowed his head to me in remorse. "It was a grave misjudgement, one that will not be repeated again."

"Good- I desire to sire a child, Kier, not marry one," I sneer, my disgust prevalent across every hard inch of my face as I turn from Kier, moving my eyes across every last council member, "Just as I am sure you all agree, these girls have many more years left to enjoy their youth, yes?"

I make the threat clear in my words, make them clear in my eyes- touch these girls and die.

None oppose me, their hearts hammering in their chests as they nod their head in agreement, subservient and controlled- and a small kernel of satisfaction fills me, that they felt a fraction of what the girls before me did.

"Kier, join me in the Council Room," I stand from my chaise, and as if it were muscle memory, every single person in the room falls to a knee and drops their heads as I descend the stairs. "Let us discuss the consequences you'll all face should you disappoint me again."

***

"Y/N, a union between the High Lord and a Lady of Hewn City is exactly the chance we've been waiting for," Cassandra pestered, her wide eyes pleading with me, but I ignored her again, choosing to instead clean the Council Room for the next meeting with haste. "It's a chance for change."

"Who are you trying to convince, Cassie- me or yourself?" I mutter, raising a dark brow at her as I tuck in the oak chairs, shoving them into place harder than was needed. "This marriage is a farce, and you're deluding yourself by thinking otherwise."

Cassie groans, the sound reverberating through the empty room, and I try to not laugh at her as she rushes around the endless table, her sea-blue eyes rolling as she stops beside me.

"Why must you be such a pessimist?" Cassie demands, her cold, slim fingers ripping the papers from my hand and slamming them onto the table before me. "With a lady from our Court married to the High Lord, we can finally hope, we will have someone on our side- to help us, to fix this Cauldron-forsaken City-"

"And who would that be?" I scoff out a laugh, a bitter, hollow sound as I turn my hard gaze to her, strands of my loose hair brushing my hot cheeks as I move, "Thanatos's daughter despises the Court of Dreams, Kier's nieces care more about fine jewels and clothes than people, and the other daughters are afraid of their own shadows, they would shit themselves at the sight of the High Lord and his inner circle."

Cassie purses her lips at my harsh words, and I frown, sighing deeply at the look of dejection on her lovely face, hating myself for snuffing out the light that had filled her eyes. But it had to be done- some people were not meant to dream.

"I'm sorry, Cassie, I know you wish it were otherwise, I do too," I force back the lump in my throat as I turn from her, hating the way my lip trembled and my hands felt weak, "But this marriage will benefit nobody but the High Lord, his court, and the males of the Council- that's it. They have never and will never care, there is no one on our side but us."

Silence fills the room at my hoarse dead words, and the reality of them, the reality that we were truly and irrevocably stuck in this life, in this cycle of hell made my eyes burn.

"It saddens me that you feel that way, My Lady," A deep, velvety voice rasped from behind me, and the air went taut at the unfathomable power that penetrated the room.

Cassandra gasped, something spilling from her hand and dropping to the floor with a deafening crunch. My stomach twists into knots as I brace myself, all the blood leeching from my face as I turn- to where the High Lord stood, his inner circle and Kier watching on either side.

"High Lord," Cassie choked on the title, choked on her fear and before the male before us could speak, she stumbled down to a knee, her head bowed and her golden hair falling forward to shield the terror on her face.

I couldn't move, not even as the voice inside me screamed and begged for me to bow, to submit myself to him- for I had heard stories of Rhysand.

Of his abilities as a Daemati, able to shatter a person's mind without lifting a hand, of his ruthlessness as High Lord, reducing people to ash with a smile on his lovely face, of all the horrific things he had done in his five hundred years of existence.

And it seemed he saw it on my face, perhaps even saw it in my mind, the nightmares and tales, the horrors spread about him in the City, about the kind of male he was.

His violet gaze narrowed, the constellations in them beaming as he stared at me, as he cocked his head, his lips pursed into a thin line- as if observing me. I shook under the silent act, the unyielding hold he had over me, as well as the gazes of his court at his side.

"Y/N!" Cassie hissed under her breath, her head turning and her silver-lined eyes meeting mine, tears sullying the usually tranquil blue as she pleaded with me to move, to bow.

"Insolent girl," Kier spat, his gaze hard as he glared at me and the breath caught in my lungs as a dark eclipse of magic shot from him, striking against my stomach, hard enough that I lurched forward in pain and then another hit a second later, slamming into my jaw. "Bow before your High Lord."

I groaned as I fell to a knee, the impact of the bone against the polished floor striking through my whole leg and up my body, but that was nothing compared to the throb that burned through my stomach and the cut at my lip, the taste of metal filling my mouth.

I heard a gasp, a feminine sound of surprise and concern from above me as I leaned forward, my eyes pinched shut and every breath feeling like glass in my lungs as I tried to compose myself- forcing down the pain in my jaw, in my stomach, in my heart.

I heard footsteps and then the room went still, as if a blanket of ice had fallen over us.

"High Lord, she-she was being impudent-" Begging and broken words, riddled with fear and my eyes shot open at the sound of a sickening crunch, an agonised scream following it, and the aura of death filling the space.

"No, you are impudent, Kier," That voice again, but now it sounded different- the kind of mercilessness that could haunt a person's nightmares, that could be found in the darkest hollows of hell. "You do not touch her, or any other female, ever."

Another crunch and I recognise the sound now, it was bones splintering, tendons tearing, blood gushing and Kier cried out again, a horrible, strangled sound.

"Leave," The High Lord breathed the command, and I felt the floor shake under his restraint like he was funnelling his power down into the ground as an anchor. "and do not heal that hand, I want you to remember my words today, Kier."

I keep my head low, staring at the floor, unable to look up as footsteps bound away, fast and stumbling and I cringe at the sight of blood leaking against the floor, a trail following after Kier as he exits the room.

And despite the tendrils of pain still wrecking through me- I internally groaned at the thought of having to clean the blood up.

An amazed huff of air left the High Lord, it sounded almost like a laugh, but I didn't dare raise my head. Not even as he slowly sauntered over, his footsteps deliberate and slow, I didn't even look up when that trail of blood vanished, magicked away, leaving behind not even a stain in memory.

He stopped before me, and my heart thrummed so loud I knew they could all hear it.

"My Lady," Rhysand murmured, his voice soft now, like a caress of wind against my skin. I swallow down the bitter taste in my mouth, my eyes fluttering as I lift my head- to see the hand he had reaching down for me. "Please, rise."

I blink at the outreached hand, heat filling my cheeks at Rhysand's tender gaze, any whisper of violence or darkness gone, replaced by something so much sweeter. I gnaw on my cheek, my hand sweating and shaking as I reach forward, gently placing my palm in his.

The second our hands connect, something charges through me, bright and sharp and strong and for a second Rhysand's eyes widen, just for a second, but then he blinks and it's gone- as if I had imagined it.

"Thank you, High Lord," I breathe and his fingers curl firmly around my palm as I wince, my knees shaking and knocking as I rise to my feet. He whispers something gently under his breath, his head glancing sideways, and I sigh when Cassandra rises too, her slender frame curling back as she stands.

I crane my neck to meet Rhysand's eyes, and upon seeing my face, seeing the cut leaking blood at my lip, his expression hardens. He still hadn't let go of my hand, his large, ringed fingers still gripping around me like a vice, calming the trembling shakes that ran through me.

"I apologise for Kier's actions," Rhysand sighed, his dark lashes fluttering as he slowly slipped his hand from mine, moving to the pocket of his jacket, his fingers pulling free the cloth there. My hand felt cold as it fell back to my side, but as Rhysand lifted the cloth between his fingers, my head hazed.

I didn't breathe, couldn't, as Rhysand gently brushed the soft cloth against the cut at my lip, soaking the material with blood and being so careful that I didn't even feel the pain stinging at the touch. I feel the surprised stare of Cassie at my side, of his family at his back, but nothing deterred Rhysand.

"I should be the one to apologise, High Lord," I stutter, finally feeling like I can breathe as he pulls his hand away, and I blink away the fog, clearing my throat as I step back, as I let the bubble, he created around us pop. "I spoke out of turn, and I should have bowed-"

"You don't need to apologise for your honesty or anything else," He shook his head, the soft waves of his blue-black hair shifting with the movement, and I forced myself to not stare at every inch of his handsome face. "I don't punish Ladies for words spoken in earnest between friends."

I nod, uncertainty and weariness shining in my gaze as I take in his intense half-smile, a smile that seems to brighten when I glance at Cassandra, looking equally as confused as me, and I shrug weakly.

"Though I will admit I am rather taken aback by your words, Lady Y/N," I shiver at the sound of my name on his silver tongue, at the way he cocked his head down at me, a purely predatory move, as he spoke. "I would like to hear more of your thoughts on the matter."

Hear my thoughts?

I go still at his easy words, at the question rather than a command, and Cassie releases a puff of air- like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room to placate her aching lungs.

"What?" I croak and then wince at the insolence behind my words, a habit that I couldn't shake in front of the High Lord. I pinch my eyes shut at the way his lip quirks, and my embarrassment is worsened by the small chuckle that General Cassian huffs out. "I mean- I'm not sure that's-"

"Now, now- don't go all shy on me, My Lady," Rhysand purred, nonchalance highlighted in every inch of his muscled form as he tucked the cloth back into his pocket and grinned at me, like a lion before devouring a lamb. "I think we're past the point of formalities, yes?"

***

"There is no one on our side but us."

The words were so hollow and defeated, the type of ruined that spoke of no hopes, dreams, or future, just nothing. And it was hard to explain what I felt at the words, like a sharp pain as if she had reached into my chest and torn out my heart with her bare hand.

She said that they have never and will never care- 'they' being me, my court, the people around me now and the ones left behind in my City of Starlight.

Sincere words, loaded words, spoken by a female behind closed doors, in confidence to her friend- and yet, I had overheard.

I wasn't sure what to expect when stepping into this room and wasn't sure what kind of female I would be confronted with. I had anticipated a female full of loathing and darkness, a kind of anger that would burn in her eyes, that could be seen through every breath she took, in every inch of her skin as she moved.

And yet, as I stared at the girl before me, I was met with the exact opposite.

The other lady, Cassandra, had become a shaking mess the second her blue eyes laid upon me, her breaths gasping from her as if every one would be the last. She was terrified because that was all she knew in this city; it was all she knew of me.

But Lady Y/N was different- she was frightened by me, yes, I saw it in her doe-like eyes, saw it in the memories that flashed through her mind of me, the tales of my cruelty and brutality, the blood that stained my hands and the darkness that tainted my heart.

But she didn't look away, as if she couldn't.

Here she was faced with a monster that mothers warned their children about, yet she stared at me as if she saw me- and was as beguiled by me as I was by her.

"Now, now- don't go all shy on me, My Lady," I smile, the tightness in my chest easing as a stain tints her plump cheeks, and her chocolate eyes widen, "I think we're past the point of formalities, yes?"

Her friend swallows, audible and thick, as if struggling to get down air and Azriel shifts on his feet, his brow furrowed as if concerned the girl might collapse. Y/N glances at her, and amusement fills me at the small, confused shrug she gives her.

"You won't uh-" She clears her throat, her hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, and I watch every single movement as she tucks the silken strand over a perfectly arched ear, revealing the smooth column of her neck. "You won't turn me to dust, right?"

I snort, a short and amazed sound, and she gnaws on her lip, avoiding the cut there and I have to begrudgingly tear my gaze away when my court steps forward, my brothers half-smiling and Mor looking at Y/N as if she was as charmed by her as I was.

"No, no, Lady Y/N," My mask slips and slips until it's completely gone, and I'm glad that Kier left, glad that none but her saw me like this because it felt freeing, to be in this Cauldron-forsaken place and be able to genuinely smile. "No one will be turned to dust, on my honour as High Lord."

"Please do tell us," Mor steps forward, a small smile on her red-pained lips and Y/N's breath hitches at the eyes on her, at the attention. "Contrary to what you may think, we do care."

Y/N considers, and I can hear her heart hammering in her chest, fast and loud and endless, but despite that she lifts her chin and something raw runs through me at the look in her eyes- the bravery.

"I- I think that Hewn City is a cesspit, full of the worst kind of Fae and every amoral despicable thing a person could do happens here," She breathes, and her soft body trembles with the exhale, as if speaking these words aloud were exactly the catharsis she needed. "And to be honest, I blame you for that."

Surprise- it fills me and every single other person in the room.

"Y/N!" Cassandra gasps, and her eyes seem to widen further, impossibly big, latching onto me and full of pleading, "She doesn't mean that- she must be more delirious than anticipated from the-"

"Cassie, please," Y/N scoffs, a hollow and low sound, and the tension in the air goes thick as they glance at each other. "Someone needs to say it, it might as well be me."

I fold my arms across my chest, my lips pursing as they stare at each other, some internal telepathic conflict waging between them, in their eyes and despite my abilities, despite the fact, that it would be so easy for me to slip into their minds and wade through all their thoughts, I don't.

I glanced back at my Court, who stood just behind me, and their faces were contemplative too- not angry, nor offended, but shocked- here was this girl, no older than twenty, with eyes as soft as a doe's, telling us exactly how we have failed.

"Please, continue," I nod, and I hope my eyes are encouraging, because even if I do not wish to hear her words, she was right, they needed to be said and I needed to hear them.

"For centuries, the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams have been segregated and somehow we've fallen into two categories: good and bad," She swallows, and something aches in my chest at the sorrow on her lovely face, the burden, "But no one is born bad, people aren't inherently evil but growing up in a place like this? What else is there but the horrors we see and endure, what else are we destined to become?"

Another shaky inhale, a more broken exhale, and my magic burn inside me as if every desperate breath from her is like a call and my body is begging in answer.

"Your court has washed their hands of us, all of us because it was easier to believe that we were all damned than to try to help- the small minority have ruined the majority," Silver lines her hardening gaze, and I feel us all, every single one of us, go tense at the single tear that trickled down her cheek.

I hear a strangled sound come from behind me and my burning gaze glances back- to Mor, tears brimming her eyes and her lips trembling, watching the girl before us, and feeling every single atom of hurt as if it were her own.

"Morrigan was lucky enough to escape this City, these people because she had you- but do you truly think that she is the only good person born here, that in all these years, she is the only one worthy of salvation?"

More tears leak down Mor's face and Y/N's, endless, eternal, years of suffering in one single moment and I feel the guilt of my actions barrel down at me, a truth that I have spent years avoiding coming to light, like a thunderbolt to the heart.

I let my magic hold me down, let it root me in my spot- because those tears on her cheeks are tormenting me, ruining me, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and brush them away.

"So, forgive me if I have no hope left, that died in me, in all of us, long ago," Y/N clears her throat, her chest rising and falling in powerful waves and my throat is as dry as sand as she wipes the tears from her cheeks, "I- I think we could have all been dreamers- if only you had given us the chance."

In five hundred years, the mask I wore never slipped, never faltered, never was hard to wear- until right now. Right now, as my gaze locked with her, as I saw all the horrors she endured, because of my neglect, I couldn't even find that mask within me- it was gone.

There's silence, heavy and long and burdensome for what feels like hours as I stare at her, and I don't think I could look away even if I wanted to do and I don't, I don't want to.

Y/N inhales a sharp breath as I stalk towards her and the magic in me dances and whirls and strikes through the air, dark and ominous and wholly powerful. My jaw locks as she grabs out to her friend, Cassandra whimpering as Y/N yanks the girl behind her- a shield, against me.

Brave- so utterly brave. Willing to face off with a male five hundred years her senior and her High Lord, to protect her friend.

A Queen in her own right.

I stop before her, so close that I feel her breasts brush my chest, feel the small trembles that wreck through her body, can smell the lavender and jasmine on her perfect skin. She raises her eyes to me, and I see every ounce of her character, her heart and soul, as she tries to not cower before me.

"How old are you, My Lady?" I mutter, and she shivers under my easy words, her brow furrowing at the non-threat. "And what do you do here, your role?"

"Twenty-one, High Lord." She swallows, her tongue flicking out nervously to wet her lips and my hands clench at the sight, at the moisture on her pink mouth. "My father was Captain of an import chain for the City, I was given the role of Lady-in-waiting as a reward for his work."

I sense the curiosity and shock of my court behind me, the way they imperceptibly inch closer to me, to us, drawn in by my words- by the intention behind them.

"You believe the alliance is a farce, that it wouldn't change anything?" I ask, softer, and my power slips from me, curling around her curved hips and soft thighs, moving through her silken hair and over her sensitive skin- and she shakes her head, unable to speak. "What if I were to find a Lady of Hewn City who shared your sentiments, who desired for change and salvation just as you do- would that make you more inclined to hope?"

Cassandra sucked in a sharp breath, her blue eyes widening- in realisation. And I felt the air tauten, my inner circle going still, knowingly.

But Y/N cocked her head, a youthful move, not seeing what was right in front of her.

"Yes, I think that you marrying a Lady who genuinely cares for this City and its people would be a step in the right direction," She considers, and I can't fight my smile at the tender, sincere, confusion that pinches her lovely face. "Though I seriously doubt you will find any such female here."

"Hm," A lazy grin stretches across my face, bright and sure, drawing from the feeling blooming in my chest, raw and new and terrifying as I stare down at her, "I already have."

"High Lord? I don't understand-" Her words melt into a gasp as my fingers caress her cheek, moving ever so gently against that sore cut at her lip- and satisfaction fills me when her eyes flutter, a breathy sound slipping from her.

"I have already found the perfect Lady to marry," Her face burns as I run my eyes languidly down her figure, across her entire face and body- and she stills as realisation fills her, "All you have to do is say yes, Y/N darling."

________

A/N

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[shimmerbeasts]

Despite her young age, the sorceress feared very few things. Her mother, a member of a Coven, had exposed her to various magical beings during visits for specific celebrations. So encountering a fox-lady didn't elicit much surprise. "Can I help you with anything, Miss…?" The ten-year-old girl had long, raven-black hair, ice-blue eyes, and healthy rose-colored cheeks. Slightly taller than her peers, she was likely beginning an early growth spurt. In her hand, she held a black rose crafted from black spinel, which she idly fiddled with between her fingers. "Mom is not home, and I am not allowed to let anybody in. If you are here for a potion or a ritual, you can tell me." Disclosing her mother's absence wasn't an issue, as Serena had created a barrier preventing anyone from entering without an invitation. Even demons required permission or trick them into get an invitation. From the doorway, Ahri glimpsed two more children, both boys. Younger than the girl by the door, one not by much, and the other a mere toddler. Seemed like she was standing on the door as a way to prevent the stranger to seeing much of the inside of the house - possible to not let strangers getting in contact with her brothers. @blackrosesmatron cont. from here.

Different locations required different hunting strategies. Even though Ahri's preferred target largely remained the same, every child was different and the fox Vastaya knew better than to assume she could repeat her strategies indefinitely. Thus Ahri had gotten used to observing the children, she interacted with, taking in as much information as possible, and adjusting her behaviour accordingly.

Even before the oldest of the girls - Ahri guessed she could not be much older than ten - started to speak, the Vastaya could sense the magical barrier, surrounding the house. The vixen had recognised that attempting to break through the barrier by force would be a waste of time and an unwise move as it would merely lay bare her malicious nature. No, if she wanted to get into the house, she had to do so by being invited in through the children.

As Ahri laid eyes on the little boys behind the girl - brothers no doubt -, the fox Vastaya realised she had potentially found her target. The younger ones would make a welcome little snack. Something sweet and easy. The type of light, easy meal, you used after you had already feasted properly and now wanted to get the strong flavour of beef out of your mouth. As for whom of the children would be the heavier, but more filling meal - that undeniably was the girl. The way, she seemed laced with maturity and youth, would no doubt create a fascinating juxtaposition.

"Irah", Ahri introduced herself and gave a benign smile for she had caught the girl staring at the hint of her tail underneath her traveller's cloak. The fox Vastaya gave a polite nod, hand placed upon her heart. "And it seems nothing can escape your watchful eyes, young one." Ahri dandily lifted up the hem of her cloak and allowed her voluminous, snow-white tail to idly sway from side to side. "You are correct. I am partly animal."

Dropping the cloak again, Ahri snickered idly. Her expression then turned sad. "I suppose you could say I have come here in need of aid", Ahri claimed, "You see, I am being plagued by a terrible aching tooth at the back of my mouth. It doesn't let me sleep or eat. Rumours said that your mother's a wise and competent woman. I was hoping she could make me something, which may soothe that painful ache."

Ahri clasped her hands together and gave a soft, sad sigh as she looked at the floor. "But it seems your mother is not even home right now, which is such a shame", Ahri said, "Though you look like a competent, little fellow. Your mother must trust you a lot if she puts you in charge. You look like a big girl. Do you think you could help me?" As Ahri looked at the girl again, for a few seconds her azure eyes flashed a dark glowing magenta.

#blackrosesmatron #rp: leadership starts small #ill have them chasing their tails: ahri interaction #Default Verse[Ahri] #things changed since you left: queue

[thebestoftragedy]

some things I highlighted in jane eyre

Though it was now dark, I knew he was awake; because I heard him fulminating strange anathemas at finding himself lying in a pool of water.

&

‘In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre?’ he demanded.

&

I looked, and had an acute pleasure in looking – a precious yet poignant pleasure; pure gold, with a steely point of agony: a pleasure like what the thirst-perishing man might feel who knows the well to which he has crept is poisoned, yet stoops and drinks divine draughts nevertheless.

&

'You need not think that because we chanced to be born of the same parents, I shall suffer you to fasten me down by even the feeblest claim: I can tell you this – if the whole human race, ourselves excepted, were swept away, and we two stood alone on the earth, I would leave you in the old world, and betake myself to the new.’

&

All I had now to do was to obey him in silence: no need for me to colloquise further. I got over the stile without a word, and meant to leave him calmly. An impulse held me fast – a force turned me round. I said – or something in me said for me, and in spite of me – ‘Thank you, Mr Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you; and wherever you are is my home – my only home.’

&

Is this my pale little elf? Is this my mustard-seed? This little sunny-faced girl with the dimpled cheek and rosy lips; the satin-smooth hazel hair, and the radiant hazel eyes?’ (I had green eyes, reader; but you must excuse the mistake: for him they were new-dyed, I suppose.)

&

And then there are other chances in life far more thrilling and rapture-giving: this is solid, an affair of the actual world, nothing ideal about it: all its associations are solid and sober, and its manifestations are the same. One does not jump, and spring, and shout hurrah! at hearing one has got a fortune; one begins to consider responsibilities, and to ponder business; on a base of steady satisfaction rise certain grave cares, and we contain ourselves, and brood over our bliss with a solemn brow.

&

‘But I apprised you that I was a hard man,’ said he, ‘difficult to persuade.’ ‘And I am a hard woman – impossible to put off.’ ‘And then,’ he pursued, ‘I am cold: no fervour infects me.’ ‘Whereas I am hot, and fire dissolves ice. The blaze there has thawed all the snow from your cloak; by the same token, it has streamed on to my floor, and made it like a trampled street. As you hope ever to be forgiven, Mr Rivers, the high crime and misdemeanour of spoiling a sanded kitchen, tell me what I wish to know.’

&

‘Brother? Yes; at the distance of a thousand leagues! Sisters? Yes; slaving amongst strangers! I, wealthy – gorged with gold I never earned and do not merit! You, penniless! Famous equality and fraternisation! Close union! Intimate attachment!’

&

‘My first aim will be to clean down (do you comprehend the full force of the expression?) – to clean down Moor House from chamber to cellar; my next to rub it up with bees-wax, oil, and an indefinite number of cloths, till it glitters again; my third, to arrange every chair, table, bed, carpet, with mathematical precision; afterwards I shall go near to ruin you in coals and peat to keep up good fires in every room; and lastly, the two days preceding that on which your sisters are expected will be devoted by Hannah and me to such a beating of eggs, sorting of currants, grating of spices, compounding of Christmas cakes, chopping up of materials for mince-pies, and solemnising of other culinary rites, as words can convey but an inadequate notion of to the uninitiated like you.

&

‘Let us rest here,’ said St John, as we reached the first stragglers of the battalion of rocks, guarding a sort of pass, beyond which the beck rushed down a waterfall; and where, still a little farther, the mountain shook off turf and flower, had only heath for raiment and crag for gem – where it exaggerated the wild to the savage, and exchanged the fresh for the frowning – where it guarded the forlorn hope of solitude, and a last refuge for silence.

[cchapsticck]

Fake Title:

Homesick at Space Camp

(what did you think I wouldnt give you something in theme)

send me a made-up fic title and I'll give you a premise!

I posted this ask game a few days ago and, as you know, I have been occupied between Birth Festivities and also My Job And Closing A Show but know that you forced my hand here: (it isn't necessary that one have read RED ATMOSPHERES but it uh. helps.)

Homesick at Space Camp tw: referenced addiction and recovery

Inpatient fucking bites. Leaving inpatient is fucking worse.  And that’s got something to do with a fundamental lack of trust in the guy walking out the front door despite an active attempt to make amends with that particular fuckup, and less to do with the miles of broken glass of his own he’s just dragged his soft, naked belly through for the last month and more to do with looking Wayne Munson in the eye.  Wayne’s old pickup’s rolling fucking coal, engine running, in the parking lot outside the state funded joint he’d called mi casa for the last 32 days because he’s done his fucking nickel and he only had one emergency contact on his intake form because the only phone number he’s ever been able to commit to memory was a landline in Indiana.  “I’m supposed to give you this.” he manages to croak out, standing on the driver’s side of the Chevy, all grown ass adult, 31 years old and everything. Wayne’s got the window down and his arm hanging out the side, AM radio turned down low through the blown out speakers, looking straight out the windshield.  He’s had to do a real cataloging of all of his shit on a pretty short schedule these last couple weeks; enumerate the ways and the shit that haunts his brain and his bones and all the different forms running away can possibly take. Figure out what he’s lost - where the holes are and what he’d like to get back, the kinds of aspirational shit that’s maybe grounded indefinitely - y’know, like personally - shit that’s gone unsaid that needs saying if there’s any future that has him in it and the sum of it has revealed a humiliating running theme.  (He knows that’s his lingering commitment to a sense of dickheaded I’m Fucking Fine talking - the thing about it being humiliating - he can hear Bonnie from group’s voice politely but firmly reminding him that he deserves grace - but being a creature that thinks or feels any kind of thing about any kind of thing at all remains a new and raw kind of existing and he’s still stress testing the whole thing. So. Y’know. Trial and error here.)  

Handing Wayne a folder with doctor’s names and emergency numbers and group meeting schedules, Great Lakes area outpatient programs, pamphlets on signs of relapse, bills he’s not sure anyone’s got the money to pay, feels not too dissimilar to handing Wayne another notice from the school board that he’s fucked it up again and he has to choke down a stale guilt that’s nearly a decade old. Same flavor of fucked up and guilty and sorry and scared he’s been on his bathroom floor and Reid’s couch and the bedroom floors of strangers in different ways. Same way he’s been homesick for places and people that don’t exist anymore left to haunt his own skeleton all these years. 

Wayne takes it, flips through the xeroxed charts and glossy three fold infographics hums to himself with an accompanying eyebrow gesture briefly at, fuck, something, and he just stands outside the fucking truck and starts to hope Wayne will just floor it and leave him coughing on diesel fumes and he can just spend the rest of his life here on the curb. 

But Wayne tosses the whole thing up on the dashboard, pushes it down towards the vents so it's jammed down in there, won’t slide when he takes a turn too tight - which he will if Wayne still drives like shit, keeping all his expired Plant parking passes company and jerks his head towards the passenger seat minutely and just says;

“Lets get you home, kid.”

#prompts #bettiebloodshed #fic: metalhead #eddie munson #stranger things fic

[lmelodie]

Bad Ending AU pt.2 (Finding Peace)

Part One / Part Two / Part Three (Epilogue)

Oops! Its nearly twice as long as part one!

This part is to frankly answer my own questions of: "Hey where the FUCK is Killian's actual best friend in this terrible terrible universe? She would never allow this kind of self-destructive behavior!"

And it's true, she wouldn't. So where is Chimera? Simply put: Not in the picture anymore.

And here is why:

And just like that, in the blink of an eye, it's all over. 

Lucy raced down the cold and empty hallway in a mad dash to find the council. Jack no doubt keeping them somewhere hidden away where no one would look for them.

But she didn't have to search for long before the sound of a loud bang rang out from a corridor she just passed. She turned on her heels to see none other than Mother Nature storming out of the hallway, frost sticking to her shoulders, on the war path of the century in pursuit of Jack. The rest of the council follows closely on her heels, leaving the broken remains of two heavy and no-longer-locked wooden doors broken off of their hinges. Seven relics of a bygone era brought back from the icy grave.

Lucy leads them to where the struggle had ended. Killian still sitting on the floor next to an unconscious Jack.

Everyone was quick to jump into action starting damage control, as Killian himself was immediately placed under arrest for the role he played in all of this. He and Lucy filled in the council on what they missed for the past 715 years, as he was led away in cuffs. 

And it was Lucy’s own testament in the end that actually got him a far lighter sentence than what he was going to receive. Most definitely far less than what he deserved. At his trial Lucy was to act as a key witness to Killian’s actions with dismantling Jack’s powergrid so to speak. She spoke freely and highly of all of his efforts in the three years that she’s known him. He helped her learn how to use magic and helped to provide a safe place for her and her family to hide from Jack’s prying eyes. She attested to the fact that he was the only reason why any of the council were standing unfrozen to have this trial today. The only reason why Jack is no longer going to be any more of an issue. 

And with such a compelling argument, he was sentenced to twenty years jail time, with an indefinite amount of time of parole afterwards. He was also put on a number of security threat lists for most of, if not all, the realms, had many of his shadowmancing licenses revoked, and had his fair share of judicial rights confiscated because of his actions in staging a legendary coop. 

But he got off easy. Some disliked this ruling, others despised it. But whatever the case, Killian himself was just happy that this was finally over and done with. He took his sentence in stride, as a little vacation more than anything else. Time to clear his head. Set himself straight again.

And it's not like he didn't get plenty of visitors from family and friends alike. Lucy being one of the more frequent visitors. 

............................................................................

“If I didn't know better I’d say you seemed disappointed,” he said through the glass pane.

Lucy sat on the opposite side of the surface, twenty years old but carried an air of being far older. Weathered and world weary at such a ripe age.

“I am,” she said. “I want you to be out here.”

“You know that was never going to happen. I thought I taught you to be realistic, Scarecrow.”

“Need I remind you of the power of hope, Boogeyman? Way more powerful than people think. I like a good bout of wishful thinking.”

“Twenty years ain't so bad ya know,” he explains. “Leaps and bounds better than what they were planning on giving me. A thousand years at least.”

Lucy's eyes found a spot on the floor, dejectedly unable to look at him  “It's not a long time for you, but it is for me. For people like me…who dont live very long lives.”

Killian physically deflates when he understands what she’s getting at.

“Twenty years is a long time,” she continues. “And I want you to be out here, seeing what we're gonna be doing. How were gonna undo 700 years worth of damage. Seeing the world heal. I want you to see that.”

“I will,” he quietly said. “I will when I get out. After that I'll have all the time in the world to see what you’ve done with the place. Great things I'm sure.”

“I want you to be there.”

“I can't be. I aided a criminal.”

“You defeated a tyrant.”

“Dont go giving a dead man so much credit.”

“But that's what he was! That's what he was to so many people,” she declared. “I'm being ‘realistic’.”

“So am I,” he shot back, “There was no way I was going to get out of something like this and I'm fine with that! I am going to be perfectly fine here. Sky’s above knows I could use the time to try and start unpacking… a lot of things. Everything, more like. I have a feeling doing my time isn't gonna be a waste.”

Lucy looked at him almost in pity. She doesn't have any retort knowing that he’s ultimately right. A break would be good for him. But for her it’ll be more than a break, a good chunk of her life with him behind a piece of glass in a maximum security prison. The thought, no matter how right it is, just doesn't sit well with her. 

“Don't go doing any of that,” Killian snapped at the soured expression on her face. “Neither of us are gonna miss a thing when you're required to visit at least once a week. Twenty years will go by so fast you won't even notice.”

Her smile was sad and small, but a genuine smile nonetheless, “Of course,” she sighed, “Twenty years? Bring it on.”

............................................................................

But while Killians trial was speedy and somewhat unanimous, it was Jack, like always, that was giving Mother Nature trouble. As soon as they found him, Jack’s body was temporarily moved to a secure healing facility in The Citadel as a means of keeping an eye on his vitals before deciding how he should be further handled. 

The council members, and even Lucy herself all had their own ideas about how to “store” Jack away since he should be unconscious for the rest of the foreseeable future. Father Time insisted that Mother Nature be the one to make the final call on what to do with him, and pushed her to handle it as soon as possible. 

But she quietly refused. Kept him in the healing bay while she found something else of great importance to worry about. 

Jack was the only holder of winter magic on earth. She noticed right away that if he’s to remain asleep then there will be no one to bring about the season of winter. 

So instead of unpacking the implications of her estranged son freezing her solid, taking her job and nearly destroying magical society, she switched gears. Burry all of that deep under the frozen ground for now while she tries to fix the most important problems at hand. Much to Father Time’s and Lucy’s chagrin.

She ordered the inspection of Jacks’ main home and other properties to find and retrieve any magical items of his own making. Crystals packed with ice blasts, snow blanketing enchantments, anything and everything that would give them access to a small portion of his power. Even the public was called upon to give up any products of his they might have purchased, under the guarantee that they will be reimbursed for the item tenfold if they did so.

Once these items were assembled, the council had put together a team of the finest magical/mechanical engineers in all the realms. Put in charge of creating something that will spit out the appropriate levels of winter magic, to see to it that the season comes and goes in Jack’s stead. It took most of the year, and almost cut it a bit close near the end of autumn, but it was eventually made.

A tall column with a large base in the very center of a decked out summoning circle was erected in Jack’s realm; In a clearing in the evergreen forest. The column and the spell circle on the floor had what seemed to be a million and one sigils carved into them in regular intervals, glowing a phosphorus blue. The flared base of the column expertly hid the myriad of wires connecting all of the winter centric items together.

Hovering in the air above the tip of the column was a huge diamond shaped crystal that shone in the same color. Occasionally admitting a few blasts of blue bolts to satisfy the natural order.

One history altering feat of engineering later, and winter was now fully automated.

Which now leaves the bit Mother Nature didn't want to think about; What to finally do with Jack? They can't try him at all, he can't carry out any sentence he isn't already serving. There's only so many options for the comatose body of a former dictator. 

She didn't have the time, but mostly the courage to face the thing that he’s become. The thing she didn't even get to witness herself. She tried her damndest to put any kind of grief on the back burner, she reasoned that he was already too far gone when this happened. He was the only one she had, but he hasn't been her son in a very long time.

Which is why her typhoon of grief confused her so much. Why should she feel bad for him? She doesnt know this man, not any son of hers, nothing of her own blood and magic. She shouldn't feel anything for him. And yet this terrible cloud that keeps knocking at her door only seems to get bigger and darker. Rain falls from it and floods her floorboards. Why does she still ache for someone who doesnt exist anymore? Nostalgia? Longing for a memory of a memory?

She doesn't know. Not yet at any rate, and she doesn't want to either. There are still things to do, institutions that need her attention. 

Ultimately she decided that he’ll be laid to rest in his own home. In his own bed that he’s made for himself. 

His room was turned into a pseudo hospital suite. She was assured that the endless nightmare would keep his body in a state of limbo, but measures were still taken to keep an eye on his vitals as he slept. 

Just to make sure. 

And once everything was hooked up to him, preparations were all made, Mother Nature cleared the room to have a last moment with him.

She stood at the far edge of the bed and was almost afraid to move any closer. Afraid that he would suddenly come to, jump at her with the viciousness that she was only told about second hand. Afraid to come face to face with the monster she doesn't want to believe actually exists.

But when he doesn't move, and the air stays cold and still, she plucks up her courage to approach his bedside. She summons a small object in her hand and bends down to send him off with it. To store away this memory of him. 

She gently, so gently, takes his hands and places a small chunk of ice in them, folding them over the ice and placing it on his chest. The piece of ice holds a tiny bioluminescent light inside. Small yet brightly glowing as a token of the past. When he was still new to the world, and still needed her. 

She clasped her hands around his, and tightly shut her eyes, willing her feelings to be buried with him. 

She eventually, silently leaves. Never to return.

The gate to his realm was promptly locked and sealed with Jack put to bed inside. Only medical attendants and very select authorized individuals were able to have access to him, if need be. Securely tucked away where he wouldn't hurt anyone again.

............................................................................

Then came the next hardest step, slowly rebuilding what was lost. 

The council made detailed step by step plans to reinstate the major holidays that were long gone. The members who had these holidays made fast work of starting up production again; making new routing paths and sourcing all the needed material. All projected holidays were set to be fully back up and operational within the next year or two.

Any trace of Frostmas was quickly burned from existence, the general population very happy to be rid of it from their homes and minds. It was only 715 years, a somewhat small drop in the bucket for magical beings that could feasibly live to 10,000. But everyone was more tripped up by this violent intrusion than they thought. And the healing process of society would be a long and arduous path yet to come. 

But already Jack’s temporary economic solutions were finally being addressed and dealt with. Either gotten rid of all together or built upon to be more sustainable. The people didn't have to fend for themselves anymore. 

But this wasn't enough for Mother Nature. She was determined to keep herself busy with anything and everything she could find. Running towards fire after fire to try and put them out. It wasn't a hard task to look for things to do, but it wasn't solely out of responsibility and obligation to restoring the natural order. 

She only kept running because she couldn't find the strength to stop.

To think about the loss of her only remaining family. Think about where it all went so wrong, where she went wrong. Think about how maybe all of this was just some big mistake. A cruel joke played on her by some kind of higher power that she didn't even believe in. She knows that her grief for all that she’s given and lost would surely be too much to bear.

So she fixates on continuing to mend more of Jack’s mess. Lasered in on saving those who still can be.

Father Time is first and foremost to pick up on this, but it was actually Lucy who eventually coaxed her out of such a state some odd years later to finally face her feelings.

She was oftentimes considered the only saving grace of not only the realms but the abysmal recuperation period in the decades to follow. Having gotten her powers at 17 and overthrew Jack at 20, she lost a critical state of her youth to freak circumstances. And yet still looked around at the state of the realms and saw that there was still more work to be done. She was a beacon of hope in the aftermath of it all, and grew into her power as naturally as any other spirit.

This is where she found her love in humanitarian work, determined to reinstate the much needed stability for those in need. Those who were hit the hardest in the wake of Jack’s reign. She utilized her powers well in bringing back a sense of balance and harmony to the realms; a much needed reprieve to everyone.

Which is why Mother Nature’s inner discord bothered her so much. It took years after the fact for Lucy to wear her down enough to finally talk about her state of mind.

They were actually in the far outskirts of the Easter Burrow when it happened, surrounded by flower fields and crisp air and open blue skies. Lucy worked her magic (figuratively and literally), and assured Mother Nature that nothing bad was going to happen if she let herself feel her feelings.

“It feels so much easier to just swim down with something like this. When something so bad happens. Something out of our control, hurt by people we love. None of it is ever easy. But the further down you swim, the more you’ll get crushed by the pressure. That's thousands of pounds of water, and you need to breathe.

Just breathe.”

And eventually, against her own better judgment, she did.

The Easter Burrow that afternoon was suddenly drenched in a horrendous and inexplicable downpour. Heavy and hard were the drops of rain, yet the wind held no malice. The air cried with its master, spewing a feeling of hollow pain down from the heavens onto the surface of the earth. Screaming about how unfair this all was. She wept so hard and so fiercely that everything was threatened to be washed away.

But then the heavy rain turned into a drizzle. Which turned into a sprinkle, then a mist. The sky eventually opened up for the sunlight to come through. 

As it always does.

............................................................................

Splintered through the regular visits from Lucy, Duna and Vic, Killian found himself in a bit of a state as well. 

Whether it was a conscious choice or not, he didn't do a lot of thinking while imprisoned. Did not deliberate too closely on his choices and if there was more he could have done or anything like that. The stark dullness and repetition of jail time was actually a welcomed reprieve from the overstimulation he’s been accustomed to for the past couple thousand years.

He thinks about things like that while he's here. How he spent close to two thirds of his current immortal lifespan with him. Getting dragged around and pushed from edge to edge and letting it all happen to boot. Letting himself get sucked into all of his problems so willingly because he couldn't seem to let him go. Even still he doesn't know if it was actually love or manipulation or trauma bonding or something like that. And how maybe he will never know.

But he also thinks about how different it is here. How much of a relief it is to not have the boat being constantly rocked, at the mercy of the ever changing tides. The waters here are calm for a change, so he takes this time to rest. To get reacquainted with himself amidst the quiet.

Some days are better than others. 

Some days he finds it too quiet, the air missing the running faucet of nonsense that Jack's voice usually takes up. Feeling as though he himself is missing something instrict to his being. Feeling that the quiet is oppressive rather than freeing. 

Some days it's too cold in jail to think straight. It only makes him think of him more. Like feeling his ghost lurk around every chilly corner. He turns expecting to see him, but he’s never there. He’s decided that he hates the cold, thinks about maybe moving somewhere much warmer to escape it once he’s free. 

Every thought all at once and yet a numbingly empty mind. A strange and psychologically eventful twenty years will creep up on you when you least expect it. Because suddenly the day came when his sentence was finished, and his parole began. 

............................................................................

He was given back his normal clothes and any small innocuous possessions that were taken from him at the beginning. He was led through a set of enchanted gateways, placing him firmly outside the confines of the prison. Somehow a free man.

Three figures stood at the foot of the path of the prison, waiting to walk him home. And when he reached them they all practically dog piled him into a group hug that could bend steel. His mother and nephew looked much the same. But Lucy was now a grown woman, hardly the same kid he led a revolution with all those years ago. 

Her hair is longer somehow, and she has the beginnings of smile lines creasing her face. But she looks happier. He just wished he could’ve had a better look at how her face changed instead of through the glass. But he was never going to admit to her that she was right. Not even now.

Lucy held onto him in a bone crushing hug and spoke softly, as if not to scare him away, “Please don't go anywhere again.”

Killian hugged back, “I won't. Wouldn't dream of it.”

No one in the group said anything for a long while, not until the hug finally broke off and dissipated. 

“How old are you now, exactly? Fourty or something?” Killian asks. “It looks good on you. Even though your youth has slipped right through your fingers where you’ll never get it back.”

She smacks her hand on his shoulder, “Oh please! You're a whole fifty year old! You're not that much older than me. And I'll probably look even better than you when I'm your age.”

“Fah! I'm older than all three of you together. Wait until seven thousand, fetita (little girl). Then you’ll know age like I do,” Duna piped up. 

Everyone has a good laugh at this remark. Vic rediscovers the routine of climbing up Killian’s leg and perching on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Lucy says, leading the way to the bypass, “I have a lot of work you need to see.”

Killian smiled, “Cant wait.”

............................................................................

It's just as he remembered it. The same world he thought he lost over 700 years ago. The whole of the realms seemed to be taking sigh of relief. A rare stable breath that need no longer be held in an anxious wait for something horrible to happen. Everyone knows that this is just the beginning in getting things back to how they were, finding new strides in a new age. But nobody seems to fear this change. 

Killian nearly drowned in the sea of distant relatives that welcomed him when he returned home. A vicious attack the likes of which Lucy has never seen before. 

His home also remained largely unchanged. Dustier, staler air but all of his things are right where he remembered leaving them. Along with a few additional items that he forgot he still had. 

Lucy was there to help him sort through them, the things that Jack left behind that he was now saddled to deal with. Tiny, boring, things that were gathered and packed into a small box or bag, set aside to be tossed into a bottomless pit or set aflame to burn them to ashes. 

And in the middle of this miniature purge, Killian stopped when something in the corner of his space caught his eye. Reminding him of one of the greater tasks still at hand. A bigger bridge to rebuild.

Sitting next to the fireplace was a potted Belladonna plant. Long since shriveled and browned in its place, it gives him a staring problem from afar. It somehow makes itself largely known and obvious in its pathetically deceased state.

Chimera’s gift to him lifetimes ago.

The recognition of something being amiss was instantaneous, second nature to her at this point. Lucy looks over to him when she notices he stopped moving.

“Kills?”

He keeps his gaze firmly on the plant, remorse trying to seep into his pours, “...Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” She gently sets down the box she was holding onto the floor, saddling up behind him.

He doesn't say anything at first, his micro expressions going a mile a minute trying to find the right words to use. A feather soft hand on his shoulder eventually pulls it together and out of him.

“I really need to talk to her.”

And she knows exactly what he’s talking about. Mostly, anyway. The two of these very unlikely friends have had many deep expanding conversations while in visitation. Of course, since Lucy took up a bit of psychology in between helping the realms, she worked her other, more human form of magic by trying to give Killian some kind of mental help while imprisoned. 

And the subject of his once friend Chimera did come up and was somewhat explored. The nitty gritty was never explained to her in full, but she didn't need it to be. Jack taking the realms by force, with Killian’s help no less, was a struggle for everyone to come to terms with. A nasty falling out happened between him and Chimera in the immediate aftermath of the shift of power. 

Contact was severely limited and then cut out all together, something she attributed to Killian’s descent into eventual codependency later on. A connection he never intended to sever.

“I think you should,” she nudged.

“She’s not gonna wanna see me.”

“I think she will.”

He hesitates, “You think so?”

“I do. You know I've been talking to her.”

“Is she still doing okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” she smiled, “talked to her a week and a half ago. Finally convinced her to update the flatscreen. Nice and sleek!”

“Hm,” was all he could manage before growing mute once again.

Lucy lets out a long sigh, “Maybe she won't wanna see you, maybe she won't forgive you. But she deserves to at least receive your apology anyway. You owe that to her at the very least, for her own sake.”

Her other hand comes up to hold onto his limp arm, his eyes growing sadder. Swimming with more thoughts than he was expecting, more than he was capable of handling at the moment. Lucy swings herself around to the front of him.

“Tomorrow,” she says, “having that talk is a tomorrow problem. Right now, all we gotta focus on is taking out the trash. And you keeping your promise about lunch.”

A ghost of a smile threatened to crest his face at the comment, “It's a hole in the wall…”

“Those are my favorite kinds of places!” She took both of his wrists and led him back to the box on the floor, facing away from the dead plant. “Obscurity and mystery is the best ambiance for food.”

“You're not gonna like it. Might not even be anything there you can ingest. That's the gimmick, all of it is still alive when it gets to your plate.”

She grimaces through a smile, “Lovely! Can't…wait.”

Killian snickers, “You dont look like someone that can hunt down their own food. Never thought one of the first things I do on the outside is dinner and a show.”

............................................................................

The following day was harder to digest than a living beast scuttling around on a restaurant table top.

Both Killian and Lucy had made the journey to Lycia in anticipatory silence, and now they stood at Chimera’s front door step. Well, many steps leading up a hill on the side of a cliff face, stone architecture details carved into the mountain. 

He would never say anything of the sort to anyone, not even Lucy here in this moment, but he was nervous. Scared. A friendship that sadly fizzled out what seemed like a lifetime ago and here he is trying to reverse time. Truly an impossible task. 

But Lucy silently and gently nudges him onward, keeping by his side as he very slowly trudges onward and upward to his fate. 

As they get closer they can hear the faint sounds of Chimera conversing with someone, the smell of sulfur and methane grows stronger and they can see all her normal bright colored lights illuminating the home. 

Once they get to the top, the both of them creep further into the entryway, and from afar they can see Chimera through the rest of the house. She stands in the middle of her work table, in front of a very fresh pot of boiling acid. Wooden spoon in hand, she absentmindedly stirs the glowing green liquid and makes light conversation with someone on the other end of the crystal ball on the table next to her. 

“She said she didn't want to take the pole shift because it's too ‘difficult’ with three other people on there. And I said, girl! You're all gnomes! What do you mean there's no room on the pole? Yall arent even 5 feet combined.”

And just like many other things he’s reacclimating to, everything about her is somehow still just as he remembers. 

Lucy gives him another pat on the shoulder and a reassuring glance before strutting further into the home as if she owned the place. Leaving Killian lingering behind, ready to leave at a moment's notice.

“Hey Mera. Don't mind me, just popping in for a sec. Brought a friend if that's alright,” She walks up behind Chimera and steals her attention away. Her feline-esque face lights up upon recognition.

“Hey girl! Haven't seen you in a minute,” she abruptly and rudely ends the call on the crystal ball with a swipe of her hand. “Hello fresh meat back there! Just give me a second.”

His gaze is locked on straight ahead of him, but he can feel his throat get dryer as she unknowingly starts talking to him for the first time again.

When she finally turns around she freezes. The two beings look. And stare. And linger in their spots for what felt like hours. Hours of just seeing who stood before them and trying to compartmentalize the fact that they're both here. 

After another long silent moment, Chimera casts a glance to Lucy; twisted into annoyance as if to say: “Of course you would try to pull off some kinda bullshit like this.”

Lucy merely gave her a look back, wherein her smile was nervous but her eyes were confident. She’s been mending all kinds of bridges for the past twenty years, it's her job, and job she’s become real damn good at. She takes a couple steps away from the both of them, giving the conversation room to breathe.

Chimera doesn’t  look back to Killian and instead snaps her head away in a huff, “...Killian.”

“Chimera,” was all he could manage to respond with before another awkward lull took hold.

“Why are you here?” she spat over her shoulder, crossing her arms.

“Uh...a lot of reasons.”

She continues to turn her nose up at him, her tone sharp and bitter, “Hm. So…the past twenty years been kind to you? Kinder than I've been?” 

“They've been as okay as they can be,” he treads lightly, “I've actually enjoyed prison time more than I thought I would.”

“Tch. Of course you would. Never could stay away from a cold, inhospitable place, could you?”

Her phrasing cuts right where it needs to, right as intended. It slaps him out the idea of dawdling any longer. It's like a bandaid, and now's the time where he has to rip it off.

“You were right,” every word is molasses as he speaks. “You were right about the whole thing…”

“I was, wasn't I?” she swivels her head back around to face him. “Who knew that I can actually know what the hell I'm talking about sometimes.”

“Mera—”

“Don't you Mera me! It's my turn to talk and you didn't listen to me then but you're sure as hell gonna listen to me now!” Her voice plunges from its irritated high into a more remorseful softness, “Do you have…any idea how much that hurt me? 

I was only trying to help you. I knew things were gonna go south and they did, and you didn't wanna listen to me.”

Everyone's mind drifts off to the part that she’s referring to. The point of time in question wherein Killian was faced with a choice and a challenge that there was no winning.

Chimera and Jack got into a heated argument soon after the news aired on the crystal ball's public access. A date was set in place when the passover of the torch would be held, where the Council of Legendary Figures would be disbanded and be replaced with only Jack at the helm.

Killians part to play in this scenario remained untold as they violently yelled at each other. Chimera claiming that Jack was unfit to take over and was the least qualified person available to do so. And Jack retaliates with his own claims of legitimacy and solidification, there being nothing anyone can do about it. 

It all boiled over quicker than either expected, and Chimera delivered the first crisp slap to the face. It only devolved from there. 

Ice and acid do not make a great elemental combination. The entire space they were occupying became wet and slick with water and liquid poisons. Holes burned into random surfaces and walls, half melted icicles everywhere you looked. 

And it was this actual war zone that Killian ended up walking in on. 

He is forced to separate them, trying to keep the physical damage of both his best friend and his partner as minimal as possible. 

And while being held back from the fight, Jack revealed Killians involvement with all this. In an effort for her to point her finger at not just him in this situation. Afterall he’s equally to blame for it just as much as me.

And Killian will never forget the look she gave him in that moment. The utter disbelief, the betrayal in her eyes that he simply wasn't prepared for. A haunting look that would continue to plague him hundreds of years. 

And even though the question itself was never asked, they both looked to Killian in that moment, hoping he would choose them to side with. 

Which relationship was more important here?

“And what did you do? Nothing! You didn't choose at all, which means you didn't choose me!” Chimera rattled off. “I thought I was more important than that.”

“You were. Of course you were but I chose wrong anyway,” Killians defense was only as loud as it needed to be. Quiet enough with remorse but loud enough to make a point for her to hear.

“I don't…have a valid excuse for ignoring your advice. I—I just wanted it to work so bad. I wanted that more than anything else. For hundreds of years I wanted to keep thinking it was gonna work out eventually. 

But low and behold, I put all my eggs in one basket and this is what happened. And I shouldn't have done that to you…I should've listened to you when I had the chance. I know hindsight makes it seem really easy to say but it's still true. 

I'm sorry, Mera. I was wrong about everything.”

The last bit of his plight slipped into a deeper regret, smoothed with sincerity that Chimera could not only feel but see on his face.

She hadn't noticed until now but he somehow looks older. Immortal beings like them don't get older, and yet he’s done it. Maybe it's all the new gray in his hair, maybe it was the dark circles under his eyes. Whatever it was, the most undeniable thing about him was that the past 2,000 years attached to the hip of one Jack Frost did not do him any favors. 

She imagines that this is what the embodiment of what a walking talking regret looks like. 

The self reproach was undoubtedly genuine. 

“Ya know…I was kinda hoping it would've worked out too,” she lets out a weighted sigh, her eyes finding some boring stone on the floor to fixate on. “Even after we had that big fight, we didn't talk. I would see you around with him occasionally and I thought, ‘God I hope it was worth it’. Even in a spiteful sense, I still kinda wanted you to be happy.

I was thinking that it would've even been okay if I was in the wrong. That maybe I didn't know what I was talking about, and that you would've been happy together anyway.”

He seems taken aback by this comment, and it takes him another moment to say anything, “I wouldn't have been. It was a lost cause from the very start. And I shouldn't have chosen him at your expense. He shouldn't have been that important. And he wasn't. But I didn't want to see reason at the time.”

Suddenly he shakes his head a few times, as if to snap him out of the sentimentality he slipped into. 

“In any case, I just came here to apologize. For everything that I did and didn't do. For how I treated you,” he takes a few cautionary steps backwards towards the front door. “And you don't have to accept it and you don't have to talk to me again after this. It's just been uh, long overdue.”

Chimera’s expression doesn't change from a rugged hardness as she finally approaches him. He takes another step back in response, but has no choice but to stare down the barrel of the gun as she looms over him. 

They both stare at the other and remain resolute, until Chimera bends forward and hugs him. A hug that isnt bear-like, but constricting and cagy. 

And Killinan, still not used to receiving hugs of any kind, freezes up and dares not to move. For all he knows she could be slipping some kind of lethal toxin onto or into him when she’s this close. 

But he glances at Lucy out of the corner of his eye and sees that she is all smiles. Making the hand motions for “go on”, prodding him to hug back. 

He can hear his heart beating louder in his chest when he decides to do so, slowly bridging his arms up to her shoulders to reciprocate.

“This doesn't mean I fully forgive you by the way,” she mumbles close to his ear, “that's gonna be a whole other thing. 

But I want to…I wanna try.”

He almost didn't want to believe it. He felt as though maybe it would've been an easier pill to swallow if she had simply ripped him a new one and threw him back out of her life again. He couldn't argue with that, but he couldn't argue with this either. This was the choice she was making, and he had no say in the matter whether or not he was going to be truly forgiven. 

But he didnt question it further. He instead hugged her back with more strength and conviction. Savoring a small sliver of warmth he has thus far denied himself.

“Thank you.”

#nonart #musings #bad ending au #this project has both taken and added years to my life #the mother nature angst in here was TASTY GOOD to write #i say put that mother through HELL #PUT EVERYONE THROUGH HELL #YOU GET A BAD ENDING #AND YOU GET A BAD ENDING!! #yeah :)

[bardofavon]

Number 18 about the scene where they sleep together pls 😌

weird questions for writers

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

OKAY you need to know that when i first read this ask i completely misinterpreted and went 'they did WHAT???? WHEN??? did I write that???' and then i remembered that they literally slept together. like. in the same bed sleeping side by side. they did not have intercourse. i totally would have remembered that.

So anyway, now that you understand what I just went through in my brain I will definitely take you through this scene.

I can let you know right now it was supposed to be quick banter and i did not anticipate them going on about it for 3k words and for that to be the entire chapter. It just kind of came about that I just knew it had to happen. Like, they're on a fucking boat, they're sharing a room, this isn't a situation where they can continue to go on with just sleeping in a chair or on the floor indefinitely.

I'd been flirting with it for a few chapters and Kaz was at the point where he also knew it had to happen at some point. Honestly, my writing process for this was to lay down on my couch, think about how tired and overworked I am, and then write for two hours without stopping hahahaha.

This version of the Darkling that I'm creating....I want to make it clear that he is a bastard, he is always going to be a bastard, but he does care about Kaz and he's not going to cross those lines without explicit permission. But at this point he thinks it's his fucking room too and if Kaz wants something he needs to ask for it because it's honestly exhausting trying to keep Kaz from going off or getting angry at him about something so at a certain point in this chapter he's decided to stop walking on eggshells and stop having to play the constant game of guessing what Kaz wants and just make him ask.

Like, yes, the Darkling is going to compromise with Kaz. Kaz wasn't sure of this, but it's something I knew from the very start. He is unwilling to put Kaz in a position longterm where he feels physically or emotionally uncomfortable for no reason. Kaz does not know this.

But yeah, okay, the Darkling will play the game of 'what makes this man more uncomfortable, being in bed together half naked or talking about his feelings' (insane because those are both things I would personally like to do with the darkling).

When Kaz has the line where he realizes the Darkling was always planning on doing what he felt comfortable with but wanted to put Kaz in the position of having to vocalize his wants and he says 'this is what love is' he's being sarcastic but at the same time he's...not...? He has a certain respect for the Darkling in this moment and he's growing a little fond of their incapability to interact without manipulating the interaction from both sides.

Compromising to make the other person happy while also never compromising how truly insufferable you are as a person is a petty decent idea of love to him at this point, I think.

The part where they're lying in bed in the dark trying to sleep and the Darkling asks Kaz that question is something I enjoyed writing but felt sooooo nervous about putting in there because anytime I put something that blatant in the story I have to go though the 7 stages of talking myself into believing it's in character.

Kaz would never admit something like that with the lights on and he also would never have admitted something like that if the Darkling had in any way given him any push back on trying to navigate their sleeping arrangements, but I wanted to show the deepening connection between them in that Kaz is starting to trust the Darkling with more. He's no longer the scary monster under the bed, he's the monster inside.

So anyway, that doesn't exactly cover the prompt in that I'm not really talking though how it changed as much as my thought process going into why I made the choices I made, but the honest truth is that it didn't change too much from start to finish.

The changes were me going "okay and now what if" and "okay now they should" and "now they're going to talk about" and so on...I just started writing and it naturally progressed and then I went 'well this is who they are now i guess'

#a good myth is hard to kill #writing #ask meme

[thistransient]

what goes up must come down

Once again I have over-socialised and must retreat to laying on the floor indefinitely. I am certain I am not the only one to wholeheartedly throw myself into a new fixation, and then languish dramatically when some disappointment inevitably emerges. I had a fantastic experience with this week’s rigger at the BDSM bar! I had also (a couple days earlier) signed up for something advertised as a “shibari drawing salon” for the following evening, hosted by the same guy. I had seen it on a monthly event calendar but wasn’t sure exactly what went on there, and remained skeptical until it was recommended to me by a third party. Sure, might as well. I had nothing to lose except 300NT$, and my composure while trying to transfer trains at Taipei Main Station during rush hour. 

I suppose I had expected a venue and set-up similar to the sort of nude drawing sessions I’ve gone to in the past, but it turned out to be a furnished basement in a residential building, and I felt like I’d accidentally stumbled into a private gathering of friends, who looked up briefly from their eating, cuddling, and phone-scrolling with “who are you and what are you doing here” sort of glances and proceeded to ignore me. (By strange coincidence, I recognised the single other foreigner there from a language exchange I’d gone to months ago.) I am not an immediately outgoing person, not in a group, and particularly not in a group of strangers. In the absence of an extroverted middle man to introduce me, I resigned myself to taking up a defensive position in a chair against a far wall and commencing sketching, even though there was no organised modeling, and drawing was clearly not a significant part of the event. As I contemplated fleeing entirely, the host finally approached and asked if I wanted to let his apprentice practice on me, which I was happy enough to do, although it was short-lived as she was trying to get her harness-tying down to a time limit. This at least brought me to a central location where I could watch the goings-on unobstructed, but I proceeded to be cornered by my foreign acquaintance, who wanted to chat both at length and in close quarters and I eventually suspected might have been angling for me to tie her up (sorry, my friend, you’re barking up entirely the wrong tree here).

Eventually I retreated to the chair, silently took my leave when people began clearing out, and immediately felt guilty about potentially violating some farewell etiquette. In general the whole thing was, how shall I say, rather... heteronormative. The very first rope event that initially led me down this road was both decidedly nonsexual and evenly distributed in terms of who was tying whom (or what- artistic expression with the furniture also abounded). The gay BDSM bar was, well, first and foremost a gay bar. This was the first time I found myself confronted with so many clothed men paired with feminine women in their undies. I did not exactly see where I might fit in this schematic, and the general lack of structure or explanation from the host (however masterful he might have been in a public performance setting) was not encouraging. Is this something worth investing my time and energy into in the hopes of making meaningful connections? I’m not entirely convinced.

That whingeing aside, the real victim of this new nocturnal interest of mine has been my sleep schedule. RIP 23:00 weeknight bedtime, hello 4:00 AM T_T  I need to course correct asap, if only because summer is coming and given my stubborn boycott of nighttime aircon, I’m gonna be steamed like a baozi at sunrise...

#i think i need to go back to biking #it's also been a while since i went to the beach #my loathing for 北車 from 5 to 7 pm knows no bounds #always gonna win some lose some with the trying of new things