#they have so much trauma and I just gave them more

[liketrianglehead-butspaghetti]

I gotta talk about FourDogs (again)

It's barely about her, though. I think "he's so lucky his dad was brutally murdered" and "people with trauma need a second handicap because they're too motivated" are such absolute-the-fuck-ly bonkers takes, they're not even worth the time it took me to get mad about them, which was immediately. This time around, I have way more to say about audience reception. I'll try to keep it civil.

It feels like a lot of us are responding from increasingly personal places because these are characters with which a lot of us identify, or we see traits in them that remind us of people from our real lives. And hey! Another performance and storytelling slay on the part of one Brennan Lee Mulligan. Who else can invent 50+ characters every year and play them to the point where any one of them can evoke both an "omg that's literally me!" and an "omg that's literally Dani, the girl that bullied me all of freshmen year until I punched out her front tooth in the student parking lot and got in-school suspension for a month!". And whether Kipperlily reminds you of Dani, or reflects your own anxieties about potential, ability, and trauma, an important thing to remember is this: she is not real!

Brennan made her up! Brennan made her up to tell a story, and when he made her up, he made her annoying, petty, antagonistic, and he gave her not just opposing goals to the the protagonists we know and love, but the explicit goal of ruining The Bad Kids' lives, specifically.

Now, I'm not saying she's fictional to be a dick, or dismiss any deeper readings on her or any of the Rat Grinders. I'm bringing it up because the way I'm seeing people talk to each other about these characters is starting to get a little wild and it's in danger of waking up The Olde Gods™ (i.e. the special brand of Tumblr Self-Righteousness that lives inside us all).

It's important to remember Kipperlilly is a character in a fictive work so that different interpretations of her don't get treated as stone law. Each reading of her is personal and valid, but none are gospel. The "Kipperlilly is but a victim" take is not the only correct one, nor is radical empathy for her as a character the only correct reaction. Also, even if I consider her sympathetic that is not incompatible with an opinion like "Kipperlilly needs to get roundhouse'd in the head by a lesbian in a tracksuit and/or a wizard in a jean jacket, posthaste". Sure, you can say that anyone who doesn't feel a deep and eclipsing empathy for Kipperlilly above all other emotions is immature at best and sociopathic at worst, but then I can just say anyone who demands solely empathy for Kipperlilly and excuses her literal crimes and bass-ackwards world view because she's insecure and has anger issues, is probably also someone who has a history of weaponizing whatever minority status they may or may not occupy to talk over, silence, or harass people of color.

They're both just opinions. And also, like. Y'know. A bit much.

To engage in the long and rich tradition of measuring character trajectories against those in the Avatar: The Last Airbender cartoon, let's compare Kipperlilly to Azula. Azula had an incredibly sympathetic backstory and untreated mental health issues. Azula was also a danger to herself and others, as well as profoundly manipulative and abusive (although, it was a children's show so Azula never killed anybody for whatever that's worth). Do I wish that fourteen-year-old girl had an Iroh-type in her life? Literally one adult who loved her genuinely and advocated for her best interests? Of course I do. I saw the Ember Island episode, I watched that one video essay! Does that mean it was any less satisfying to watch Zuko and Katara kick her absolute ass? No! And it was non-lethal anyway, children's show, duh.

That brings me to my other thing; Kipperlilly is a character in a fictive work that is not finished. And I know that point will age poorly, but I'm thinking it won't be the only one (hey-o). Remember the people that were calling The Bad Kids bullies? And then we learned that Kipperlilly hated Riz because his fucking dad fucking died?? And that was a full academic year before getting reanimated by a rage god?? I'll do a tame one; remember when Gilear wasn't cursed?? He was "just a guy"?? The show is serialized, gang, the world is still building! Clerickiller is not done yet, y'all need to let her cook! I'm sure we'll tune in next week to see her graduate from "unhinged" to "unaffiliated with the door frame or any frame-like structure". Reprimanding people on Tumblr will not change the trajectory of this character who, by the way, has not expressed remorse or any desire for a path other than violence. You look me in my black face after your blorbo slits a kid's throat and say "help her"?? Kipperlilly doesn't want get better right now, she wants one thing and that's for Kristen Applebees to go fuck herself and die!! You were there, you heard it!! When the fictional behavior changes, as it often does in stories, so will my opinion. There is no fore-forgiveness. Without an actual redemption arc I will continue to see the villain as a villain.

Speaking of, I think what some people have an issue with is the level of hate Kipperlilly's getting and how aggressive it is. But like.... isn't that allowed?? Because of all the stuff I said but also because like, mama said that it was okay! And by "mama" I mean Siobhan Thompson who said Kipperlilly belongs under the jail. Sure, in the real world, adults don't tell kids they belong in the ground that's crazy fucked up, but all these kids are played by adults and Emily as Fig joked that she was gonna smite the sixteen-year-old girl played by the thirty-something man. You're telling me the antagonist antagonizes the protagonists, and the protagonists go "boo, hiss" and then I, the audience, go "boo, hiss as well" but I'm wrong? I'm wrong, somehow, cool checks out.

"They're XP Levelling*punches a locker*!!"

"That girl is worse than Kalvaxus."

"Littledoggy Girlcollar"

Am I not engaging with the narrative on it's own terms if I say "i'd tell Clerickiller to die mad, but she clearly already did, Jojo Siwa head-ass, in reference to that fuck-ass ponytail and your toxic yuri" Do I need to draw a little caitmay-style OC to say it for me, would that be better?

God-forbid, we have fun? Must we discourse, always? FourDogs is tragic, FourDogs is compelling, FourDogs is Dani from 9th grade. She is Azula from Avatar and Clare from Fleabag and Brennan Lee Mulligan from my dreams and that is something that can be so personal. But no one else has to participate in your parasocial relationship. What's crazy is, I actually like Kipperlilly! As a character. I mean, the "trauma is privilege" obviously hit a nerve with me because of real life stuff, but the image of her over the rogue teacher's grave?? With a backhoe and a "gotcha, bitch" expression??? Come on, that is fresh-off-the-vine Cunt™. Even more so than I imagined that moment to be when we first heard about it. Her ending up in a Ragh or Aelwyn place would be way more satisfying than a Goldenrod or Penelope Everpetal place, BUT IT WILL ALSO be satisfying to see whatever Kipperlilly's version of the locked-in-a-chokehold-and-being-gaslit-into-thinking-you-shit-the-coach's-pants-scene is. In addition to the non-lethal ass-kicking that proceeds it.

Y'all can chuck the insinuation that something so clearly subjective is actually objective and has moral implications that make me bad, directly in the garbage. What is this, religion, hey-o.

#lost some civility there at the end #but shit im not iroh #im a hater first #and an advocate for mental health third #and second i am an advocate for poc's getting their lick back against white people #especially if they were hurting your academic prospects #yes riz is a poc even though he's played by murph #me and demi adejuyigbe talked about it #fhjy spoilers #dimension 20 #d20 #kipperlilly copperkettle #brennan lee mulligan #fhjy #fantasy high junior year #the bad kids

[utilitycaster]

(I haven’t watched C3 in a while (the party had gotten back after being split into two after Vax got orbed) so my info is a bit dated)

I often wondered about how little info there is about Orym’s husband known to the party, how little has been asked or shared.

And I get that BH is very different from M9, BH tends to be very non-confrontational and doesn’t poke at others pasts much, but we do have another character who had a dead spouse: Yasha.

And M9 did know about Zuala because Yasha shared it and they knew little things like she likes flowers and they gave tribute to her when they could. The mural, the flowers, the remembrance and asking if Yasha would share her stories.

And I dunno, maybe I’m not remembering right, but there hasn’t been much of the same with Orym. I feel like most of what I know about Orym and his dead family comes from monologues or times when Liam sets aside a character moment to act solely. Orym doesn’t share, the party doesn’t ask and some of it feels like because a Orym has often has to defend himself against the Pro-Vanguard debates.

They had to go to Zephrah to get to know more about Orym’s dead family and a lot of that info came from NPCs!

I dunno. I haven’t seen the show in a while but I felt it when more then 50 episodes passed and still felt a difference between how gently Zuala was treated and remembered vs how Will is only brought up to prove bad guys are bad guys with only Orym trying to keep his memories in a soft place.

Hi anon,

I actually disagree with most of this! I think the fandom has a lot of issues with Orym, which I'll talk about below, but I do not think Bells Hells are dismissive of Will. I think the reason it comes up is very simple, namely, the manner of Will's death is core to the conflicts and factions within the campaign, whereas Zuala's death is obviously a huge factor in Yasha's backstory, but the Mighty Nein are not dealing with the Dolorov tribe in any capacity. Will's death, is, in fact, a symbol of the Ruby Vanguard's brutality and callousness as well as Orym's husband within the narrative; whereas Zuala is just Zuala.

I don't think Bells Hells has been particularly unfeeling towards Orym with regards to Will and Derrig's deaths when they come up, nor do I think their discussion of the Vanguard is borne of not caring. I think that the Vanguard's harm is particularly real for some party members, and until FCG's death just now it felt a little bit more distant for others. I think the conflict in-game stems from that: when you combine how viscerally real the threat of the Vanguard is to Orym and the way it's not so direct for others (and, obviously, that Imogen's mother holds a position of power within it) and also consider the characters' differences re: how they bring up (or don't bring up) difficult topics, you get some painful conversations! When I say I understand why Orym might not want to talk to the rest of Bells Hells because this is a topic of discussion, I don't think the rest of Bells Hells are bullying him or being deliberately unkind; I just think that there's a lot of misunderstanding and hurt feelings. When Will has come up as a topic of his own - and the conversations I specifically remember are with Chetney in the Heartmoor and with Fearne and FCG at Will and Derrig's graves - those party members have always been incredibly kind and supportive. It's the fact that his death is fundamentally a political one that adds a wrinkle, and that wasn't how Zuala figured into the party.

I also would add as an aside that the Mighty Nein did ultimately have a much more open arena for discussion, as witnessed by them eventually bringing up the possibility of partnering with Trent; that feels far more analogous to the discussions about the Vanguard than anything regarding Zuala, since the issue isn't ultimately "dead spouse", but "organization that is directly responsible for causing a character's life-altering trauma for the purposes of conquest and deliberately stoking unrest." I think there's a number of reasons why the Nein are able to do this, notably that the first time anyone considers it, it is very much a guarded thing; that no one but Caleb is personally impacted (whereas Imogen and Orym are placed at odds solely by their familial connections); and that it comes much, much later after the party has spent months clearly detesting Trent, so there is an increased sense of trust from Caleb.

Now, the fandom is a different story. Or rather, it's more similar than you think. The CR fandom (and probably others, but this is the one I've observed) has, since I started lurking in mid-2018 and actively participating about a year later, always had its share of people being extremely weird about grief. Some of it is shipping motivated (people who didn't like Beauyasha claiming Yasha wasn't ready and was too hung up on her dead wife; people who don't like Dorym or who resented the fact that Orym was resurrected before Laudna claiming either Orym isn't ready or, more chillingly, that he'd be happier dead). Some is not - I've mentioned before, but my favorite member of Vox Machina is Vex, and after I finished Campaign 1 I started looking for Vex content (again, this is mid-2018) and was inundated with "what if she can't braid her HAIR because she's too SAD because Vax is DEAD." Even now, I must admit, I look askance at the people claiming the throw to the Crown Keepers is good because it's a break - I don't think you need a break, unless you're extremely uncomfortable with grief or strong emotions! The first Campaign 2 episode I watched properly live (at least to the break) was episode 27 specifically because I wanted to see Beau and Caleb and Nott deal with that death now and didn't want to wait until Friday morning. I'm going to a concert this Thursday and won't be able to watch live and I can tell you what, I'm watching the back half of episode 93 Friday morning and the Crown Keepers half when I get to it, because this is what interests me, and it's fine if it's not what interests you, but someone you love is going to die one day and I have found that working through this through fiction lends a lot of meaning and catharsis. This is not, in fact, an unusual position; I highly recommend finding Liam's tweets from after Molly's death, and reading Ashly's essay about losing her partner, which she had written earlier but shared at that time as well. A core part of experiencing grief is that there is no break; there is only time.

In short, grief is complicated and unpredictable and it is indeed a part of Yasha and Orym (and no shortage of other characters) and will always influence them and be a part of them while also not serving as an end to their lives, and I think many people struggle with that. I suppose usually the response is more sympathetic within the fandom as it is towards Orym (though as discussed various fans used it to sideline Yasha's desires, to sand away Vex and Keyleth's ambitions and genuine excitment to live and grow, and don't get me started on Caleb or Vax). But it's always been a problem.

Ultimately, I think the reason Orym is treated so coldly is that, again, there's always been an issue within fandom of treating one's favorite characters as unimpeachable and any conflict with them or discussion of their flaws as a violent affront; but it does feel particularly pronounced in this campaign, particularly with regards to any obstacles (real or perceived) to Imogen or Laudna. [I could write an entire history of this campaign because it started with Laudna being The Untouchable One and only flipped to Imogen around the time of the solstice.] Hence such statements that, I truly cannot stress enough, I would rather give up internet access forever than admit to harboring such callousness within my heart as "Orym would be happier dead because his husband is dead" or "He has an obligation to recuse himself from discussions surrounding the Vanguard because he cannot be objective, a thing that is normal to expect of people with emotions and experiences and possible to achieve." (The latter really does pose a fascinating loophole. If the Vanguard just senselessly kills one or two family members from everyone's family then no one can oppose them, because it would then be biased and motivated by revenge. Life hack! It also reveals a pretty fundamental hypocrisy; if Ludinus is a Calamity survivor, maybe he should also be recusing himself! What's the math on how many people directly connected to you must be killed for your opinion to be right and good, rather than wrong and subjective?)

I think all of the above is, while, as discussed immediately above, not objective in that I'm a human being with personal experiences and emotions, fairly self-evident. I'll conclude by going into something that is within the realm of opinion, but I think is relevant to the discussion.

I personally believe the Vanguard's methods are sufficiently vile so as to cast doubt on all of their goals, but even if one doesn't, I find the idea that the Predathos should be unleashed and the gods should be killed is, ultimately, short-sighted, deeply self-centered, ahistorical within the canon (ie, unsupported by the text both in terms of canon events and, if we're counting them, appeals to emotion and authority - not terribly useful in real life, but very much the truth in a D&D actual play narrative), and a far less interesting story to boot. I think it would be devastating on a cosmic level in-world and that "oh it will sort itself out, probably" is perhaps the reddest flag one can wave in such discussions. So I do think that while Orym is acting on the basis of emotion, I also think he's right, and so the callousness is, as I've said elsewhere, a last-ditch effort by those with no capacity to construct a meaningful argument, because they think he's wrong and pointing out he's acting on the basis of emotion is their only ammunition to discredit him. At best I think the people who are arguing that the Vanguard is cruel but their cause is just have an extremely poor understanding of the setting and the specific narrative structures of this medium. Which isn't to say some of Bells Hells might not still make that choice, though Imogen telling Orym "I want you to know that that for a while it may have felt that you and I were not seeing eye to eye or maybe you felt that I, I didn't have the same goal in mind that you did. But don't worry about that anymore, all right?" in the wake of Liliana's conversation and the death of their only divinely-aligned friend feels rather indicative of their direction. But I do not think it is a choice defensible on the basis of morality; only defensible on the basis of "something a very hurt and angry and damaged person might choose to do."

People are specifically like this towards Orym because he is the mouthpiece for an opinion they don't like but ultimately cannot meaningfully argue against, and part of his justification in-world is the death of Will. While there was no shortage of people who hated Yasha, either for "die for our ship" reasons or your normal Reddit Bro misogyny, Zuala was mostly irrelevant to that discussion, hence the difference in how they're treated.

#answered #Anonymous #cr tag #long post #cr discourse

[imfinereallyy]

“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

Steve sighs, and he looks at Eddie in his doorway. So much has changed in five years. But Eddie seems the same. Just his hair is a bit longer, he’s got more tattoos, and he’s got scruff on his face that Steve knows when they saw each other last in 87’ would have driven him nuts.

Steve has always liked the idea of Eddie with a beard. It doesn’t matter now, though. “I think you should leave.”

“Steve, I—I just need a chance to explain.” Eddie moves side to side on his feet.

“Explain?” Steve scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest. “You had the chance to explain five years ago before you left. You had the chance to explain the weeks after with no phone calls to me to any of the kids. You had the chance to explain the year after when you talked to everyone but me, and I thought you just needed time. You had the chance a year ago before you cut everyone else off again.”

Eddie hangs his head in shame. “Stevie, please. I know I don’t deserve it. But I just want to talk.”

Steve’s resistance wavers slightly. He moves out of the doorway to let Eddie in. Eddie rushes inside, knowing Steve will change his mind at any moment. Steve shuts the door behind them. “I’m only letting you in because if Robin finds you in our doorway, she will kick your ass. And as much as you hurt me, I don’t actually want to see you in physical pain.”

Eddie smiles a bit, “Still the dynamic duo? You and Robbie? What’s stopping her from beating me up inside?”

“Our cat Sylvia might see. And she’s trying to shield her from as much violence as possible. Says one Sylvia has seen enough.”

“Oh please tell me she is out by now, because that is a giant gay flashing sign.” Eddie chuckles.

Steve can’t help but laugh a little, “Yes, she is. It would be hard if she weren’t, considering she’s dating Nancy. And Nancy is a lot of things, but subtle isn’t one of them. She shows her off any chance she gets.”

“Wow, Robs bagged Wheeler? Never saw that coming.” Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Must have been a blow to the ego for ya, Stevie. Your ex and your best friend.” He mock clutches his heart.

Steve lets out a big laugh this time, “Nah. I encouraged it. They’re my favorite people; they deserve to be happy.”

Eddie softens, “Yea, being a favorite person of Steve Harrington is a very special thing.”

Steve feels ice water in his veins, “What are you doing here Eddie?”

Eddie sighs, “What do you want to hear? Why I needed to come, or why I wanted to? Cause the truth is I needed to come to apologize to you. Give you the explanation you deserve. What I wanted, though, what I wanted is to tell you that I love—“

“Don’t.” Steve chokes.

“Right apologies first.”

“First? First?! Eddie. I don’t know what you could say to me right now that would make anything make sense. We had something good. It took us so long to get to that point. And it was great because we learned about each other and knew each other inside out. Our friendship blossomed into something more, and we were just getting started, and you left. I had thought I was done with love before I met you. But then you came along and made me feel seen and cared for, and then you got weird and distant so quickly, and you fucking left. And then I knew for sure I was done with love. Don’t think it was meant for me. Sure, that’s not on you, but you don’t get to—you don’t get to open old wounds because you feel the sudden desire to come around again.” Steve swallows tears.

Eddie’s face goes through hundreds of emotions. Anger. Shock. Grief. He doesn’t say anything for a minute. They stew in Steve’s words instead. Then finally, Eddie settles on. “I’m an addict.”

Steve, who has thought about a million ways this could go, has never thought of this. “What?” All the tension releases from his body. He just stares hopelessly at Eddie.

“I’m an addict. I'm sober now, I just reached a year, but yeah. I'm an addict. Never thought I would be. But after everything with Vecna and the painkillers they put me on…it got hard. Denied it for a while. Said to myself a little of everything here and there to forget wouldn’t hurt anyone. But then we were becoming something alongside, me spiraling deeper into addiction. And I—fuck this was easier to practice at the meetings.” Eddie runs his hands through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But I would have hurt you. More than me leaving did. And I couldn’t live with that. I could live with you hating me. It was selfish of me. I wasn’t ready to give up the drugs so I gave up you, and it’s not fair. Not fair that I did that to you, to anyone of you really, but especially you Steve. You just deserved someone who could love you all the time, love you fully. And I thought I did but I think I was using you a little to make myself feel better. That’s not to say I didn’t love you. I did, still do, always will. But we both deserved a better version than what we had.”

Steve feels tears on his cheeks, he isn’t sure what to say. “You didn’t get to make that decision for me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Steve chokes on a sob, “Dammit Eddie. It was my birthday.”

Something breaks inside them, and suddenly they are in each other's arms, weeping together. There is this fragile broken thing between them, a love that never went away. It is horrible and beautiful and needs so much work to be wonderful once more.

But it was nice to break together again.

“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t say it enough. I’ll make sure every day for the rest of my life that I make it up to you. In any way I can.”

“I don’t know how we can get back Eds. Don’t know if we should.”

“I’ll take you any way you’ll have me. Friend. Lover. A person you only call when you need a ride to the airport. Just let me try; it’s all I ask. I promised I wouldn’t go back to you until I knew I had put the work into myself first. You don’t owe me anything. I would understand if you kicked me out right now. But I need you to know that Steve, I love you anyway you’ll have me. And I have never stopped thinking about you.”

Steve lifted his head from Eddie’s chest. “I’d like to try to get to know you again. This you. See where it goes. But Eds, no matter what, no matter the version of you, I will always care. And I will always be your friend.”

Eddie kisses Steve’s forehead, “Thank you.”

It’s there where Steve and Eddie hug on the wooden apartment floor; they hear the door unlock. “Oh no, she’s home early.”

Eddie doesn’t get to respond because, suddenly, Robin is in the doorway. “Hey, dingus! I brought home an extra latte—“

She freezes at the sight of Eddie before rebooting with a dark look, “Steve, is your nail bat still under your bed?”

——

Wanted to try the whole break up thing, I have a lot of different break up/makeup ideas in my head. maybe pt. 2???? Kinda feels good to stop here. But if you think so I have more ideas for this.

#steddie #stranger things #cw: discussion of addiction #they have so much trauma and I just gave them more #they still both love each other and will eventually get together after lots of work #addiction is hard and it takes a lot of work to get sober #so be kind #hurt comfort #ficlet #steve harrington #my writing #eddie munson and robin buckley friendship #robin buckley #platonic soulmates stobin #addiction #steddie prompt #ao3 #angst with a happy ending #happyish? #it's open ended really #but like it will be happy at some point #angst

[drewsaturday]

a reboot etc is a good idea when it's for something where a reboot or continuation fits the kind of series the original had been and/or it's something i enjoyed and was not so attached to that the thought of it getting screwed up in a new form doesn't completely tear me apart from the inside, but gives me something nice to look forward to.

a reboot is bad when it's for literally anything i am mentally ill about. hope this helps.

#txt #ajl;sddfj i feel so hypocritical being excited for xmen 97 while being Terrified about these kinds of things that #have happened for other beloved shows #where .... i mean ok listen tss gave me so many trust issues i cannot get into ongoing shows #whole heartedly bc the trauma of an unexpected cancellation is forever haunting me #so i get into older media with the idea that i can know what to expect both in terms of runtime and story #it is safe it is nice #but when u take something that stands alone in preserved archived form like that and dig it up and zombify it #i am going to cry a little even if it does end up being good bc change is scarey #but for smth like x-men it's fine bc comic based stuff gets new iterations every couple years anyway a;jlksdkfj #continuations are quite different bc of how they fuck with an original's canon at times #whereas reboots scare me bc they change fandom landscapes and... other things depending on how it happens #but idk i think there is just a certain level of what i expect to happen mixed with how attached i am to a thing #that determines how much a reboot/continuation/etc will either terrify or excite me or both #and i feel like there is always an expectation that more = good but in reality please just leave it alone #so i can write fic in peace for the things i care enough about to write fic for #(also i do think ive learned enough that reboots/continuations are not the end of the world #where i am less terrified of them now generally even if i am tired of them #so that maybe helps)

[stirdrawsandreblaws]

i have so much fun with ffxiv bc like. me and my friends that play have a wol team and we roleplay tons when we're able to all be on at the same time

sure it takes forever to actually progress bc we're all having hours-long scenes after story events to work out the impact on everyone and, in some cases, who was impacted more than the others (like thorgeim being the one who got framed during that one incident, whereas the dragoon wol had a lot of specific stuff during heavensward, etc)

i'm told there's some shit later on that Complicates the wol-team idea but i don't want spoilers and i'm confident we can work it out when we get there so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#we basically all rp together bc we don't want to get story spoilers from randos...can't even visit venues without that being an issue :( #but it's nice having a static party for basically every story dungeon and fight #we're at....early-mid stormblood now i think? after like...two years lol though part of that is just not having time to play #so many maxed out sidequests and lore things tho...it's great #stirring up trouble #we have another friend who doesn't roleplay but does have some fun insights from time to time and has many helpful tips #and their character is thorgeim's wifey lmfao. they're both so grossly over-the-top affectionate lolol #and then one more friend who basically never plays with us these days but when they do it's like. Top Tier Roleplay. i love... #currently trying to convert other friends to ffxiv (though realistically we're not gonna be on much for a bit but still)...join us... #become part of the wol team....lets get a whole sentai group going lmfao #that or join our all-viera side group bc that is. definitely a Thing. massive tonal shift from the wol team lol i love them sm #the bundie brigade!! their whole gimmick is doing all their fighting in their skivvies basically to show how tough and/or agile they are #they started out as just being silly side characters and became MUCH more than that...oops we gave them lore and trauma #ugh ok i need to stop yelling abt this now. it is Bed Time and i have shit to do tomorrow. #i should draw and post them at some point tho...i love them sm....

[pepprs]

also the favoritism thing is still making me so fucking mad and insane btw. im not jealous / resentful of my brother bc he deserves her love and is also burdened in his own ways by it and bc i think my drama w my mom has shaped my life in profound ways and given me friends i cherish and i would never trade any of that for the world but jesus fucking christ. why do i have to beg you to interact with me like a mother. why do i have to talk to me at all beyond asking me to do you 847439473 favors a day. why do i have to beg you to take an interest in my life and apologize when you hurt me and be nurturing and perceptive for once in your fucking life. like it hurts to hear her asking him about his classes and whatever bc she didn’t think i was stressed out w school but i had to talk to a ****** hotline last decemver when i couldn’t take it anymore and my mental health was crashing and burning and it doesn’t even fucking matter to her at all and she’s going to get him the nice gifts and throw him the nice parties and whatever because she hates me and my sister for… and let me get this straight… being complicated and anxious and depressed and also girls. lol!

#purrs #delete later #sorry i knowive been insane about momposting but this shit has me screeching like an ape. the way when my brother was born she decided me #and my sister would be okay with each other bc we were twins and meanwhile she was leaving my sister to have anxiety attacks and me to take #care of her and all of this happening at like 7 years old and she would come into my brothers room every single night and kiss him goodnight #and talk to him for a long time and she wouldn’t even come in and say goodnight to us. LOL. ok. like our room being a depression nest is not #an excuse. us not helping out much in the kitchen or around the house (which is bad but also we have reasons for it that i think are valid #and i only do it here and not elsewhere btw.) is not a good excuse. you can’t decide you love your one kid more because he helps out and #keeps his room clean and whatever. maybe he is normal because you made it very clear from the time that he was born that he was your top #priority and you gave him your attention and didn’t take it away meanwhile my sister and i have always had to share bc we’re twins and she #cast us aside when he was born and has fucking tormented both of us for years over who we like what we want where we go all of that shit and #then has the AUDACITY to call herself a good mother. being a good mother is more than feeding your kid and projecting your childhood trauma #onto them by preventing them from ever developing cancer to the point where they’re afraid fo like. go outside. you have to be patient and #nurturing and kind and like.. motherly. ans i know no one can be a perfect mother and she has been hurt so badly and she is dealing with a l #lot right now but COME ON. for gods SAKE. i am right fucking here. why don’t you care about me? why do you make it clearer every day? #ask to tag #like the way she would say when my sister and i were growing up and going through it that she wished she could book a hotel and live there f #far away from us and miss out on us growing up so she wouldn’t have to deal with us being anxious and hormonal because we were teenage girls #LOL. totally did not impact me at all. totally is not a wound that informs every breath i take and every thought i have. not at all #* like maybe he is normal because you uh… idk. just a guess here. actually gave him the motherlove people need to be functioning healthy #human beings? idk. just a silly thought. haha

[wygolvillage]

i will not get in pointless arguments over my favorite video game guy online. i will not get in pointless arguments over my favorite video game guy online. i will not get in pointless arguments over my favorite video game guy online. i will n

#if you dont take into account that albus is just as traumatized by barlowe as shanoa is you are wrong about him ok #and so many of his illogical actions can be traced back to how he responded to his trauma #and i literally discussed this EXACT TOPIC in the ooe section of my video #like. you can criticize his actions but to imply that albus never cared about shanoa *as a person* is fucking stupid and youre going to die #like. are we ignoring the line from pre-amnesia shanoa in that flashback that implied she wouldve done exactly the same thing for him #are we ignoring that so much of what happens after albus's death is driven by shanoas own agency #albus never knew the whole truth. shanoa chose to find it. shanoa chose to raid the castle. shanoa chose to use dominus anyway despite #albus's wishes because she saw saving humanity as more important. #albus had no part in any of those decisions #'ooooeh albus had a big brother complex and cared more about protecting shanoas innocence than her life' im going to kill you #he gave up the only home he ever had he made himself the enemy to everyone who ever cared about him he gave up his life twice #and yes he could have told her. but loyalty towards barlowe had been so engrained in the both of them #even when he found out barlowe lied he was like 'no he would never do that to me' at first. like genuinely #hes scared of the idea of control being taken from him; because it already had been #and his attempts to actually have any control over the situation got the autonomy OVER HIS BODY stolen from him via possession #idk banging my head against the wall. the game is more nuanced about this idea than you think #i am an albus defender till i die. goodnight

[beskad]

.

#how do you say sorry to an old friend you already said sorry to in an email #and they responded and what they had to say about your past behavior was so mind-blowing #that you didnt even know how to respond so you put it off #and now it's over a year later #and you still havent responded #and tbh it was already pushing the line by apologizing in the first place over a year ago and you're surprised they responded at all #but like you appreciate the honesty they gave you about past-you #it just also caused you to have to go back to therapy because like wow i know i was super foggy because i was in a huge cloud of trauma #having just escaped a horrible home life #and that obviously doesnt excuse the past behavior #you just honestly couldn't see it when you were doing it because you were so fried and fucked up #idk it just feels like responding so much later on is....out of line and rude because i took too long #but i also want to say thanks for the honesty because i genuinely didnt know I'd done those things #like i apologized for the things i WAS able to see kn hindsight #but there was just so much more and being confronted with that was A Lot #but it was also A Lot for them to say it #this is mostly rhetorical i am just 'thinking out loud' i suppose #and this behavior im referencing is from like 2017-2019 and 98% Trauma Response and dissociation and passive s-word ideation #tbd

[myname-isnia]

Suiren is Aplatonic

#bc I said so. argue with a wall #she's my character I can do what I want #look once I realised I was spec and claimed a bunch of identities under that umbrella #I began wanting to give some of them to my characters #alasie fulfills my aroace rep needs and honestly that's enough for now #bc with how prominent family is in my stories I can't really go for afamilial #but it very recently occured to me that suiren straight up doesn't have friends #of course for the most part it's because of trauma and her entire community hating her #but even after her recovery.. I just never gave her a friend? #she has her family + people like opal and bolin who are considered family and kuvira. that's it #the only friend she's ever had in my multiverse of madness is alasie. and even then 'friend' is pushing it #they would only know each other for a few weeks before Suiren has to bail and probably didn't interact all that much #and honestly. even in utos I don't see her as someone who'd go around making friends #maybe there are a few people who she's on good terms with but not quite on friendship level #if any of that makes sense #and hey. why am I making excuses. suiren is mine if I say she's aplatonic then she's aplatonic #she feels romantic/sexual and familial attraction but not platonic. end of story #but since she does have that thing with alasie I will say that she's once again like me. plato-indifferent aplatonic #though technically I’m demiplatonic but yk. same difference #she doesn't care much either way whether she has friends or not and will care if she has them. but more as a person than a friend yk? #she is a kind and caring person by nature even though her demeanor hides it. it comes with her set of beliefs #so she will care for and love people. but not consider them friends #it's nearly midnight so I'm yet again on tumblr with my batshit insane takes #sotrl suiren

[dancingbirdie]

Okay so on Astarion, I was reading this fic about him not knowing Tavs true intentions with him and it bothering Astarion a lot, so what if he goes to some mage or magic user and asks them to show Tavs true intentions to him, when he does the vision he sees is just... being snuggled. It's Tav on top of him and the both of you are falling asleep, his hands are under your shirt softly petting your skin as your sleepy self is contently snuggled up to him. I just start crying about him finding out that Tavs DASTARDLY and EVIL plan with him, their greatest desire from him... is to simply be held. 🥺

Hi @goblin-creatcher! Thank you so much for this BEAUTIFUL prompt. I, uhh, kind of took it and went a million miles an hour with it. This is honestly one of my favorite things I've ever written. I hope you enjoy it as well! xoxoxo

Something Imagined / Something Real

Word Count: 3.9K

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Warnings/Tags: Brief but detailed description of rough consensual sex, descriptions and references to Astarion's trauma/trauma responses, minor Act 1 and Act 2 spoilers, FLUFF, angst

Suggested Song Pairing: Slow Dancing in A Burning Room (Stripped) - cover by ST LUNA

Summary: Astarion has been suspicious of Tav’s true intentions toward him. He persuades Gale to cast a spell and reveal her motivations. ANGST and FLUFF ensue. A rewriting of Astarion’s confession scene from Act 2.

The sun had just begun to set on the campsite when Astarion decided to put his plan into action. He had waited until Tav departed with some of the other party members before making his way over to the wizard. Gale was too busy reassembling the bookshelf inside his tent to notice Astarion’s approach. It wasn’t until he gave a polite cough that Gale jumped and whirled to face him. 

“No, no, no,” he began all at once, hands raised in a sort of shooing motion. Astarion stared at him in confusion. “I can respect Tav’s indulging in your need for blood, but as I’ve said before: I taste terrible.” 

Astarion scoffed. “Charming. Actually, wizard, I was coming to request your aid in a different, though somewhat related, matter.”

“Really? Care to elaborate?” Gale responded, still somewhat wary. It wasn’t often he found himself alone with the vampire. 

“Testy, I see,” Astarion crooned teasingly. His knee-jerk response to people treating him like a monster, to behave in the most false saccharine sort of way. 

But he drew up short, censoring himself before saying anything else he might regret. He knew he needed to get on the wizard’s good side if he had any chance of getting the answers he sought. 

“I was hoping you knew a spell to reveal someone’s true intentions. Their… motivations for behaving in a certain way, so to speak,” he finished more seriously. 

Gale pondered the question for a moment before answering. 

“Hmm… yes, there is magic to determine that sort of thing… Although it’s been some time since I practiced it…” He trailed off, rubbing his chin in thought. 

“Why are you asking for such a thing?” he asked suddenly. 

Astarion had been prepared for this question, of course. No one did anything for free, no questions asked. He delivered his explanation perfectly, as he’d been rehearsing in his mind.

“One might say our dear sweet Tav and I have been growing a bit… closer these days, but I can sense a master manipulator when I see one. I just simply want to ensure their intentions toward me - toward the party - are true,” he replied with mock innocence. 

“Ah, yes,” Gale nodded. “I gathered as much when the two of you slipped away from the tiefling’s party a few nights ago.” 

“But,” he continued on,”I needn’t think you should worry when it comes to Tav. She seems about as transparent as they come. I’m sure any intentions she has toward you are true.”

Yes, but the best actors always mask their motivations behind innocence and transparency, Astarion thought to himself. I should know. I’ve been doing it for centuries.

After the party’s unfortunate meeting with that Gur in the Sunlit Wetlands, Astarion realized he would have to take potential threats from Cazador even more seriously. He wasn’t about to lose his freedom, not now that he finally had some small taste of it. 

It didn’t hurt to be more suspicious of everyone he encountered, even the sweetling Tav. Anyone could be an operative sent by Cazador, and the best ones would be as skilled as he was in the art of manipulation. It was well-known at this point that the person he’d grown the closest to on their journey was their brave party leader, Tav. Unlikely as it may be that she was scheming for his master, Astarion’s paranoia wouldn’t let him indulge in interactions with her a second longer unless he knew how she truly felt. 

Given Gale’s hesitation, Astarion knew he would have to kick his acting up a notch. Press on that wizard’s heartstrings. Touch the one nerve he knew he was sensitive to.

“Gale, darling, from one literally damaged soul to another, indulge me just this once,” Astarion beseeched him. 

The wizard glared at him a moment, before finally relenting with a heavy sigh. “Fine. Fine. But I want it known that I don’t agree with this so-called solution one whit,” he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Yes, yes, noted and formally documented, on my word as a former Baldurian magistrate,” Astarion replied cheerily. “So, let’s hop to it then, shall we?”

“What, right now?” Gale asked, shocked. “Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, a little less conspicuous?” 

“What better time than now?” Astarion responded. “Tav’s out gathering firewood with Wyll and Karlach. They won’t be back for some time. As for Lae’zel and Shadowheart, well…” he paused, gesturing over his shoulder. 

Said two were engaged in a heated sparring session on the outskirts of the camp. Snarls and curses could be heard emanating from both warriors as they tried, and failed, to gain the upper hand against their opponent.

“That lovers’ dance could go on until morning,” Astarion finished. 

“Fair point,” Gale admitted begrudgingly, grimacing at the sound of swords clashing violently. “Very well. Let’s get started.” 

Clearing his throat, Gale began to utter a series of phrases completely foreign to Astarion. He watched as the wizard began moving his hands in a wavelike pattern, forming a circle before them. Suddenly, a mist began to form from seemingly thin air, taking shape according to the boundaries Gale’s hands were creating. The mist grew more and more opaque until it appeared before them like a clouded mirror. 

As the fogginess of the ethereal magic began to clear, the “mirror” became a confusing blur of scenes whipping by, too fast for Astarion or Gale to really comprehend. There were flashes of Tav and Astarion, together and separate, but they disappeared too quickly to ascertain their context. It was as though the spell was shuffling through the entirety of Tav’s thoughts, assessing each one at breakneck speed. 

Finally, the spell slowed to a halt, stopping on one scene in particular. Astarion was struck speechless by what began playing out in the foggy portal before them. So distracted, he didn’t even notice Gale’s tight cough, or how the wizard suddenly became intensely interested in a copse of trees nearby, rather than the revelation the spell was revealing.

Not that the scene was especially profound, objectively speaking. In fact, to anyone else, it might be viewed as the least revelatory thing possible that the spell could have shown. Boring. Inconsequential, even. But to Astarion, it was almost earth shattering. 

He saw himself - he could see his face! - with Tav, lying tangled together in some immaculate four-poster bed. 

That was the first shock that coursed through him, nearly causing his knees to buckle. He was seeing himself for the first time in over 200 years. Or at least, he was seeing himself as Tav saw him. And… the person he saw… Well, he was gorgeous. White blonde locks, curled and tousled in a devil-may-care sort of way. A strong, patrician nose that suggested good breeding. High, sharp cheekbones. Full lips, upturned in a thoughtless grin. Red eyes bordered by long, sweeping lashes. Delicately pointed elven ears. Smooth alabaster skin, without blemish or spot. 

Astarion could scarcely believe his own eyes. 

The second shock to his system was the nature of their activities. He would have been less surprised had the vision shown them fucking. Him taking her roughly from behind perhaps. His name a cry of ecstasy from her lips as he pistoned in and out of her with a feral sort of determination. 

Fantasies of lust, of total domination, now those were things he was familiar with inspiring in the minds of the victims he had taken as lovers. It was what he strove for, in all honesty. Desire like that all but ensured he would capture his prey and live to serve another day for his master. 

But nothing of the sort was occurring between vision-Tav and himself. Instead, they were just… embracing? What in sweet hells was this?

She lay halfway on top of him. Her hair was mussed, perhaps from sleep or perhaps from previous lovemaking. One hand was drawing absentminded shapes across his chest, her lips trailing behind, leaving kisses in their wake. He watched as vision-Astarion chuckled softly, as his hands slipped beneath her sleepshirt to caress her waist, as he placed an innocent kiss on the top of Tav’s head. Eventually, she reached for his hand. They both watched their fingers intertwine, blissfully content.

It was the purest, unadulterated expression of affection that Astarion had ever seen. Something in his heart quaked at the sight of it. He wanted that moment. He envied, he hated, vision-Astarion for enjoying such apparent happiness.

So absorbed in the vision and its implications, Astarion failed to notice the soft padding of feet that indicated someone’s re-entry into the camp. 

“If the two of you are quite finished poking around in my head,” an angry voice suddenly spat from behind them, “I’d appreciate you preserving what little privacy I have left and shutting that damn spell off.”

Mortified, Astarion and Gale turned to see Tav, arms crossed and visibly seething with rage. Gale quickly dispelled the magic with a flick of his wrist. A blush was slowly but surely rising up Tav’s neck to reach her cheeks. Whether from rage or embarrassment, Astarion couldn’t be certain. 

“Tav, let us explain-” Astarion started.

“It was his idea-” Gale blurted at the same time, pointing at Astarion. 

Both paused, glaring at one another. But Tav would have none of their feeble attempts at backpedaling. 

“The explanation doesn’t matter. Whose idea it was doesn’t matter. The fact is that both of you violated the privacy of my mind, which I’ll remind you, has ALREADY been violated by having a bloody tadpole forced inside of it!” Tav shouted. At their words, the camp became enveloped in a heavy silence. Even the crickets ceased their chirping.

Astarion cringed inwardly, knowing the other party members could plainly hear this altercation and had likely stopped whatever it was that they had been doing to listen in. He noted the sounds of swords clanging together had ceased. He was certain Lae’zel and Shadowheart at least were aware of what was happening. Nosy bastards, all of them.

But what disturbed him even more was the realization that Tav’s eyes were welling with tears. She was too proud to acknowledge them or wipe them away. Such was her nature. But they were there nonetheless, and the knowledge that Astarion had brought her to the point of tears was enough to spur a rush of utter self-loathing inside him.

Without another word, Tav turned on her heel and marched stiffly out of camp, toward the direction of a nearby creek they’d identified as a water source earlier in the day.

“I can’t believe I let you convince me to perform that spell,” Gale said as she disappeared between the trees. He dragged his hands down his face. 

“How could we have been so doltish, forgetting that all of our privacies have already been violated with this tadpole business?”

Astarion didn’t have an answer to that. At least, not one the wizard could possibly understand. 

The thought hadn’t occurred to Astarion, he realized, because violations of privacy had been something so intrinsic to his being for over 200 years. He didn’t even recognize it as something abnormal. Like a fish unaware that the water surrounding it is, in fact, water. 

Violations of privacy were a part of life, at least for him. So much so that his request for Gale to perform that magic hadn’t even occurred to him as an overstepping of boundaries. To Astarion, it had simply been a matter of survival. He had needed to know another potentially manipulative person’s true intentions, and so he had found a means to uncover it and maintain the upper hand. 

Belatedly, he also realized that Gale’s hesitation to cast the spell had had nothing to do with being inconvenienced for the evening, but because the wizard had known that it was improper to do to another person. If he had misread that, Astarion wondered, then what other truly benevolent behaviors had he mistaken as pragmatic manipulation?

“I need to go find her,” Astarion murmured, clenching and unclenching his fists in an uncharacteristic fit of uncertainty. 

“Yes, you do,” Gale asserted. “We both owe her a sincere apology… if she’ll even accept it.”

“I’ll see if I can convince her to come back to camp,” Astarion replied, making to leave in the direction Tav had stormed off. 

“Wait,” Gale said, a hand on his shoulder. Astarion turned to meet his gaze. 

“Look, well, I’m obviously not an expert in healthy demonstrations of affection. But I do think it’s obvious from what you saw in that spell that Tav well and truly cares about you. In perhaps the purest way possible. Treat that carefully.”

Part of Astarion wanted to laugh aloud in utter hopelessness at the wizard’s advice. Someone cared for him? Truly and purely? No hidden games, no strings attached? Oh certainly, that wouldn’t be a problem for Astarion at all. Obviously, his 200-year existence as a master-manipulator-fetch-hound for a power-hungry vampire lord had perfectly prepared him to respond to this situation in a healthy manner. Obviously.

But all that was too much to reveal to someone he barely knew and too heavy to say aloud. Rather than giving some smarmy retort, Astarion opted instead to give a stiff nod and continue walking toward the edge of camp. He had no idea how he could make things right with Tav, but at the very least he could try. 

***

He found Tav sitting on a fallen tree near the edge of the creek bed. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them as she rested a cheek to her knees. In the waning twilight, she reminded Astarion of some misbegotten gargoyle perched on the roof of a temple, solitary and so very sad. 

Her ears twitched as she noted his arrival. Astarion wasn’t trying to be stealthy. On top of everything else, the last thing he needed to do was scare her. 

“Can I join you?” he asked softly, wincing to himself at the awkwardness of the question. 

The reality was that there was no way to broach this conversation without some stilted beginning, and he hated it. Navigating tricky conversations was normally something he excelled at. But as he was quickly finding, when it related to Tav, nothing in his past life had prepared him to respond to her well. 

“If you’d like,” Tav answered tonelessly. 

Knowing it was probably the best response he was going to get, Astarion swallowed thickly and moved to sit down on the log next to her. 

“I… wanted to… apologize for what you saw, back at camp,” he began.

“Apologize for doing it, or apologize for getting caught?” Tav asked as she turned her head to look at him, resting her other cheek on her knees. 

Astarion balked at the question. Her piercing gaze unnerved him. He hadn’t really thought that far. 

“Both, I suppose?” he answered honestly, although it sounded more like a question to Tav. She huffed a laugh.

“You know, part of me really wants to yell at you. Scream in your face. Tell you off proper,” she mused.

“So why don’t you?” Astarion asked, perplexed. 

Tav didn’t respond at first, just sat there studying him. As if by staring at him long enough, she could project the answer into his mind. 

Astarion didn’t interrupt her, much as he would have liked to. Part of him always bristled when people gazed at him for too long. It was unfair that they could study him, when he hadn’t been able to so much as glance at his reflection in over 200 years. 

Finally, Tav released a heavy sigh, her body curling further in on itself. She closed her eyes as she spoke.

“Because then I would be just like every other bastard in your life who’s mistreated you.”

Astarion flinched in surprise. Those had not been the sort of words he’d been expecting. The truth of them cut deeper than had she raged at him like she wanted to. It left him feeling even more vulnerable, and that in turn made him want to retreat into the comfort of viciousness.

“I don’t need you to pull any punches,” he scoffed, glaring at her. “Go ahead and say what you will.”

She straightened up at his tone, opening her eyes and returning his glare. 

“No. I don’t want to,” she said testily.

“I don’t need your pity,” he hissed. “It’s insulting.”

“Gods damn it all, Astarion!” Tav exclaimed suddenly, causing him to jump in surprise. She threw her hands up in defeat. “I’m not doing anything out of pity! I don’t want to rage at you, because I know that whatever I say right now, I won’t mean it come the morning!”

Astarion blinked. Once again he was left feeling flat footed by the turn of the conversation. Sensing his surprise, Tav continued on with her deluge of words.

“You hurt me tonight, and I’m angry at you - and at Gale, for that matter - for what you did. But you’ve shared enough of your… history… with me, that I realize your behavior is just… just a byproduct of centuries of abuse and manipulation you’ve endured! And I won’t be another abuser in your life. I won’t,” she asserted. 

Astarion continued staring at her, as if she were some otherworldly creature that had just wandered across his path. He watched as Tav inhaled a deep breath, releasing it shakily. She turned away from him to peer out into the forest, uncertain. She opened and closed her mouth several times before actually speaking. As if whatever she was about to say was more intimidating to her than anything else she’d said tonight. 

“I… care deeply for you, Astarion,” she said quietly. “You obviously saw that in the vision. I’m not playing any games. There’s no hidden motive. I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

She turned to look at him again before continuing, her breathing a bit unsteady. 

“I didn’t sleep with you that night of the tiefling party as some sort of maneuver to gain your trust. Although I understand if that was your motivation for doing so.” 

Astarion’s expression morphed into one of guilt. But Tav nodded soberly, as if she had already expected it, before continuing on. 

“It’s okay. I’m not angry. But I’m putting all my cards on the table now, so to speak. Actually, your decision tonight forced my hand, but I had been planning on telling you soon anyway. So, there you have it. The truth of my intentions. What you do with that information is up to you.”

She turned back to gaze out at their surroundings. Like she was giving him the opportunity to bolt away without her watching him. As if she expected him to flee from her confession. 

But Astarion didn’t flee. He remained seated, staring at her in complete wonderment. 

“Why?” he asked quietly.

She looked back at him again, confusion evident on her face. 

“Why what?”

“Why do you care for me? You’re so… well-adjusted. And I’m well… this,” he finished lamely, placing a hand on his chest. 

Tav pursed her lips. “It would be a mistake to misconstrue my empathy for you as me being well-adjusted. Everyone has their own demons, Astarion,” she murmured. “Mine just look different from yours.”

Astarion mulled her words over in his mind, considering them. He leaned forward to brace his forearms on his knees, his head drooping slightly. 

“I…,” he started, unsure. “That vision… what it implied… You deserve something real, Tav. You’re incredible… truly.” 

Tav closed her eyes, bracing for the fallout. Even though she would accept his decision, whatever it was, she didn’t think she could bear to watch him deny her. It would hurt too much. 

“Look. When we met, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan,” he blurted all at once. Rising swiftly to his feet, Tav watched as he began to pace before her, near to bursting with frenetic energy. 

“Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me,” he counted off, laughing half-heartedly. “It was… easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do… was not fall for you… which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart,” he finished, stopping to stand before her. 

She held his gaze, speechless. 

“I want you,” he whispered fervently. “I want what was in that vision… I want us to be something real.”

Never in a million years had she thought he would respond to her like this. She opened her mouth to speak, but Astarion cut her off with another sudden exclamation. 

“I just don’t know what real is,” he confessed, his tone a touch hysterical. Tav knew from his body language that being this transparent was completely out of Astarion’s comfort zone. 

“Being… close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back. For him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust, and loathing. I… I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to,” he finished, staring at her with beseeching eyes, willing her to understand.

Tav rose to her feet, coming to stand before him. 

“I don’t want you for your body,” she whispered. “Or to perform any acts of intimacy. We can be together, without sleeping together, for as long as you need.”

“Really,” he asked softly, his voice pitched low, rough with emotion.

“Really,” Tav asserted, giving him a small smile. “Would it be all right if…” she paused, conflicted. He eyed her curiously.

“Could I hug you?” she whispered.

The fact that she asked before doing so caused a well of emotion to spring up inside him. Eyes watering, Astarion nodded. 

Slowly, Tav moved forward to wrap her arms around his waist. Her head nestled into the crook of his neck and shoulder. A perfect fit. He felt her exhale a deep sigh.

Tav hugging him was a sensation unlike any he had ever felt. At least, any he could remember feeling. The act of being touched, embraced, without any desire for something more. She just wanted to hold him, feel him close to her. It was incomprehensible to him, but utterly enjoyable, at the same time. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Astarion raised his arms to return Tav’s embrace. Drawing her even closer, he bowed his head to rest his cheek against her hair. It was soft, like the finest silk. He closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply, appreciating her sweet, floral scent.   

She made to pull away after a moment, not wishing to overwhelm him. But Astarion gripped her more firmly, a silent urge for them to stay that way a little longer. 

“This… this is nice,” he whispered. 

He both felt and heard Tav hum contentedly in response. 

It wasn’t identical to the vision from Tav’s mind that he had seen, but Astarion reveled in their embrace nonetheless. It felt like the beginning of something new. And for the first time in his very, very long life, Astarion felt excited at the prospects of what would come next. 

#astarion #dancingbirdiewrites #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #baldur’s gate astarion #astarion x f!reader #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion fic #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic

[boxingcleverrr]

Popular Hades & Persephone "retellings" are, rightly, getting dunked on all over the socials right now and, as a Pagan who has an altar to the Queen, I could not be happier. But also, I feel like a lot of people miss WHY they're bad - aside from just plain bad writing and lazy tropes. Which are, yeah, also REALLY bad.

Pretty much all retellings try to wave away, or excuse, or twist the whole kidnapping bit. And I actually do have sympathy and understanding for why, when speaking from a modern perspective.

But honestly...you gotta get over it. There are other stories to play fix-it with, not this one.

The Abduction is The Thing.

Were I a little more sober I could bring up chapter and verse of the Hymn to Demeter but frankly, if you know even the middle school mythology curriculum version of the story, you SHOULD know the themes. The story of Persephone was one mothers and daughters in the ancient world held dear, because it was a reality: you will, one day, be swept away from your home to go cleave to a man you most likely know nothing about. You will miss your mother, but chances are very good that he will be a good husband, once you get to know him, certainly better than Zeus or Ares, and he will make you a queen of his home.

Leaving home to marry was often scary, and violent (look up the history of the tradition of Bridesmaids, if you don't already know it - they were originally decoys on the marriage road). Centuries later we'd have tales like Beauty & The Beast serving the same function: comfort, hope, you are leaving your safe loving home to figure life out with a (often older, powerful) stranger. Your trauma over this sudden ending of your childhood made manifest in a Beast, or a God of The Underworld.

It's wonderful that we don't NEED stories like this anymore to comfort us (here, at least, in this culture). But if you try to force them into modern vernacular it just will not work, not really, because you're gutting out the whole point just to have a more tidy romantic male hero.

I have read MANY very good ...novelizations? fanfic(? however you would frame them, but they're certainly not "retellings"), etc. that simply take advantage of the blank spaces in the myth, and there are many!

It's not explicit that sexual assault happens - "The Rape of Persephone" as a title was coined in much earlier eras, when the word was just as often used to simply refer to abduction.

"She was starving!" the gods didn't need to eat. So it's easy to read her eating the Pom seeds as a deliberate choice on her part. Like, shit, people, scholars have written whole papers on the symbolism of this moment, between marriage rites and even yeah, Seph choosing both worlds with her husband's knowing consent.

And that, I think, is the real heart of the thing. People want an utterly mundane, spelled-out story here, as opposed to what it really is, has always been, just like any other myth or religious parable: IT'S A METAPHOOOOOOR.

They don't need to be destined, or meet at a goddamned BALL and then CONSPIRE to fake her kidnapping, or shit, I once saw one where Hades got MIND CONTROLLED by Zeus?! Jesus.

Persephone was yoinked into the Underworld against her will.

That's how it went.

I don't mean this in a "stay out of my belief system!" way, shit I'm a white American chick with delusions of witchery. I mean this in a "stop stressing yourself out trying to make things palatable" way:

This is a very real, very precious myth to many people, BECAUSE for at least that one event, Persephone had no autonomy, BECAUSE for thousands of years most women had no autonomy. Erasing that, sanitizing the fact that a girl is ripped out of the spring, from her mother's arms, is erasing the thing that gave comfort to women for centuries. And people can and should still find power and healing in it now!

Fill in the blanks the story leaves in whatever manner seems fit to you, there's plenty of room, but. Come the fuck on.

#blathering #truly had a ramble bubbling for weeks #just pagan things

[illyrianbitch]

What We Make of What We’re Made

Pairing: Acheron!Reader x Azriel

Summary: When Azriel overhears Feyre's concern about your transition to fae life, he agrees to check on you.

Warnings: mentions of previous trauma and hardship, fluff :)

Word Count: 3k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“I’m worried about her, Rhys. Really worried.”

Although Feyre’s voice was quiet, Azriel could sense the worry that coated it from where he stood down the hallway, the sound of her voice leaking through the cracked door of Rhysand’s office. It was a quiet morning, lazy almost, as Azriel walked around the townhouse. His shadows danced along the walls next to him, matching the pace of his walking as he approached the open door.

“Worried about who?” 

Feyre let out a small sound of surprise, turning her head towards where Azriel now stood, a delicate hand flying to place itself above her heart. Even with the time that passed, she never quite got used to how stealthy the shadowsinger could be, how easily he was able to quiet the sounds of his own footsteps with the lively shadows he called his own.

“Oh, Azriel,” Feyre said, giving him a small, soft smile. “Good morning.”

Az gave her a quick smile back, dipping his head ever-so-slightly in a gentle greeting. His gaze bounced between her and Rhys, who gave him a simple raise of his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

“Who are you worried about?” Azriel asked again.

Rhys and Feyre exchanged a meaningful glance, and then Feyre let out a small sigh, turning to look at Azriel once more. There was a small furrow in her brow as she fiddled with her fingers.

"Y/n," she confessed.

Azriel’s face softened, his mouth turning into a small downturned frown. He felt a subtle shift in his shadows, as if they had responded to the sound of your name. Faintly, he felt their airy, cool, touch on his body as their large mass rose up his arms. He felt them settle at his shoulders, perched— alert, almost– as if they, too, were attuned to the conversation. 

"I see.”

"Feyre is concerned that she may be having a harder time becoming fae than she has let on," Rhysand explained.

The crease between Azriel’s brows grew deeper as his gaze flickered between the two before him. 

"Why?”

Feyre sighed again, giving a small shrug. There was a certain look in her eyes, a look that Azriel traced back to the day the King of Hybern turned you and your sisters into fae— forced you into fae. It was a look he was familiar with, one he often wore himself: guilt.

It was no secret that Feyre felt responsible for what had happened to you and your sisters. Although she spent those first few months away, Feyre felt it in her heart, the struggle you had all experienced. And she felt the guilt even deeper knowing that she wasn’t there to help. She didn’t hide it as well as she thought she did, that certain fear that she clung to of her sisters never truly forgiving her for what she felt was a personal betrayal. Or, perhaps, Azriel was just too good at his job. 

 "I've barely seen her,” she said, “I know that Nesta and Elain are having a difficult time, but at least I can see them. Be near them—as much as Nesta may hate it."

Azriel blinked. And then an unfamiliar feeling began to gnaw at his heart. Feyre was right. You hadn’t been around recently. Az had noticed, of course, as he tended to keep track of those in his circle, of the people he was expected to protect— at least to a degree. And you had, indeed, been gone more often than you were home. 

In fact, he struggled to remember the last time you sat with them for longer than a few minutes before rushing off. With a small exhale, Azriel sent a few of his shadows down his body and out the door, pushing them to check your bedroom and report back to him regarding anything that might be of use. 

“Well, maybe we could send Azriel to check on her?” 

The sound of Rhysand’s voice called Azriel’s attention back to the conversation, and he cleared his throat in hopes that the motion would clear his mind as well. 

Feyre's eyes widened slightly as she brushed a gentle hand across Rhysand’s forearm, turning to look at Azriel with a faint smile. "That's a great idea. You've been so sweet to Elain, Az. Maybe you could help Y/n, too. Would you mind?" 

Her voice held a note of hope and Az found himself nodding gently. 

"Of course not," He replied, "But if she's struggling, am I really who she would want to see?" 

Rhysand frowned slightly before looking down at his mate. But Feyre simply shook her head, offering a reassuring smile as she said, "I think you'd be a breath of fresh air.”

"And you could get a better read of where she's at,” Rhysand added, “Maybe how we can help.”

Azriel nodded once more. In the same moment, he felt a few of his shadows return, slowly snaking up his legs to join the mass near his shoulders. Your room was empty, as it turned out, and the bed was cold. Wherever you had gone, you’d left quite a while ago— and you left no notice of where it was that you were running off to. 

"I'll find her," Azriel affirmed. With a final nod to Rhysand and Feyre, he turned and left the room, his shadows trailing behind him. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It was nearing the later months of the year now, and there was a cool breeze that filled the air, not quite chilly enough to make him shiver, but enough of a nip to make the warmth of his leathers comforting. Azriel loved this time of year, loved the way the breeze kissed his cheeks and how refreshing it felt against his wings. It was a good time of year, a time to take a breath and prepare to start new— he quite loved the second part, the promise of a new start, of a chance to be better than who he was before. 

Az slowly walked along the Sidra, his wings carefully and neatly tucked into his back. His posture was lazy, a small hunch in his shoulders as scanned his surroundings. He made himself as small as possible, not wanting to take up too much space, or worse, scare those around him. Specifically, he didn’t want to scare you if he happened to come across you.

But that was proving difficult at the moment. In truth, Az didn’t know where to look. His shadows were on alert, told to seek out any sign of you, any indication of where you might have disappeared to. He thought of all the quiet places nearby, of the corners in Velaris that may provide some darkness to shrewd in. But nothing quite came to mind. He let his thoughts wander as he continued his path.

Azriel felt guilty. 

Sure, you weren’t his responsibility, but you were part of his family now— a sister of Feyre, of his High Lady. You were his to protect. And while Cassian had been working with Nesta, or attempting to and being shot down, Az had been tiptoeing around Elain when he wasn’t assessing the court for any more help needed for post-war rebuilding. Things had been quiet recently. And he had assumed, apparently wrongfully so, that you and your sisters would be able to properly acclimate now, to learn how to live as fae. He couldn’t speak much for Nesta, as she had distanced herself as soon as she could, but Elain— Elain had made slight progress. She was moving around the house, tending to her garden.

But you. You, he had not truly analyzed. There had been Nesta’s anger, Elain’s helplessness and utter fear, and you…. you had been silent. And ever since, you’d found something to busy yourself with— perhaps some distraction from the pain you’d forced yourself to deal with alone, he thought.

He should have kept a better eye. He had failed you, had failed his family. 

He felt the faint, cool tug on his body, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

Azriel clenched his teeth in frustration, stopping in his tracks as he looked down at his shadows once more, watching as few slithered towards the edge of the shops that lined the Sidra, the other shadows dancing around his wrists as if enticing him to follow. 

He attempted to call them back, reel them in like energetic children, but they refused, continuing to veer off course and drawing his attention to a particular figure seated outside a quaint cafe. He threw the female a quick glance, taking in her sapphire coat and her hair tucked within it. He looked down at his shadows. 

Stop it, Az scolded. Stay on track. Find Y/n.

But yet again, his shadows danced in between the cobblestoned roads towards the female. 

She sat with her back to Az, her laughter ringing out like a melody amidst the chatter of the busy street. She was engaged in conversation with, who Az assumed was, the cafe owner, her gestures animated as the two talked. 

Azriel paused. And then the female was moving her hands to her neck, lifting her hair and freeing it from where it lay underneath her coat. Instantly, a small breeze kissed Azriel’s nose, and he was hit with a scent of sweetness that had his wings falling slightly limp behind him. 

It smelled like…you?

He slowly moved forward, brows furrowed together as he approached the female from behind. 

The shop owner's conversation faltered as she took in Azriel's approaching figure, the words she had been speaking instantly dying off her tongue. Her eyes went wide for a moment before her face softened, and she offered a polite nod of acknowledgment.

From in front of him, you turned around, your head tilting up to meet Azriel’s eyes instantly. 

And then you smiled. 

His confusion deepened as he watched you, his previous expectations shattered by the sight of what Azriel could only describe as…joy.

“Azriel!” You said, “What are you doing here?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered between you and the shop owner as he swallowed.

“I-” He hesitated for a moment. His shadows danced around him. Happy, Joy, Content. “Feyre sent me.”

Your face fell into a small frown and you turned your head to face the shopkeeper once more. 

“It was so nice talking with you, Liena,” you said softly, “And thank you so much for the treats.” 

You motioned to a small empty plate before you, and the female smiled at you, leaning forward to grab it with her small hands. “Please come by anytime. We’re glad to have you here.”

You smiled at her, watching as she retreated back into her quaint little shop. Then, you turned to look up at Azriel once more. 

“Feyre sent you?” You asked, “For me?”

Az nodded, eyes quickly flickering down to where his shadows seeped to trail near your ankles, he clenched his jaw slightly as he urged them to return, a sense of heated embarrassment filling his body— a sensation he wasn’t used to. Had never felt before, really.

“She's worried about you,” he finally managed to reply. 

Az took a step back as you pushed your chair out, gently standing up and turning to face him. There was a gentle smile on your face, but your brows were furrowed as you stared at him through dark lashes. You brought your hand to your chest, hovering it over your heart. Just as Feyre does, Azriel noted. One and the same.

“She is?”

There was a trace of concern in your voice, but it wasn’t in the way he had expected. You seemed concerned that Feyre was worried— concerned as if she had no reason to be worrying at all. Azriel took a moment to scan your features, taking in your face, the way you stood, the clothes that adorned your figure.

You were beautiful, Azriel knew this. He had noticed it when he first met you and your sisters, standing with his brothers and Feyre. But comparing that female he first met to the one that now stood before him… the similarities were almost hard to find. You were glowing. There was a pink tint that coated your cheeks, the faint blush that painted your skin from the cool breeze. Your skin was full of color that had been missing those first few weeks after you’d been Made, and you wore a gentle smile that held a heavy warmth to it. 

Happy, Joy, Content.

“She is,” he responded, “You’ve been gone a lot recently. She was concerned that you were struggling with being fae.”

You blinked, your mouth falling open slightly as you took in his words, and then your brows furrowed deeper.

“Oh my gods,” you said quietly, “I didn’t realize what Feyre might think.”

You let out a small sigh, gently tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. Azriel simply looked at you, his mind drawing blanks of what he could say. He couldn’t form the right words, at least not while his energy was being spent on pulling his shadows away from your body and back into his. 

‘I know my sisters are struggling. And I was too,” you quickly added, “but I woke up one day and suddenly the sunshine seemed brighter and its rays were warmer, and all the sounds around me were more melodic than I’d ever heard.”

You stopped for a moment, grabbing a strand of your hair in your hands to twirl between your fingers before you continued. “I don’t know how else to describe it. And I didn’t want to be so happy around them. It felt wrong— like if I was betraying them somehow, for enjoying what we had been forced to become. So I stayed out of the house. At least, at the beginning. But now?” 

You stopped again, but this time you made a soft gesture with your hand to your surroundings, too lost in your words to notice how a single shadow managed to hover around your extended hand. Azriel kept his gaze on you, unwavering and focused as you smiled once more, a small laugh leaving your lips. Without noticing, the corners of his lips turned up at the sound.

“Azriel, this city is beautiful. I would have never been able to experience something like this as human. We were unhappy, simply existing rather than living. But here? The food, the music, the energy.” 

You fiddled with your hands as you shook your head gently, the smile never leaving your face. 

“What happened to my family, to Nesta, to Elain, to Feyre,” you said, moving closer to look up at him. “It was cruel. And it wasn’t beautiful. But what I make of myself after it? That can be beautiful.” 

There was something about the words that you spoke, how genuine your face was as you stared at him, that made Azriel’s heart clench. He felt silly, truly, for the sudden rush of emotion that washed over him like a tidal wave. You were happy, thriving even, and you’d been too worried about your sisters to share the joy. It was a different kind of selflessness than what he’d grown accustomed to seeing, a kind that he’d only seen in one other recently— your sister. His High Lady. 

Happy, Joy, Content. His shadows sang once again. Happy, Joy, Content.

“I’m sorry Feyre sent you all this way for nothing. “

“No,” Azriel quickly said, much faster than he intended to. His gaze casted down towards the outstretched hand that he had instinctively placed on your shoulder. He quickly retracted it, not failing to notice the small frown that passed through your features. “It wasn’t a waste.”

You gave him a small laugh. “Well, anyways. I’m sorry for spewing that all onto you like some sick toddler. Thank you for coming to find me. It was very sweet.”

You cleared your throat, taking a step back.

“Please let Feyre know I’m alright and that I’ll be back tonight. But I’d like to explore a bit more. The weather is perfect today. Something about how…” You trailed off for a moment, looking up at the skies above you, closing your eyes for a second as a trail of wind swept past your face.

“The way the breeze kisses your cheeks?” Azriel said, his voice quiet and unsure. Where those words came, and what overcame him to say them, he wasn’t sure. But he didn’t feel like questioning them— not now, anyways. 

You opened your eyes and looked at him once more. “Yes. Exactly.” 

A small cool touch drew your attention down to your feet, your eyes watching as small, opaque tendrils of black shadows danced between you and Azriel. You admired them for a moment, and Az took in how excited your eyes were as you traced their motions.

“Well,” you said, straightening yourself up. “Thank you again for coming to find me. I’ll let you get back to your day.” 

You gave a small nod before you were turning yourself around and walking towards the lively streets. As Azriel watched his shadows trail after you, he found himself calling out to your retreating form, “Y/n.”

You stopped. And then you turned to face him, arms now crossed against your chest. You tilted your head as he gave you a small, almost unsure, smile.

“Would you like me to show you around?”

You paused for a moment, as if you were considering the offer. He felt a flicker of fear in his gut, a new sense of embarrassment at the idea of you rejecting him. Perhaps he had intruded on your newfound freedom, placed himself where he shouldn’t be. But it was only an offer, was it not? And-

His thoughts died down as you smiled at him, your cheeks raising at the movement. 

“Well then, what are you doing standing all the way over there for? I expect a full tour.”

Azriel let out a small chuckle, a fluttering sensation filling his chest as he followed the trail his shadows led to you. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel x reader fluff #azriel x y/n #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfiction #azriel fic #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #acotar fluff

[assassinsblade]

Arrows and Ashes | 3

Azriel's determined to help you get better. You are determined that you are fine.

WC: 3.6k

Warnings: Pining, friends to lovers, injuries, fluff, some brief unhealthy coping, self-deprecation.

a/n: If you would like notifications for my writing, you can turn on notifications for the blog @assassinslibrary where I reblog all my fics!

Part 1 Part 2

—————————————

Azriel couldn't sleep. All night, he stayed by your side, watching your back rise and fall with each breath. He counted them, making sure you were getting enough air, that you were alive and well. And when that didn’t quell the pounding of his heart and the trembling of his hands, he moved closer and listened for the air leaving your lungs and the heartbeat in your chest.

He tried to read to pass the time, picking up the book he had brought in from your bedroom. But the words refused to sink into his brain, and he found himself unable to focus on anything other than you.

Any time his eyes wavered from your form, anxiety pooled in his chest. His eyelids had even become heavy with sleep, but he forced them open again, his shadows swirling around him in irritation.

He realized while sitting in silence that this was the first time you had been in his bedroom for more than a few minutes. He had known you for centuries, since he had been a child, yet he kept his room very private. You would enter occasionally when dropping something off to him, calling him down for dinner, needing to tell him something, or asking him to accompany you somewhere. But spending a longer amount of time together? Normally that occurred outside of either of your bedrooms.

Now, as you laid in his bed, your hair fanned out on the pillow, Azriel couldn’t help but feel like you were meant to be there. You occupied this space like it was your own, despite the aesthetic contrasting so deeply with your vibrant personality. It made something warm pool in his chest, a feeling that reminded him of coming home after a mission or falling asleep after a long day. A feeling he had pushed down until the past few days. One he had tried to ignore out of fear.

A soft groan pulled him out of his thoughts, and he immediately sat up straighter, his heart faltering.

You started to roll over to face away from the wall, your body moving toward him instead. But Azriel jumped to his feet, laying his hands gently on your arm to keep you from turning onto your back.

“Don’t move too much.”

His voice came out as a whisper, as if the volume could pierce you and cause you more pain.

“Azriel?”

“It’s me,” he clarified, scarred fingers stroking soft circles on your bicep. “I’m here.”

You swallowed, and he could feel your body start to tremble beneath his touch. Adrenaline shakes, he surmised -- your body still recovering from the pain and trauma it suddenly endured.

“You don’t have to say anything. You’re in my room, you’re safe. You’ve just been resting.”

Blinking as if trying to orient yourself, you tried to turn again. His strong hands kept you in place.

“Could you-“ you coughed lightly. “Could you help me turn? I want to see you.”

One of his hands moved beneath your knees and the other cradled your back, just beneath your wounds. He lifted you from the bed slightly, moving your body toward him before releasing your legs and encouraging you to turn on your right side to face him, keeping pressure off your back.

When he finally released his hands, his hazel eyes stared into your own.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he spoke softly in return. His fingers gently moved your hair behind your ear.

Your eyes traced his face in silence before you finally moved your gaze away from him, noting where you were.

“Your bed is cozy.”

Azriel had to control his facial expression so as not to reveal his confusion and concern. That was the first thing you thought upon waking?

He gave you a soft smile instead. “Can I get you anything?”

You shook your head, burying yourself further into the blankets. “No, I’m okay.”

There was no way.

But you didn't elaborate and seemed content enough to stay laying there in silence, no acknowledgement of the life-altering event that had occurred to you.

Azriel didn’t like this at all. He had expected you to wake up in pain, whimpering, asking for him or Cassian or Rhys. For you to have been in a panic over your wings, sobbing and mourning them. He had been prepared to comfort you and hold you and explain how you were safe and that those males had been torn to pieces for hurting you.

But you were acting like nothing had even happened.

It was unnerving, and the shadowsinger for once had no read on the situation.

He eyed you carefully. “I’m going to have to change your bandages in a bit.”

You stiffened, your body tensing at his words before relaxing, your eyes feigning nonchalance.

“Later,” you challenged, closing your eyes again. “Is everyone coming for dinner?”

Azriel couldn’t mask his uncertainty over the situation, his brows furrowed and fingers twitching at his sides. “I’m not sure. Are you hungry?”

“You know I’d never turn down something sweet. Do we have any of those chocolate croissants from our cafe?”

“I’ll check. If not, I’ll have Rhys bring you some.”

You smiled, and he stood from where he was sitting by your form, looking at you one last time before crossing the threshold into the hallway so he can check for something to appease your unexpected sweet tooth.

Your entire behavior was unexpected. You wanted to eat. You were smiling. Not at all hinting at the trauma you had been through.

Azriel’s job was to inflict torture onto those in the dungeons (among other tasks). He knew the trauma it caused — the pain, the nightmares, the way it would permanently break some fae. He wasn’t sure if what had happened had not caught up to you yet, if you were in shock still, or if you were pretending to be okay, unwilling to show weakness in front of him.

Both possibilities made something twist in his stomach.

He forced his feet to move away from where you curled up in bed, shutting the door softly behind him and making his way to the kitchen. It was empty still, save for the bundles of daisies Rhys had dropped off at Azriel’s request. The high lord hadn’t questioned the order for the flowers, only leaving a note with them that said they all love you.

The two large bouquets looked silly now to the shadowsinger. Of course, he was hoping they would make you happy based on your past joy from flowers, but with everything that happened? They seemed so small in comparison.

He shook the thoughts from his head, instead looking around the counters and cabinets for any sign of your favorite treats. When he found none, he wrote a letter to Rhys seeing if he could deliver some of those chocolate croissants per your request. Once the high lord knew you were awake, he would probably do just about anything you asked.

Azriel sighed in defeat, bringing one of the bouqets back to the room with him so he wasn’t empty-handed.

He paused outside of the door, trying to settle his nerves. His shadows only swirled around him in agitation, and he tried to soothe them back to his sides. Only when he went to shush them, though, did he realize why they were unsettled.

A quiet whimper sounded from the other side of the door, followed by a sniffle and a small choked sob.

Azriel immediately opened the door, not hesitating to knock or make sure you were decent. His eyes scanned the room hurriedly, noting the tossed blankets on his bed and the light spilling from the bathroom.

He walked into the entryway, body instinctually turning toward your presence, guiding him toward the cracked door on the left. You shouldn’t be out of bed without assistance, and he definitely didn’t want you to be in there crying alone. He quickly placed the flowers on the desk next to the door before he peered into the open doorway, eyes immediately drawn to your red rimmed ones. You weren’t looking at him, though. Your eyes were turned over your bare shoulder, looking at the reflection of your back in the mirror.

Your back. Azriel's stomach dropped at the sight.

He hadn’t seen it all cleaned up without the bandages yet. It was still somehow just as gruesome as when it was splayed open and bloody on that table.

The wounds were large. Crescent-shaped and still healing. They were deep, gouged into the skin, and anyone else would look at them and call them ugly, an eye-sore, a blemish marking what would have been beautiful skin. Not Azriel, though. Never Azriel. Not when he still ran his own fingers along his scarred palms when nervous.

He slowly inched the door open further, the movement catching your eye and causing you to quickly turn your back to him, your arms crossing to cover your bare chest.

It was silent, your startled eyes searching his own for some sort of reaction. Did you expect him to be disgusted by your? By your scars?

In a way, he was. He didn't think you were disgusting in any way, but the act that was committed against you, the pain you had gone through in those moments, Cassian's memories still flashing in his mind -- that was what disgusted him.

You swallowed, and Azriel was moving before you could say something. He walked around you in a way that was cautious but attempting to be casual as to not put you on edge. He didn't face your back right away, especially as he felt you stiffen as he passed your side, and instead reached toward the counter where one of Madja's creams sat.

Unscrewing the lid, he finally made his presence known close behind you, pausing to let you breathe through your nerves before gently moving the hair that had fallen back over your shoulder. You shivered at the movement, but you didn't flee. You didn't tell him no.

So he gently dipped his fingers into the medicine, bringing it carefully up to the first of your wounds, still red and angry and glaring at him as if he were an enemy. He so very gently covered one edge with the white substance. You flinched at the feeling but still said nothing, so he continued, holding his breath and waiting for you to either lash out or break down.

Neither came though.

You stood still as can be, letting him apply the cream and dress your wounds, even taking the wrap from him and around your front to help hold the gauze in place. When he finally finished, he pulled your hair back from where it laid over your shoulder, letting it flow beautifully down your back, no longer suffocating the space by your neck. Then he walked back around to your front, meeting your gaze immediately and refusing to let it go.

Azriel tried to read what you were thinking, what you were feeling. But you only blinked away the remaining tears as if you were breaking out of a stupor.

You stood up taller, putting a faux smile on your face. "No chocolate croissants? I'm disappointed, Shadowsinger. You know Cassian wouldn't have returned without them."

A sharp pain twisted in his chest at your deflection, at your so obvious false display of contentment.

"Daisy-" he started, voice low and quiet.

"Why don't we go pick some up? You can use your shadows to get us to the gate right?"

"Daisy-"

You made your way toward the door, stumbling and moving slowly with your body's new imbalance and soreness. "Then you can go see everyone else. You shouldn't have to babysit-"

"Daisy."

You halted at his tone. The strong, demanding voice filled with such concern and care.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

He couldn't see your face, but he could almost picture your haunted look as you took a moment to collect yourself, your voice shaking when you finally spoke.

"Do what?"

"Pretend." He sighed. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Taking a deep breath, you shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I just want you to feel what you need to feel. You have been through a lot, and it's not good for you to just pretend like it didn't happen."

He walked closer to you, approaching you from behind, but you whirled around before he could get too close, gripping the doorway to stop yourself from stumbling.

"Of course I can't pretend like nothing happened. My wings are gone, Azriel. They are gone. My back feels like its been shredded -- like someone took me down to the butcher in Velaris to play with. And every day I will see those scars, feel those scars. I will watch as Rhys, Cassian, and you all fly, and I will forever be grounded. I will never again feel the wind in my hair or leap from the balcony. My body is changed; half of who I am has been taken from me, so I'm sorry if I don't know who I'm supposed to be after that."

By the end of your outburst, you were breathing heavy, choking on sobs that threatened to come up. Azriel watched as you swayed, your still healing and exhausted body needing rest, and he stepped closer.

"You aren't supposed to be anyone," he started, tears filling his own eyes. "You will always be Daisy, no one can take that away."

When he reached where you were standing, you shook your head, backing up into the bedroom as tears began to fall down your cheeks.

"You don't understand-"

"You're right. I could never understand. But I still want to help. Let me help, please."

"You can't help me. You can't go back in time or reattach my wings. I’m no longer me, I’m ruined.”

Azriel lunged forward at your words, propelled by something deep in his chest to correct you, to defend the sweet girl in front of him. His eyes were wild with hurt as he grasped your face between his palms, guiding your teary eyes to his own.

“Don’t you dare say that. You are the same girl who walked out of this house days ago. You are strong and brave and selfless, and everything you have lost is proof of that. You are not ruined, you are everything.”

You only looked at him, lip quivering as you tried to listen to him and hold back your sobs.

You shook your head slightly. “I’ll never be able to fly with you again.”

“I’ll take you.” Azriel vowed, voice deep and resolute. “I will carry you wherever you’d like.”

“I can’t even walk balanced-”

“My shadows will help support you while you recover. I will help support you.”

You looked away from him, tears filling your eyes once again. The words that came next were small, insecure. "No one will want me like this."

It took Azriel a few seconds to realize what you meant, because he could never dream of not wanting you. They all had trauma and nightmares, but you were referencing your scars, your forever-marked body. Madja had been able to close the wounds, but the worst ones had scarred. The lashings that had become infected in those dungeons had scarred. Only days ago you had been scar free save for a few. Not, you had hills and valleys of rough textured skin on your back, abdomen, thighs...

And you were the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Every scar a testament to your love and devotion to your family, a testament to your strength. He wanted more than just you, he wanted to worship you. He wanted to lay you down and cater to your every need, to massage and kiss every inch of your healing body, to show you just how beautiful he found you.

He swallowed, passion and an overwhelming amount of love filling his chest. It nearly ached. He directed you to look at him again. Nearly commanded it with his grip on you.

"I want you. In every form, in every life, in every universe. You are everything."

His words were strong, confident, and warm. He was pleading with you to believe him, to see and hear the truth that was right there.

You looked at him, studied him. Azriel knew your teary eyes were watching closely for a crack in his resolute stance. You would find none, though.

Eventually you sniffed, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as you asked in a sweet but broken voice, "What if your mate had these faults?"

Azriel didn't even have time to be shocked at the question, because he was immediately retaliating against your self-deprecation. "They are not faults. They are a part of you, of your story, and of your selflessness. They encompass so much of your beautiful heart in them, they could never be a fault."

The insinuation made him angry, but he tried to tamp down those feelings. You needed reassurance, not a reprimand.

You didn't even flinch at his response. Instead, you held his gaze and tried to cover the meekness making its way into your voice by standing up straighter. Azriel held you firm, steadying your balance with his shadows and his own feet against yours.

"And you'd still be saying this? If it was your mate?"

He was surprised the question didn't have that much of an effect on him. Anyone else bringing up mates normally had him tensing, snapping, getting defensive and changing the subject. From you though, It was comforting. Natural.

"Especially if it was my mate. But they would be able to feel all of this from me too. I would make sure they always knew they were wanted. I'd tell them everyday how beautiful they are, I'd get them sweet foods to make them feel better, I'd surprise them with flowers..."

As if the words summoned your eyes to them, he saw you see the giant bouquet of daisies sitting on his desk by the door. Your eyes widened slightly, your brows furrowing and chest rising a bit more rapidly. Azriel tightened his grip on you to steady you further.

He tilted his head to bring your gaze back to his own. "You are wanted, Daisy. I loved you before this, and I love you now. I will continue to love you always. Because you are you."

His words cracked something within you, because the next thing he knew, he was catching your weight against him. Your cheek pressed against his chest and your arms wrapped around his back, and then you were letting out such a heart-wrenching sob that Azriel immediately held you as tight as he could. He wished he could take all of the pain away, all of the haunting memories and nightmares. Any threats or fears, he vowed to fight them for you. Do anything until a smile was back on your pretty face.

"I want you too. I love you too," you mumbled into his chest.

It was only a few minutes before your sniffs subsided, and you pulled back with red splotchy cheeks and swollen eyes, skin wet with tears. Azriel cleared the hair from your face, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"You're my mate."

The words were so quiet, Azriel almost missed them.

But he couldn't. How could he? Mate, you had said. Him.

He was shocked enough at the acknowledgement of a physical bond between the two of you that he probably looked absurd, but he wasn't that shocked at the Cauldron deeming you two well-suited. After all, he had cared for you as more than a friend for months now, even if he had tried not to acknowledge it in fear of rejection.

He breathed, allowing his love for you to fill his veins, fill his very heart and soul. And then he met your sparkling eyes, still slightly watery from minutes prior.

And he felt it.

Deep within his chest, it's presence slowly becoming more prominent, was a golden thread. A tether that thrummed inside of him and brought him to you. A tug nearly sent him reeling.

"Your mate," was all he said.

"Yes," you whispered, still a little sniffly. "And I'm yours."

He let out a wet, happy chuckle, tears beginning to coat his own cheeks.

"You're mine," he repeated.

He made sure you were stable before grasping your face in his hands once again, bringing his lips to your cheek, then your forehead, then your other cheek, then your nose, and then your lips. He peppered them all over your face and arms, over the lacerations. He let the warmth in his chest take over and sing a song he had never known. The song escaped his lips in the form of kisses, in the form of I love you, my beautiful Daisy, and I'm so glad you're safe.

Only once he had regained control of his actions, he let his forehead rest on your own.

"You're mine," he said once again. "My everything."

And he knew you felt it.

#writing #acotar x reader #acotar fic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fluff

[dcxdpdabbles]

Any new ideas for congratulations! It's triplets? Love the idea of Jason just freaking out and trying to figure out how to build a relationship with his kids while being made fun of by his family and said kids. Especially if he goes overprotective mode because Danny has clown trauma too and gets snagged by the joker

Jason watches as Danny- his son.- impatiently taps his fingers against the table. His boy's gaze was looking at everything, taking in the big fancy Wayne Mannor with a sort of disinterest he was not expecting of a child so young.

His sister and Brother- both with alarmingly similar names- were also disinterested, but Dani was swinging her legs, and Dan was tapping his spoon and fork against the table in a fast-paced drumming.

It's strange to know he would fidget a lot as a kid but he always resorted to finger tapping. Was the tripples little habit from him? He wonders what else they inherited and what he missed out on seeing.

"I don't understand," Jasmine said, overlooking the contract Bruce's lawyers wrote up. " Why would you want custody now? It's been five years."

"I didn't know." Jason swallows past the lump in his throat as she gives him an unimpressed stare over the paper. He feels Bruce place a hand on his shoulder, and the silent support allows him to continue. "If I have, I wouldn't have ever let them grow up without me."

"Jason doesn't want full custody," Tim cuts in with a soft voice that has tricked lesser men into selling their shares. He and the rest of his family are all sitting across from Jassmin Fenton, as she is carefully lured back to the manor to discuss their next step. "He just wants to be part of his kid's lives and would happily share that with you."

"Not telling him about the kids sort of played into that," Steph mutters tactlessly. Unfortunately, her voice carries, and the woman across from them bristles.

There is a tense moment where he thinks Jassmin is about to curse them all out before she sighs and slumps in her seat. "Well, it wasn't like I had a means to contact you when I found out. You gave me a fake name."

Jason winces. "I sort of forgot I told you my name was Petter."

"Wasn't a total lie" Dani chirps "It is your middle name."

Jasmine rubs her eyes. "Look, Jason, I don't want to stop you from seeing the kids, but this is all too much right now. I'm dealing with a lot right now-"

"You are currently homeless," Damian cuts in, causing Jasmine to stop in genuine bewilderment.

"No, we're not." Dan scoffs. "You were waiting for us at our house. Waiting to ambush us."

"The house that was on the street that Poison Ivy just destroyed," The boy says, showing everyone his phone screen. There, clear as day is, their home is nothing but rumble. Jasmine's face spams, and she quickly checks her phone, paling at what she reads.

"Oh, Ancients. It's gone. It's all gone," She whispers, gripping the phone. The three kids immediately stiffen, watching their mother with strange intensity. Too aware of what this means.

They were mature for their age, and that is never a good thing.

Oh gods. Did his children live on the streets? Had Jason's carelessness hurt his children like his parents have hurt him?

"Mom?" Danny asks and that seems to snap Jasmine out of her spirl.

"Hotel!" She gasps, hands shaking as she quickly starts tapping on her phone. Jason catches a glimpse of her screen and realizes she is making a to-do list. "I have to book a hotel room. Call the insurance company, go and try to salvage whatever we can....what else?"

"You can stay here, Fenton," Damian surprisingly offers. "Until your home is rebuilt"

"We couldn't possibly-"

"Hotels are expensive, and you must focus on other more important needs. Father certainly has the space."

Jason jerks into action. "This will also give me a chance to connect with the kids!"

Jasmine bites her lip, turning to her children. Jason could appreciate that she was willing to include them in big decisions. The three nodded, so she eventually sighs.

"Alright. But only until I can get our housing settled. And I'll pay rent"

Jason would argue but he recognized the look in her eye. She would not be sway from making payments. So he agrees, tapping his fingers on the table in a specific rhythm to make sure his family agrees too.

He knows it pains Bruce- the old man already thinks of the triplets as his grandchildren and the idea of charging them to live with him will kill him.

Jason notices the way Dan's eyes zero in on his tapping and the glance around the family members. He fights a proud grin when realization bleeds into his boy's eyes. He's got a smart one, likely aware of that the tapping is a form of Morse code.

Tim did say- after pulling up all files of the four- that his children had developed insane intelligence. Maybe he should get them tested for certification geniuses.

"Hey Mr. Jason," Dani suddenly speaks up.

"Yes Darling?"

"I suggest you remove your eyes from my mom before I remove them from your face." The little girl even punches her palm in a poor intimidation attempt. His heart melts.

Then his face turns a dark red hue at Jasmine's raised brow. Unwillingly flashes of thier last time being face-to face rise in his mind. He coughs awkwardly as his sons face become as protective as their sister, Dan cracking his knuckles and Danny reaching for a knife.

"Oh yeah" Tim deadpans watching the kids reaction "No need for DNA test. Those are definitely Jason's kids"

He agrees, he just hopes he can show his children he plans on sticking around and being the father they deserve.

No one notices Cass and Steph slip away to deal with Posion Ivy. Jason kinda wants to send her a thank you gift for making it possible to have his family move into the manor.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Congratulations! Its Triplets! #the Dannies are protective of Jazz #Jason is more focus on being a dad but he does have a interest in Jazz #Damian is plotting on being the best uncle #The Waynes vs the Custody battle

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green - Part 13

Cass looked up as Jason came out of Danny’s room. He looked better.

After Danny had been stabilized, Cass had taken Jason away from the safe house and to Jason’s place with the gym in the basement. She knew what it was like to have that need to act— to hurt to ruin to end— burning under her skin. She gave Jason the fight that he needed, letting him punch and kick until they were both covered in bruises and he was shaking apart in her arms.

Today he looked better.

“N is going to stay with Danny,” Jason said with a little nod backwards.

Dick, Jason, Tim, and herself had all been taking turns staying with their new brother. He was sleeping a lot right then; he was waking with nightmares a lot too. Waking up with one of them touching him seemed to help him calm the quickest so they took turns staying close.

“Red?” Cass asked with a little tilt of her head.

Jason glanced at the clock on the oven as he opened the fridge. He wasn’t really hungry, but eating out of habit. “He’ll be over here in two hours, I he doesn’t get distracted.”

“Be nice. Red cares. He’ll be here,” she said.

Jason seemed to settle on something and popped the top off before throwing it in the microwave. “Yeah… yeah. Danny’s pretty much wormed his way into all of our hearts, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. Will for rest too.”

Jason snorted. “As if he already hasn’t with B. They didn’t need to meet for that. You know how the old man is, a real bleeding heart of stone.”

Cass rolled her eyes and ordered again, “Be nice.”

Jason frowned at her but she just smiled serenely back until he rolled his eyes. It was a win enough for her.

The heated food was set on a trivet between them and Jason stuck two forks in it.

“I’m thinking we get O in here in a few days,” he said around his own large bite of lasagna. “Danny is healing better this time, but we don’t know what sort of set back this will cause mentally and all. Having another set of hands would be good.”

“O will like him.”

“Course she will,” Jason said with almost a scoff.

“No O and Red,” Cass added thoughtfully after she had chewed her own bite. This was definitely Jason lasagna and not Alfred lasagna.

“Yeah… I don’t think I’m going to trust those three in a room together for a long time,” Jason said with a dawning sort of horror. “Danny took apart the remote here and now it has buttons for services I didn’t even know existed. I swear it will change shows on its own too if no one is paying attention to it. It’s useful, I guess, but a little creepy.”

“Ghost brother,” Cass said with a little shrug.

Jason’s eyes narrowed before he let out an exhausted sounding sigh. “I hate that you might be right. Our controller could be haunted now.”

“Alas poor Yorick?”

“Wrong character,” Jason said, pointing with his fork, “but that is a play with a ghost in it so good job.”

Cass smiled happily at the praise. “Once Red is here, you and me errands?”

“You just want to buy Danny another present,” Jason said, jabbing his fork in her direction.

“Yes,” she said with zero shame.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Fine, but we have to do groceries too.”

-

Babs had been warned that Danny was still very skittish, but he hadn’t actually expected him to freeze like a scared rabbit when she came into the apartment. She stopped rolling forward and moved her hands to where he could see them both clearly.

“Hi Danny,” she said with her kindest librarian voice that she had. “I’m Oracle. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Danny shook his head, the motion ran through him like a shudder and whatever had frozen him shook off him like water off a dog. His smile was still shaky though, so Babs didn’t think that whatever the reaction had been was completely done.

“Hi, Oracle.” His voice was soft, rough, a little broken.

She’d heard from a number of the bats about the latest development and the trauma that went with it, but it as still something to see someone that looked like a young Bruce covered in bandages and looking more than worse for the wear.

“Are you alright if I come in? If you aren’t, that’s alright. I’ll just talk with Nightwing in the hall for a little.”

“No, you can come in,” Danny said, sitting up a little straighter. His eyes flicked over her again. “It’s just… your hair reminded me of someone is all. No one… no one bad.”

Babs offered him a smile and came the rest of the way into the apartment. “If that changes, just let me know.”

“It’s fine, really,” Danny said, though the words were still a little bit of a whisper.

“Well then,” Dick said, interrupting the end of the oddly tense moment, “Babs, do you want any hot chocolate?”

“Thank you, but without the mountain of whip cream I know you liked to put on it,” she said, giving Dick a playful glare.

He shrugged unrepentantly. “Danny?”

“Yes please,” he said. He was fussing with the blanket he had been sitting under, folding it up just so.

Babs moved towards the kitchen to give him a little bit of space and the illusion of some privacy.

‘What was that about?’ Babs asked Dick silently through raised eye brows, a slightly twisted frown, and a subtle nod towards the living room.

‘Not a damn clue,’ is what Dick’s shrug said back.

It almost made Babs sigh.

Danny was still a complete mystery to her. While they were being good and had avoided taking blood or fingerprints from Danny, Barbara had at least been trying to find Danny’s path through the city. She’d been saying for days now that the boy was like a ghost.

She just didn’t expect that to be as literal as it was.

The nickname had lost any of its fun.

“Danny, whipped cream for you?” Dick asked.

Danny’s eyes darted from Dick to Babs.

“Oh, feel free to have it like N,” Babs said with a smile. “I just don’t have the sweet tooth that he does.”

“She never has, it’s tragic,” Dick said with a sigh as he started to warm a pot of milk. “So, whipped cream.”

“Um, yes,” Danny said.

“I will take sprinkles though,” Babs said. “Do you have the little—”

“Bats?” Dick scoffed. “Of course I have the little bats. You can’t have proper hot chocolate without the little bat sprinkles.”

“Of course not,” words serious but unable to help the little smile that she sported.

“You all really like the theme, don’t you?” Danny asked, though he was smiling too now.

“The boy in the hoddie with the Bat logo on it does not get to talk,” Dick said and tossed a large marshmallow at Danny with pin point accuracy.

Danny caught it effortlessly and started to pull it apart with a little shrug. “Hood got if for me as a present.”

“Of course he did,” Tim said as he finally emerged from wherever he had been tucked away. He handed the tablet he was carrying over to Danny before he sat down in the neighboring armchair. “He’s just trying to claim you first, as if him and I didn’t find you together.”

“Hot chocolate, Red?” Dick asked while Danny was busy looking bewildered at that.

“Sure, but add some coffee to it?” Tim asked.

“No,” Dick replied far too cheerfully. “But seriously Dandelion, a Bat logo from a Bat means something.”

Danny’s face scrunched up at that and he looked down at himself. “I don’t think… he was trying to claim me?”

Babs snorted. “Oh, trust us, he was absolutely claiming you. He probably felt that he had to do something material to even start to compete with B.B., as if he wasn’t cooking for you all the time.”

Danny stared back at her with wide blue eyes. The open surprise and desperate want was odd to see on someone that looked so much like Bruce. Damian certainly never let himself appear that way.

“And Red is already souping up your tablet, I’m assuming— though if you really want an improvement let me see it,” she continued, talking over Tim’s little snort, “and N is making you the special hot chocolate. Even Signal is thinking what he can get you and Spoiler is whining that she hasn’t met you yet.”

“She is getting so annoying,” Tim whined while Danny stuffed the shredded marshmallow in his mouth, likely to get out of saying anything. He looked more than a little teary eyed. Tim gave him the out by continuing, “We’ll have her over one morning when she’ll be tired and easily distracted by waffles. You’re not up for the full Spoiler experience yet.”

“Trust Red on that,” Dick interjected as he stirred the coco, “he dated her.”

“I don’t know what either of us were thinking,” Tim said with a sigh. “We are both way too high maintenance in different ways for it to have worked.”

“You were still waiting for you bi awakening, baby bird, you were missing out on half the options,” Dick said. He dropped one of the oversized marshmallows in each of the four mugs before pouring the scalding hot chocolate over it.

Babs left him to his sorcery and wheeled over to the couch before working her way onto it. Danny helpfully moved the blanket out of the way and then offered it back after. She draped it carefully over her legs.

“So what did Red do to your tablet?”

“I actually didn’t do anything,” Tim said, and then had to pause. “Well, not after I gave it to Danny at least. I was just making sure everything was still good. Danny’s been tinkering with it.”

Danny gave a little shrug and picked at the edge of his hoodie.

“Do you like engineering then? Or inventing?” Babs asked, trying to encourage Danny to open up a little.

“Yeah, my— I—, I mean…” Danny stumbled over his words. He lost some of his color with each false start until he was worryingly grey. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I used to at least.”

“Danny, hot chocolate,” Dick said with impeccable timing as always.

Danny whispered a thanks and took the almost overflowing mug. He could basically hide behind the mound of whipped cream and he definitely tried to. Babs took the offered mug with a much more modest dollop but an absurd amount of bat sprinkles. Her lips twitched up in a smile as she took a sip.

Tim’s portion was somewhere in between Bab’s and Danny and of course Dick’s was practically laughable. It’s a wonder he didn’t make an absolute mess of himself drinking it as they argued over a movie to watch. It was clever of the Bats, really, they had started to narrow down how long Danny had been a test subject by what movies he had seen or not.

It was somewhere between seventeen and twenty-three months.

Nearly two years.

They were all lucky that Danny had made it out at all. They all knew the statistics of something like that.

Hot chocolate turned into dinner turned into Danny cuddling Dick on the couch and eventually resting against Bab’s legs. A good sign about her acceptance, according to the birds.

“Oracle?”

Babs had thought that Danny was asleep. She reached out to run the tips of her fingers through his hair. The lights from the movie that was still playing glinted off her pink nails. “Yes, Danny?”

“If I asked… would you be able to find someone for me?”

She tilted her head. “The person that I remind you of?”

“Yes. Just… just so that I know she’s okay.”

“Is she in danger?”

“No, she’s not like me. She’s…” Danny cut himself off, swallowing back the words.

“But you’d still like to know.”

“Yes.”

Babs hummed. It was technically an abuse of her powers, but they were something she abused all the time. “Yes, if you ask me to, I can find out if she’s okay.”

“Okay. I’ll… maybe I’ll ask. Thank you.”

“Of course, Danny.”

---

AN: I struggled with this chapter at first, but it was because I was jumping right to Barbara meeting Danny and not giving the others some more time to deal with the change in Danny. They still haven't really dealt with it, right now they're focused on healing and getting more help through Babs being around.

All our poor Bat's. So attached already and so traumatized.

But not as traumatized as Danny...

Stay delightful, darlings!

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons

[steddieas-shegoes]

cw: discussion of past parental death due to overdose, mention of drug use

Steve stumbled upon the article when he was helping Robin collect articles for a project for her Industry Studies course.

He didn’t think much of reading about another small time musician getting caught up with the wrong crowd, and overdosing or getting in a drunk driving accident. It seemed like a pretty common theme. It was terrible, sad, horrible, but he’d seen about 30 stories like that in the last two days and he was kind of getting numb to it all.

Until he saw the name Munson.

Until a picture of a woman with long, curly hair and Eddie’s smile stared back at him next to a headline that read: “Kentucky Country Queen Dead at 27.”

He read the article with tears in his eyes.

Elizabeth “El” Munson, a hopeful country singer and guitarist, was found dead in her home by her six year old son, Edward. The boy reportedly tried calling his father at work with no luck before finally calling his uncle, Wayne Munson.

Toxicology reports show that she overdosed on multiple illegal substances. At this time, it is believed to have been accidental and no foul play is suspected.

It has now been made clear that Elizabeth was seeking a divorce from her husband, Al Munson, but had not been successful as lawyers were unable to locate him until her funeral. Their son has been put in the care of Wayne until further notice.

Robin found him 20 minutes later, staring at the page with swollen, red eyes. She took the paper, read the article, and put it back in the files wordlessly.

“I don’t think he wants us to know,” she finally said.

She was probably right.

But Steve had grown pretty close to Eddie over the last six months, had opened up to him about his parents, his fake friends, his concussions and nightmares. Eddie had started opening up to him, too.

He thought he had, anyway.

He told him about how his mom died when he was young and his dad was awful so he moved in with Wayne. He told him about how his dad appeared every couple years looking for money or a place to stay and Wayne always turned him away.

But he never really talked about his mom, always said he barely remembered her.

Did he know what happened?

——

Steve asked Wayne the next morning.

He’d come by to pick Eddie up for a day with the kids, but Eddie hadn’t set his alarm and was still asleep.

Perfect opportunity to find out more.

“So. Eddie’s mom.”

Wayne tensed over his plate of toast and scrambled eggs. He didn’t look up, just took another bite of food.

“Does he know how she died?”

“Do you?”

“Newspaper said overdose,” Steve tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh. “Says Eddie found her.”

“Trauma messes with your memory.”

It was final, a statement that left Steve with more questions, but a certainty that he’d get no answers.

“Yeah.” He gulped. “I’ve heard.”

——

Steve doesn’t bring it up to Eddie for a while.

He figured Wayne’s reaction said a lot about what Eddie knew or would be willing to share.

But they were a little high and alone and Eddie’s hand was warm in his and his filter was broken.

“I’m sorry you had to be the one to find your mom.”

The air around them was thick. The silence was deafening.

“Me too.”

Eddie’s voice was quiet, nothing like his usual playful tone.

Steve immediately wanted to put this conversation in reverse, pretend his curiosity didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie moved closer to Steve, his arm a constant pressure against Steve’s. His head leaned against Steve’s shoulder.

“Wayne doesn’t know I know how she died. He doesn’t know I know my dad gave her bad drugs, convinced her all the up and coming musicians were doing a new strain of heroin. She’d kicked him out of the house,” Eddie’s breath caught. “She shouldn’t have let him come back that day. I heard them arguing before I left for school. She told him she was finding a manager and recording an album and that she was divorcing him. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it was bad.”

“Eds, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I know, Stevie. But you know everything else.” Eddie’s face turned until his nose and mouth were pressed against Steve’s arm. “I went to school. Didn’t think about it. Figured my dad would be gone when I got home and might come back in a few days once they cooled off. But when I got home, he was gone and my mom’s bedroom door was closed. And I opened it and there she was.”

Steve turned so he was face to face with Eddie, cupping his jaw and rubbing his thumb along his cheek in encouragement.

“I don’t even know why I tried calling the store first. I didn’t even know if he still worked there. But then I called Wayne and it’s like he just knew.” Eddie’s eyes closed for a moment. “Don’t think he’d ever gotten to our house so quick.”

“Did he know all this?”

“He knew enough. I stayed with him and then my dad gave up his rights. Lied to the counselor about what I knew so Wayne wouldn’t freak. Kept it up for a while,” Eddie let out a small exhale that slightly resembled a laugh. “I read the article about eight years ago. A kid in my class made a joke about me being an orphan because of the drug problem in America as if he even knew what that meant and I decided to see what the newspaper reported.”

“Do you play because of her?” Steve asked.

Eddie blinked back at him.

“I play for a lot of reasons. But I started because of her, yeah,” he whispers. “You’re the first person to ask me that instead of give me that look of pity.”

“I’m sad about how it happened, but giving you pity doesn’t change it. I’d rather hear how it changed you,” Steve whispered back.

They were close, legs intertwined, hands touching bare skin under shirts and on faces and necks.

“It changed everything for me. Wayne packed us up and moved us here as soon as he legally could. Probably for the best. Well,” Eddie gave a small smile. “Definitely for the best. Wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t.”

“Do you ever go back?” Steve did his best to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.

“Her birthday every year. She’s got a nice spot near her mom.” Eddie bit his lip. “It’s actually coming up in a couple weeks. Maybe you could come with me?”

“Me? Are you sure?”

Eddie nodded. “If it doesn’t weird you out that I talk to her. I like to give her updates on my life, Wayne’s life, music. Think she’d find it quite funny that I bring the guy I’ve had a crush on for two years.”

It takes a minute for the words to sink in.

“Two years?” Steve’s lips curled up into a smile. “I hope I live up to expectations.”

“I think she’d like you. She’d definitely make fun of me for having a boyfriend who wears polos though.”

“Is that how you’d introduce me?”

“If you’re okay with it.” Eddie leaned his forehead against Steve’s. “I know we haven’t talked about what we-“

Steve pressed his lips to Eddie’s, nearly knocking their noses together painfully in the process.

After the initial shock, they both relaxed into the kiss.

“I’d love to go. As your boyfriend,” Steve said after pulling away for air. “What was her favorite flower?”

“Gardenias. Always wore perfume that smelled like it. Why?”

“Because I have to impress her, right?”

“You realize she’s not gonna actually see or hear you? She’s definitely dead.”

Steve snorted. “I know. But she can still have nice things. Maybe us bringing her nice things in death is a way to apologize for the not nice things she had in life.”

“You’re a pretty incredible boyfriend, sweetheart.” Eddie kissed the tip of his nose. “And you now know more than Wayne, so it’s time for a pinky promise.”

Steve giggled before holding up his pinky. “I swear I won’t tell Wayne anything.”

“And you’ll kiss me whenever I want…”

“That’s a guarantee.”

“And you’ll let me win at Go Fish…”

“Not a chance, Eds.”

Eddie laughed. “Worth a try.”

Steve curled his pinky against Eddie’s. “So do you think she’d like me?”

“Oh. Oh god. She’d love you. You’re exactly who she’d want for me,” Eddie rolled his eyes when Steve flipped his hair back confidently. “And she’d braid your hair every night while you gossiped and sipped tea.”

“And what would you do?”

“Probably just soak it in. Appreciate having her and you around. You’ll just have to gossip with Wayne.”

“Wayne doesn’t strike me as-“

“Oh, he’s got you fooled! He’s a worse gossip than the ladies at the hair salon. Just ask him about the mailbox at the end of the road sometime. Make sure you’ve got an hour to spare.”

“Really?” Steve’s eyes lit up. “Is he home now?”

Eddie pulled Steve forward until he was flush against his front. “No and I have much better plans than gossiping with my uncle.”

“Oh?” Steve’s brow raised.

“It involves my bed and handcuffs. You in?”

“Hopefully you’re in.”

“God, you’re ridiculous. C’mon, now I’m even harder from your stupid flirting,” Eddie sat up and tugged until Steve followed. “Can’t believe this is how my night’s going.”

“Believe it, baby.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #picturing Eddie’s mom as someone similar musically to Wanda Jackson #she was big in her part of Kentucky #might’ve made it even if not for Eddie’s dad #cw: parent death #cw: mention of overdose #cw: mention of drug use #first kiss #getting together #angst with a happy ending #sorry for the sad part #they kissed about it at the end tho