#they think they are righteous and at first yes but then lines got blurred

[loversofthegrave]

"Yeah, I know about Sammy. The Bonnie to your Clyde."

#i am once again thinking of serial killer winchesters #the thing is they basically are anyway #they think they are righteous and at first yes but then lines got blurred #they are actually quite scary #sam/dean #supernatural #spn #wincest

[druidgroves]

georgiamac brainrot under the cut. y'all know how it is.

1. this gun for hire

ohhh maccready. you're much more than that and you've got a big storm coming.

2. just here for the paycheck

which is what he tries to tell himself in the beginning. he does think georgia's dedication to the minutemen is a bit silly, a lot more morally righteous and "do no harm" than he's used to (little does he know that georgia is a "do no harm but take no shit" kind of person), but she pays well, she's consistent, and keeps it fair.

3. calling someone by their last name is the best way to flirt, actually

georgia almost exclusively refers to him by his last name, so this comes into play a little more once she allows herself to be a little flirty.

4. a ship dynamic that's less of an "italicized 'oh' moment" and more of an "italicized 'ah fuck' moment"

this is pretty much mac's reaction once he realizes he's got it bad for georgia. it snuck up on him and when it's finally staring him in the face he is very distressed by it for multiple reasons. he worries if it'll change things between them, feels a little guilty upon realizing he's slowly moving on after lucy, and fears that georgia won't return the feelings...

5. yes yes i do like you. i am afraid to write the stronger word.

...so he represses them. his "oh i never thought about that" line in his romance in this instance basically means "i wouldn't let myself think about that." on georgia's end, she's got all sorts of mixed up feelings thanks to how her relationship with nate went. is she allowed to move on? should she even be worrying about this when she's trying to find her son? she can't keep her emotions hidden for very long, but she'll allude to them in this case.

6. when i'm with you the line between 'friends' and 'lovers' blurs and i don't care which side i end up on as long as you'll have me

their whole relationship can be squarely defined as friend to lovers. potential spoilers for BLP, but i don't have them planning to outright tell each other their feelings until right before georgia goes to the institute for the first time (subject to change, but probably not). so they have a looooot of time in that will-they-won't-they area, both afraid to make the first move, but knowing that whichever way it goes, they still want to be at each other's sides.

7. i don't know. i mean, we're two sides of the same coin, right?

there it is ! one of my favorite lines in his romance. both are widowed parents trying to do right by their kids while also trying to survive by themselves at the same time. even before they get to know each other, without even knowing, they already understand what the other is going through.

8. please never leave / where would i go without you?

mac basically says it out right, we know he hates being alone, so once he and georgia get close and develop feelings, he really doesn't like being away from her if he can help it. really, he's worried something bad will happen to the one person in the commonwealth that took a chance on him who he's already invested so many feelings into. for georgia, she already decided long ago that mac was her partner (in the platonic sense of the word, to start) and she doesn't see herself going anywhere without him. she wouldn't want anyone else by her side.

9. i am better than i was; i will be better than i am

i am firmly of the opinion that despite him being a little shit mac wants to be a better person (he contains multitudes). it's why he lied to lucy about being a soldier, why he left the gunners, and why he's trying so hard for duncan. why would he lie if he didn't want lucy to think better of him? why would he leave the gunners if what they do wasn't "catching up" to him? why would he fight tooth and nail to save every cap he could for his son? why do all that if you didn't want to be, or at the very least be perceived as, a better person? working with georgia and the minutemen (as well as the railroad later on) kinda give him that push he needs to really decide what kind of person he wants to be.

10. there's good in this world, and i found a little bit of it in you

after first leaving vault 111, georgia was convinced the world was past saving and that she was never going to find shaun. she thought the world was cruel and without mercy. but then she found so many people, mac included, who proved her wrong. for mac specifically, she caught on that he wanted to do better and in doing so, she found another spark of good in the world.

#clenches fist i love them sm ur honor. #rae.txt #ship: you're not my first love but you're my last ( georgia x maccready )

[potentialproblem01]

More Padre!Domingo coming right up aka Daddy Sunday pt. 2

As per usual, all my immense love to @creme-bruhlee and my Daniel server for being a sounding board and to @gwaciechang cheering me on to the finish of this one. 

Contained herein is 1.7k of somnophilia, unprotected sex, ambiguously negotiated kink, and further disrespect to Spanish Catholicism. If you’d prefer ao3 and Part One. Stands alone. 

Rahab

Exodus 34, Joshua 6

You and Padre have been seeing each other for a while now, you’ve got a key to his place in the attic above the church. It’s a shame he’s an early riser since waking to the midmorning light above the city is one of the warmest things you’ve ever felt. 

Padre always gets up early for work and you always come in late from classes and there’s always so little time for the both of you. What little time you get to yourselves is used for fucking and sleeping, not that you really complain about it, it’s just how things are. 

It’s verging on summer, sticky heat tagging along to the end of the wet season. You’d gone out the night before and when you came in, he’d already been asleep. You were quiet, careful not to disturb his night before Mass beauty sleep. You had peeled off your boots by the door, yanked your socks and panties off and dived into bed still half clothed. He’d slung an arm around you, pulling you close, nuzzling into your sweat lank hair. The last uppers were worming their way through your system in a heady buzz as you snuggled into him like a second skin before conking out.

You woke when he got up for work the next morning, watching him dress lazily from the bed. Your head was cottony but you forced yourself up to hydrate and pull the rest of your clothes off. He watched you unzip your skirt, giving you a swat to the ass as you pulled it down. You gave him a filthy kiss before he headed out the door. 

You left your clothes on the floor and went to shower, scrubbing the grime from the club off. You towel off preliminarily, the heat of the day will dry you the rest of the way as you collapse back on top of the bed sheets to sleep the rest of the morning away.

---

The late spring sun rises through the upper windows, casting the afternoon in stained glass tinted light, not enough to wake you but enough that when Daniel comes in, your skin is painted in the most delicious colors. 

He undressed quietly, hanging his shirt up and dropping his slacks in the laundry basket before quietly coming up to where you’re sprawled face down on the bed, ankle twisted in the white sheets. He sits gently on the edge of the bed, sliding a hand from your ankle to knee, skin soft in sleep, clean of glitter and sweat. He traces the lax tendons on the back of your knee before travelling up, lingering on the inside of your thigh but you don’t wake. 

He watches you for a few minutes, tracing sigils into your thigh before nudging them apart, dipping into the crease of your thigh, rubbing smoothly. He keeps watch over your face, looking for signs of consciousness. All you do is readjust your head against the pillows. 

His finger gets more adventurous, skimming over your folds to tease at the other side, picking up a hint of damp. He smirks to himself before leaning over you, whispering into your ear “Good dreams, Princess?”

He shifts himself between your legs, careful not to disturb you before stroking himself as he dances fingers across your entrance before slowly inserting one, waiting for a reaction. When none comes he grows bolder, adding a second and gently pumping them, drawing out your wetness. 

You’re wet enough for him to not have to worry about lube but he goes for some anyway, wanting you to wake to his cock being fully seated in you and not a second before. He slicks himself generously before crawling up the bed with the grace of a polar bear on thin ice. He’s vigilant in positioning himself over your thighs to get the easy angle. He approaches haltingly, adjusting himself with one hand around the base of his cock to guide and the other holding your lips apart. 

He checks that you’re still sound asleep before he breaches you, hands falling to the sheets by your shoulders to avoid further stimuli that could wake you. It takes immeasurable self control on his part not to thrust in all at once. It’s smooth and a self-inflicted torture so severe it cancels out the sin of committing it. 

He comes to be fully sheathed in you. He lowers himself to his elbows, rosary falling against your back in a warm cascade of beads, his hot breath fanning over you. You twitch in your sleep but don’t wake. He breathes through another quirk of his lips, you were always such a sound sleeper, secure enough in your position with God to never worry if you’ll wake again. 

He straightens his back, moving to lay more fully over your back, dragging his rosary through your hair, shifting on his elbows to box in your head, pulling back a hand to loop his overly large heirloom rosary around your throat too. 

He pulls out and thrusts all the way back in with all the violence of a man trying to earn his place with a personal God. This is what wakes you with a disoriented moan, dreams blurring with reality. You go to push yourself up only to be restrained by the sharp scent of myrrh and smoke all around you, warm skin pressing you down, beard hair scratching at the side of your face. 

“Do you know what I preached about today, mi cielito?” A thrust, “Of course you don’t. Are you familiar with Rahab?”

You shake your head as he thrusts into you at a leisurely pace, soft and sleepy moans spilling from deep in your chest compressed between the pure sheets and his ribcage.

“The righteous harlot.” 

You roll your eyes and try to wiggle some space to stretch your staticky limbs but are restricted by his beads chaining you to him. He feels you pull on them and shifts his weight again, freeing a hand to put his first bead and cross in your hand. 

“Pray for me, Princess. Contemplate our sins for me.”

You make a half hearted sign of the cross, earning you a thrust and a kiss to the side of your neck. You begin to recite the Apostles Creed, each line earning you half a thrust. “Was crucified, died, and was buried- Fuck!” He pulled all the way out and proceeded to thrust back in with a rough surety, grinding down into you, digging his teeth into your shoulder. 

“I don’t think that’s part of it. Start over.”

You let out a sob as you start the Creed over, trying to hurry through as he resumes his half thrusts. You close with a slightly hysterical ‘amen,’ the last of the sleep warmth leaving you for the heat of passion. The blood flow is no longer sluggish but concentrated in your core, flaring out in need. You make it through the Our Father before another sob makes you deviate from the script. 

Daniel tuts in your ear, “Do you need to start over?”

“No, please. I’ll be good.”

“Are you sure? You keep messing up. Do you need a corrective hand, Princess?”

“No, no. I can do it.”

“Prove it.”

You struggle through the Hail Marys’ and pull in a shaking breath, really hoping he took Charity to heart. He hasn’t let up on his thrusts, he intentionally holds you in the limbo of regularity and almost but not enough. You know better than to beg, he’s given you an instruction and you have to thread the beads through your hand and pray. 

He nuzzles into your ear, telling you how good you’re being for him. You make it through the first Glory Be and go to announce the first Mystery before you can’t take it anymore and struggle under him, trying to force yourself back on his cock. He pulls out, worming a hand under you to paw at your breast, pull at your nipple, “Bad girl. You still have an Our Father.” He presses you up into his chest, kneading at your breast, “Be a good girl for me.”

You struggle, feeling empty without is cock but you make it, begging to be delivered from evil. When you finish, he mutters an ‘amen’ against your throat as he stuffs his cock back in you, pulling the rosary from his neck to leave on you as he sets his weight against your lower back, pinning you down. He widens his stance and drives into you without delay. 

The power in his momentum shakes the bed, causing the headboard to knock against the wall, a rhythmic tempo to accompany you being crushed into the mattress. 

The sheets stick to your clean sweat as you edge closer, breathing hard and inadequately through your pillow. You whimper with the strength he’s using, bending your spine, wetly slamming into you. 

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, shuddering through you in one violent motion before you go limp under him; underwhelming and way too much.

He nudges your legs closed and you let him, creating a tighter channel for him to fuck into. He rebalances, one hand planted on your back, the other climbing up into your hair, yanking it back on the knife’s edge of pain. 

His nails bite into your skin and the grip on your hair tightens before he lets out a long and low growl as he comes. He lets go of your hair but not before, “You’re my blessed whore aren’t you?”

“God, yes.” For that blasphemy he slaps the side of your face he can reach, the angle is awkward but the point is made, you wiggle your hips, clench around his spent cock, “But I’m still in your bed.”

He huffs out a derisive laugh, pulls out, “That you are.” 

The mess of come and lube starts to cool between your legs, sweat growing tacky. You pull the beads through your fingers again, suck the bottom of the cross into your mouth and give him a half lidded stare before rolling over into a dry spot. 

He leans down and licks a stripe up your stomach before latching onto a nipple before you swat at his head and he lets up, coming up to kiss you. He nips at your lips but you deny him, pushing his face away. 

He doesn’t listen, grabbing a tissue from the bedside table to wipe himself off with before laying down next to you, pulling you into an embrace and throwing an arm over his eyes, ready to fall asleep on a Sunday afternoon with you. 

Part 3

#daniel brühl #daniel bruhl x reader #padre domingo #padre domingo x reader #fem reader #somnophilia #daniel bruhl smut #priest!daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl fanfiction

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Nightwing 83 Review

guess who isn't weeks late this time. my opinion of the series is going up a little bit. it's still not great, but i'm not actively put off by it anymore the way i was after 81. not going to tag as spoilers, but be warned that they are under the cut

i’m sure you all are well aware of this but now, but dear god i love bruno redondo’s art. like, an unhealthy amount. the pink and blue is getting to be a theme with either him or just this run, but i am definitely enjoying it. the movement in this cover is clearly obvious, but well done. you recoznize right off the bat that the cover was drawn to drag your eyes down the page until you get to the bottom, but you enjoy the whole ride there. 

also, redondo’s way of drawing a character in stages of action so we can see just how much they’re doing in a split second of movement is quickly becoming something i like to see drawn with dick, and any other character that has that sort of ease of movement and body sense, like cass or sin or maybe a super. 

and he’s in action the entire time! there’s shot drawn just to show off a shirtless comic book character, the way nightwing is so often subjected to. he’s shirtless because he’s changing his clothes, and that’s all we see, no more and no less. very practical, very well done. i like it.

he looks so cute right here oh my god. the little squint, the hair curls. it’s adorable.

but also like. unless melinda has specifically outfitted the door spyhole so that the person on the other side can’t see dick looking through it (and in all honesty she might have) then everyone on the other side can see dick looking through that door. 

bringing your attention back to the “i can’t see melinda’s fbi file oh no!! it’s redacted!! whatever can we do!!” stupidity. redacted files are child’s play for oracle, and definitely doable for both dick and bruce. so that’s bullshit.

now, melinda apparently grew up with the maroni family, then took down part of the family from the inside. the maroni family is a large and notable presence in gotham, one that bruce pays a respectable amount of attention to. he definitely would have grown suspicious when two members of the maroni family were taken down, and with some investigation, he would have discovered melinda’s plan. and it should go without saying that the majority of things you see batman doing? dick can do it too.

it’s not so much that i don’t like how clever the villains/antiheroes are getting. i don’t like how dc heroes are increasingly written as less intelligent. they seem to be relying on pure fighting skills or luck, which may be the case for a couple heroes, but has never been the case for most of dc’s big name heroes, the bat family included. it’s irritating to me to see this sort of stuff pop up as a major plot point when i know that, if dick or bruce had been written with the amount of skill and power that they canonically possess, this entire mess would have been sorted out years ago.

unrelated but dick and melinda have the same hair

this may just be me, but i was always under the impression that dick doesn’t really have a “double life???”

yes, he’s talented enough to create enough differences between robin/nightwing and dick grayson’s mannerisms, way of movement, voices, and speech patterns so that it’s very difficult to put the two together.

but nightwing has never been separate from dick grayson, not the way bruce and batman is. he’s always leaned more towards clark in that aspect: his hero persona is an exaggerated, stately, larger-than-life version of who he really is. there’s no second persona, no real “dick grayson identity” and “nightwing identity.” they’re the same person with the same goals, ideas, and skills. one just pretends to abide by the law, and one gives up pretense of that.

oh good thank god. if he’d trusted her right off the bat (hehe. bat.) i would have slapped him upside the head. at least he’s still got instincts.

gosh the colouring on this is cool. the red has enough purple and pink tones to it that it doesn’t abruptly ruin the tone of the artwork. but it’s definitely glaring enough to take the reader outside of this personal moment they had slipped into between dick and melinda, to put them back in the present where they’re reminded that oh yea there are people hunting dick down. 

the next panel keeps this up too, in a less severe way. melinda��s bodyguard shows up (i forgot her name sorry :[ ) and subtly places us in the middle of an action scene rather than a private, personal scene.

laughing so fucking hard have our little vigilantes grown so accustomed to breaking into places that it doesn’t even register as a crime anymore??? tim coming in through the fire escape to pick bernard up for their date and being very much confused as to why bernard is freaking out.

i really like melinda’s shirt and now despite all the work i have to do and the fucking conference i have to host on monday i want to spend hours scrolling through clothing shops online trying to find this shirt. the mock neck/neckline is so cool i want it

so roland just assumes that a very dangerous vigilante who is highly talented in combat and a very dangerous bodyguard who is also highly talented in combat had a fight that ended with this very dangerous bodyguard being tied up and she looks completely fine? roland just assumes that her having no visible wounds or bruises means that they got into a fight and she lost that easily? uh. aight then

dick what are you doing. legitimately what the fuck are you doing. why are you posing oh my god. you are injured and tired and in absolutely no position to go hand to hand with one of main enemies. jesus christ run away or head to lower ground or something. don’t just stand around letting the floodlights show exactly where you are.

i don’t understand what he’s trying to do here??? blockbuster fully bought the story that dick fought them both, won, tried to get info out of them and failed, then hightailed it out of there. he didn’t have to draw roland out for a fight.

but it does look cool. the way the light just highlights his silhouette and the blue parts of his costume does look badass. he does get style points in my book for this.

w h a t  d i d  i  f u c k i n g  t e l l  y o u ,  d i c k ?

very classic superhero line and it does sound like something dick would say in a fit of righteous rage but also it makes me laugh so hard because all vigilantes think they’re so powerful that the law doesn’t apply to them. dick vigilantism is illegal. you’re acting above the law and pretending it doesn’t apply to you. hypocritical much?

it happens so often in superhero movies, tv shows, comics, whatever and it makes me giggle every damn time.

pretty decent comeback but before i start seeing people writing blockbuster as a thug i’m going to remind you that he made a deal with a demon for genius level intellect. if this turns into another bane situation i’m going to be a little miffed. he’s a smart man, which makes him a dangerous and infinitely more interesting enemy for nightwing.

this is so horribly in character i want to scream. (or. at least. it lines up with one of the versions of nightwing i have in my head.) he’s running right towards the bullets, miraculously doesn’t get shot, while making a sort-of pun. i hate this so much. i love him.

this is cool. this art is really really cool.

he leaped from a building right towards a helicopter that’s actively shooting at him, but none of the bullets are touching him. none of the corruption of the city can touch him no matter how hard it tries, because he’s too good to be corrupted. Comic Book Logic Can Be Good Sometimes Actually.

batman’s belt what??? swiss army knife who?? sorry, i only know nightwing’s bright blue escrima.

this is one of my favourite things about heroes with exceptional abilities, even more so if the hero is human. the things they can do are so far beyond the realm of normal human abilities that it’s equal parts terrifying and awe-inspiring every time they act.

he just used modified grappling wires to hook to the door of a moving helicopter, swung around the helicopter safely without hitting the blades, gained exactly the right momentum to swing upward again right through the opening of helicopter, then fought and tied up the men before they had any idea what was happening. that’s near impossible to do.

it’s stuff like this where i just sort of sigh in contentment. no matter how many times they leave out dick’s detective skills or conveniently forget that he’s actually a master planner and team leader and make him out to be this forgetful dude who makes everything up on the fly because of his “circus roots,” at least they won’t ever take away dick’s sheer physical ability honed to perfection. 

the art, too! in a few panels, dick’s drawn a little lightened or blurred. he’s moving so quickly and fighting so efficiently that he can barely be seen by the enemy. he’s got perfect form all the way through.

and THIS!

there was a helicopter that had five men shooting at him with what looks like machine guns. most people would be dead. some would run away, and be nimble enough to survive without fatal hits. there are very few people, even in fucking comic books, who can look at that hopeless situation and turn it around so quickly and thoroughly that he benefits from it instead.

i just. love nightwing.

it was funny the first time as a comic reader aware of the meme. it’s really not anymore. why the hell would you, in universe, be wearing a shirt that has a picture of your boyfriend being hit in the face by his father. 

okay that was funny. 

look at lil bitewing, so concerned for her human!!! love her sm. 

also a question as to the timeline of things. is nightwing happening before or after urban legends? 

i was so distracted by dick wearing a robe and briefs and nothing else that i didn’t register the second part until later. he slept for two days?? babs, baby, he recently had a very traumatic brain injury. why do you sound so nonchalant?

@TIM X COFFEE SHIPPERS GET FUCCCCKKKKEEDDDDD

ngl i totally forgot about that dude oops

this comic is giving so many reaction pictures. you know how you always use the worst possible picture of your friend for your friend’s contact picture? i’m just getting so many of these.

leslie!!! the titans!!! lucius!!! dick going to go see old friends!!!! the titans!!! this part made me so irrationally happy it really did. gar being the one to just. offer dick solutions with open arms. this was the best

i wish i could just copy and paste this entire scene, but that would take up way too much space, so i’m just going to talk about it instead. 

you gave me my name, nightwing, and you gave me some of the best advice i’ve received in my life: beautiful little throwback to nightwing’s origin. you’d be surprised at the amount of people who don’t know where the name came from, or who don’t know how much clark means to dick. and the fact that dick still looks up to clark as a hero, recognizes that clark isn’t always perfect and yet continues to hold him in such high esteem, and still looks back on advice that clark gave him fondly just warmed my heart so much.

for a man who has fearlessly stood up to darkseid, bruce will do a lot to avoid a conversation: “grrr. i’m the BATMAN. i’m so DARK and MYSTERIOUS. nobody knows the true me. no one ever will. i will be LONELY for the rest of my CURSED LIFE. such is the price of a hero. ignore my farmer himbo husband in the background”

but i don’t think there’s anything heroic about being a billionaire: another nod to how much dick follows clark’s example rather than bruce. yes, this was a very poignant and important criticism, and i think it’s wonderful that this was published in a pretty popular comic book. but the thing is, there is a way to be a heroic billionaire, but only in fictional universes. the way bruce, ollie, t’challa only ever use their wealth to help people. they donate massive amounts of money to charities that they themselves create so they know exactly how the money is being used. they hire people who aren’t likely to get jobs anywhere else and pay them much more than what a base living wage is. they use their power to help push progressive laws and social change. they are helping. 

dick doesn’t fully see it that way. he spent more than half his childhood the son of a billionaire, but still believes that one could be more heroic when one doesn’t have obscene amounts of wealth. whose example do you think he followed to come to that conclusion?

superman looked up to alfred pennyworth?: i mean yea alfred may have been a wildly irresponsible guardian and one hell of an enabler but goddamn if he didn’t love his kid.

you don’t need my input. you’ve thought it all through: ooooooh this line made me grin. for so long, dick’s treated clark as a mentor and a guiding figure. he’s still seen as a kid, an up and coming, snot-nosed titan with dreams of a better world. clark still thinks of him as a kid, despite watching him grow up. but this little line was something i think dick needed sorely to hear. he doesn’t need anyone’s guiding hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t need to ask for permission. he doesn’t need clark to support him the way he did when he was a teenager. he’s all grown up now, and he doesn’t need clark’s help. i imagine it was a bit of a surprise for dick to hear that. 

honestly, i couldn’t think of a better role model: ohhh but it doesn’t stop there. clark just straight up turns the tables on dick. imagine you’re dick, and you’ve looked up to this one hero your entire life, and then one day he turns to you and says that he thinks you’re so kind and smart and worthy of a person that he wants you to mentor his son!? goes to show just how much clark trusts dick.

i swear to god dick probably cries every time he hears clark compliment him because bruce is so rare and sparing with his praise that clark giving him the slightest hint of approval is just a dopamine rush.

also, now deathstroke and superman have both asked nightwing to mentor their kids. the juxtaposition is fuckin hysterical. imagine either of their reactions when they realize what kind of company they’re with

lets talk colours for a second, because i absolutely adore how classic colour tropes have been subverted in this comic, and in this general run really.

warm tones have usually (usually, not always) been associated with light and comfort and friendship and,,,,,well,,,warmth. whereas cool tones are usually used to unsettle, or make a scene seem colder and put the reader on edge. this varies if a comic only uses cool tones, or only uses warm tones, but if a comic uses both, this is generally well-used.

that isn’t the case in this run.

dark red, orange, and other warm tones have been used to symbolize danger, action, attacks. hot pink isn’t usually included in this colour group, but it’s definitely part of it in this case. in contrast, scenes that have cool colours give us the impression of slipping into a comfortable, calm scene with babs, tim, the titans, and other allies. even the beginning scene with superman has this blue, but then it transitions into something more golden coloured. dawn broke over dick, as his new idea came to light, and that was reflected in the art (and the sunrise setting.)

have there ever been times when dick’s longed for the comfort of his mask because he didn’t feel confident as dick grayson? i can’t think of any. i may be wrong, but this struck me as pretty ooc.

am i just??? gay and reading this all wrong??

cause i was under the impression that when someone says they are grateful for your friendship you don’t immediately kiss them. 

or is this like. normal straight mating rituals.

i mean he’s smiling afterward but still babs aren’t you supposed to at least make sure it’s okay first? you guys broke up a while back after you said something along the lines of “i want to be coworkers with you and nothing more because i don’t trust you or feel comfortable around you as a civilian anymore.” like lmao after you say something like that to someone i would assume that you don’t have the permission to just kiss them whenever you want.

show of hands who else got real sad when they realized dick was talking about himself in this.

sure, he could be referencing the things he’s seen blockbuster pull, and the children on the streets. but “i’ve seen money used for enforcement,” sounds a little too close to dick’s entire life being destroyed by one man threatening the circus to pay protection money for me to completely ignore. and “i’ve seen the poorest and most vulnerable blamed and punished rather than assisted” becomes a lot worse when you remember dick was thrown in juvie for a couple months until bruce was able to obtain legal guardianship, and in there, not a authority figure believed him when he told them his parents were murdered.

he’s lived this before.

a. mother. fucking. typo.

fucking why

i mean i’ve stated my distaste for the batfamily groupchat before but like. this is reaching new levels of ridiculousness. jason sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. tim sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. steph sounds like she was written by someone who doesn’t know the first thing about steph and wanted to include her for “family points!!!!!” damian’s supposed to be completely off the grid, and everyone’s searching for him. i do love the way cass texts tho.

well god fuck now i’m crying

dick got a phone call, a sorry, and a thank you out of bruce. i feel so much secondhand happiness for him, if that’s a thing. we’ll just ignore the way bruce looks ugly af and focus on the good parts okay?

and again with the colour symbolism here!

i’m either going to love this or hate this. who knows, we’ll see.

something something hearts something something pink is an evil colour something something. i need to know more about this guy but there’s definitely symbolism there. 

is it just me or does this dude look like the backstabbing traitorous absolutely motherfucking piece of shit villain that killed tadashi hamada in big hero 6?

~~

taggggg list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan  @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @bikoncon @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption​ @capricorn-stark​ @batshit-birds​ @comics-observer @buticaaba​ 

#river thinks too hard #nightwing #dick grayson #nightwing 83 #dc #nightwing review #nightwing meta #dick grayson review #dick grayson meta #nightwing 83 review #nightwing 83 meta #dc review #dc meta

[the-navistar-carol]

Intervention

Good God help me I’m back on my Garmari again. AGAIN. Class salt, but not Alya, Alix is neutral (so minor Alix salt?). Chloé redemption, but it’s not mentioned. Also, members of the new team at the end are PV Félix and his Gucci Gang

~~~

Marinette never thought she’d thank Chloé Bourgeois, of all people, for her boyfriend.

Backtrack.

A year and a half ago, their end-of-year class trip was the best one they had had or ever would. Funding, from Chloé’s father, went to a weeklong trip to San Francisco. They toured Alcatraz, the different neighborhoods, the Ghirardelli factory, and walked the Golden Gate Bridge.

None of those events even came close to the Teen Titans’ tower in San Francisco Bay. They didn’t go inside, obviously, but almost every day, in their allotted free time, she found herself at a harborside café, sketching the tower and designs that came to her from it and its team.

It was those quiet times that, incidentally, got her into contact with the team shapeshifter, Beast Boy.

Marinette had been sitting on a dock for a change, doodling idly as her legs swung from a bench — she was still too short for her feet to touch the ground at fifteen. Tikki dozed in her purse, stuffed full of chocolate.

As the sun began to make its way toward the horizon, she got up and placed the sketchbook in her backpack. Then, like the sun, she began to head home.

That journey would quickly be delayed. A man, hood up and all in dark clothes, snatched her purse and took off like a shot.

Tikki!

The Parisian girl sprinted after him, shouting for help. If she had been transformed, perhaps she would have taken him down faster.

But perhaps it was for the better. A green blur shot out of an alley and knocked into the would-be thief with a forceful missile kick, quickly apprehending the man. Marinette skidded to a halt to avoid running him over, and was caught in a pair of dark brown eyes.

Oh, hello there.

He grinned toothily, and held up her clutch purse. “Does this happen to be yours?”

“Oui!” Marinette’s hands flew to her mouth, and she couldn’t help but flush in embarrassment. “Oh! I am sorry, yes, it is.” Despite years of learning English, she couldn’t help but stammer with her accent.

The green boy fished out a pair of cuffs and locked them around the thief’s wrists, and kept a hold on them with his left hand as he held out his right. “I’m Beast Boy. Nice to meet you, though it would’ve been better under different circumstances.”

She shook his hand, and couldn’t help a sheepish smile. “Well, um, if you would like to try again,” Marinette suggested, already flushing, “I will be close to Hyde Street Pier, on the waterfront, close to three o’clock tomorrow.”

His grin only widened. “Can’t wait!” Beast Boy hauled the man to his feet, and glanced back at her. “Oh, hey, by the way — what’s your name?”

“I’m Marinette!”

“See you tomorrow, Marinette!”

That fateful encounter sparked a close friendship, which blossomed into an even closer relationship.

Marinette was grateful that the stars had aligned that day. She wouldn’t be where she was in life without him, if she was being completely honest.

She and Gar were open about their identities to each other, and when he came over on his bimonthly visit via Zeta tubes, they spent their days inside cuddling, watching movies, and playing video games.

The only thing that irked both of them was the fact that their relationship was one-hundred-percent secret from the press, as neither wanted that publicity.

Ergo, they couldn’t be seen in public together.

Therefore, they couldn’t go on dates, no matter how much they wanted to.

At least they had reached a compromise. Until Hawkmoth was defeated, on her own terms, they couldn’t be seen together. Even if her own terms, which would take more time, involved no outside help.

When Lila Rossi entered Françoise Dupont for the first time, Marinette didn’t have to be Ladybug to see through her lies. She claimed extravagant tales of meeting American superheroes on her mother’s travels — of the Teen Titans in New York City, of the Batfamily in Gotham, and of some group she had completely made up — the Gems of Justice, of all names.

Yeah, no. She didn’t have to be a superheroine to spot the bullcrap a mile away.

She tried to keep the whole situation quiet, though, she really did. Marinette didn’t want to burden Gar with class drama. After all, she was well aware that they only had so much time together.

But just like how she had tried to keep being Ladybug from him, that plan fell through in a matter of hours.

He held her when she sniffled over Lila’s threat, and let her slump back into him as she described how her classmates (sans Alya, bless her heart) were riveted by this Italian liar nobody who somehow held their attention.

She held onto the hope that they would all see reason, sometime.

That hope shattered when Alya moved away. Her parents wanted out from the living nightmare of Akumatown, as all four of their daughters had been akumatized at least once apiece.

Marinette sobbed, for the first time alone in the city of love.

It was midnight when she called him on her first night without her bestie, bawling into the phone line.

It was twenty minutes past when he showed up on her balcony, and she almost tackled them both over the railing. She let her emotions pour out onto his shoulder and he held her tight; and when she ran out of tears to cry, he held her until she fell asleep in her bed.

In the morning, he let her sleep in a little bit, and made her pancakes (with green food coloring, of course, because how else would he?). She cried again upon seeing the food, but there were thankful tears mixed among the sad ones.

Marinette left her house with her head held high.

Without her rock Alya at her side, Lila’s digs and jibes became worse. She took the mental hits, took the comments. Snide words turned into sneering faces turned into trips in the hallways, turned into destroyed work.

She resigned from the class presidency, choking down tears.

How could she have let it get this bad?

She should have stood up to it, so it could have stopped before it all began!

Oh, Alya…

Trips in the hallways turned to shoving at the steps, turned into stolen things.

Garfield, in the Titan Tower, had had a slow week. He’d only gone to visit Marinette a few days ago, but when Raven flicked his shoulder and told him he was moping, he headed off to the tubes to pay his girlfriend a surprise visit.

He emerged in Paris and immediately morphed into a bird, flying high above the city. He didn’t want the attention that came with his ability, not today.

As her school wasn’t out yet, Gar soared around Paris, taking in the sights. No matter how many times he came to the city, the views still left him amazed.

And Marinette with him, when they could go to those places, would leave him breathless.

As the hour wound closer, he headed over to Collège François Dupont, and took a perch on one of the flagpoles, content to wait for the time being.

The bell rang to let the classes out, and he shifted on his seat, eager to catch a glimpse of his girlfriend.

There!

She was one of the first out, and he readied his wings to swoop down to her and sweep Marinette off her feet. He was almost in flight when he stopped dead, dread washing over him like a tidal wave.

A tall Asian boy with an undercut and bleached hair hurried after her, his sneakered feet hitting the cement with a self-righteous purpose.

And a pack was following him.

Her classmates — a pale girl with long black hair, a dark-skinned boy with close-cropped hair, a short blonde girl, a tall blonde boy, and more — were in close pursuit.

And behind them strode a brunette, her wedged heels clicking with her own purpose. Green eyes watched all as her lips curled into a deadly, sickly smirk.

All attention was on Marinette, who hurried to go home, shoulders hunched.

He had left her alone like this.

“Hey!” the Asian boy called, and a robot whizzed in front of his girlfriend, bringing her up short.

She froze, and slowly turned to face him. Marinette was dwarfed by his massive frame, and she was terrified of what might happen next.

His hands came to rest on his hips, and he cocked his head in a leer. “Don’t think you’ve gotten away with what you’ve done.”

“Huh?” Her tone was shrill, it was panicked. “Kim, I didn’t do anything!”

An ugly frown twisted his face. “Then maybe you’ll remember!”

Faster than she could react, his hand raised and descended.

But Garfield reacted faster.

In a blink, he took off like a shot and dove down at the Asian boy, then shifted back to human form midair to launch himself at the boy feet-first like a missile. His boots hit the boy in the back of the neck, and man, was he satisfied to see him fall.

“G- Beast Boy?!” Marinette’s panicked whisper told him she was only a hair away from a complete breakdown.

The classmates hurriedly backpedaled, clearing a ring for him in the crowd that was quickly forming.

Gar hauled the boy — Kim — up by his hoodie collar. Despite his scrawny figure, he was lean, and packed a punch.

“I don’t like bullies,” he hissed as his eyes narrowed to slits. Kim quaked in his grasp, catching a good look at his fangs. “And if I catch you even looking at her wrong, you’ll wish you had never met her.”

Someone in the crowd was foolish enough to step forward and speak up. It was the dark-skinned boy with glasses, and his robot had flown back to be at his side. “My calculations prove that there is a ninety-percent chance that Marinette is the one at fault.”

He felt his girlfriend shrink beside him. It was tempting to shift into a tiger and intimidate the lot of them.

But instead his lips twitched into a smile, instead he grinned. The hook in his mouth had never been so cold.

“Then I suggest you check your calculations, buddy boy.” The class flinched back from his tone alone — it flashed knives, razor-sharp and ready to cut.

“All of you better watch your backs, ‘cause I’ll be waiting for an opening.” His voice spilled from his throat in an angry growl. If he had been a tiger, his tail would have lashed.

“I’m giving you one warning. Scram.”

The class took off and scattered, one of them even darting into the street.

Gar didn’t spare them a second glance before turning back to Marinette and hugging her tight. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of her perfume. “I should be there for you, not an ocean away.”

Her arms snaked around his sides and clutched him tight. Her entire body was shaking like a leaf, so he gently rubbed her back.

“Hey, hey. Marinette, let’s get back to your room, okay?” Any trace of the snarl he had bared at her classmates was gone; his voice was gentle now, it was soothing.

She sniffled, and hiccuped once as she tried to get her breathing under control. “Okay.” Her voice was quiet, subdued. There was no trace of the sassy girl he had met who loved life fiercely with all her heart.

Anger built inside him but he dispelled it, thanking Raven for forcing him to learn meditation.

After he picked up her bag, Gar wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “It’s not that far. You can make it.”

Another subdued “okay” was all the response he got.

He led her across the street, ignoring the looks passers-by threw him and even the phone cameras.

Once she was inside the bakery, a shocked gasp let him know Sabine Cheng had seen them. She rushed out from behind the counter to hug her daughter tight, then led the two of them to their living room upstairs.

After he had set down her bag and the three of them were seated on the couch, Sabine with her arm around Marinette and Garfield holding her hand, his girlfriend finally broke down, sobbing into her mother’s shoulder.

“Do you want me to make tea?” he offered, knowing Sabine didn’t want to leave her daughter’s side.

The older woman nodded. “Please. Peony.”

He gave Marinette’s hand a squeeze and got up, finding the kettle and mugs easily. While he waited for the water to heat up, he sat back down next to her.

Sabine looked to him, gray eyes piercing. “What happened, Garfield?”

He told her everything. How he had watched her come out of the school and saw Kim go straight for Marinette on an offense she hadn’t committed.

“It’s Lila,” his girlfriend muttered, her voice muffled by her mother’s shirt. “She’s influenced them all except Alix.”

That didn’t help matters.

���But Alix didn’t defend you,” Gar told her gently. “They all, one way or another, abandoned you.”

Marinette hiccuped, finally looking up at him. A bolt of pain shot through his heart at the face looking him in the eyes — red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and a running nose.

“They abandoned me,” she repeated, her voice hollow. “I have nobody.”

“You’ve got me,” Garfield reminded her, taking her hands and squeezing them tight. “You’ve got two parents who love you more than anything in the world. And, if I called them now, you have the Teen Titans. All of them would stand for you. Every last one of them.”

The kettle whistled, and he got up to steep the tea. He heard Sabine murmur to her daughter in Cantonese, things he didn’t understand but knew the intent. He returned to the couch with three mugs balanced carefully on a tray, and set it down on the table.

“Mrs. Cheng, I don’t know if you’ve considered it, but have you thought of moving schools?”

She nodded, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I have. And I think that it would be best.”

Marinette didn’t even flinch, just numbly nodded. His heart broke to see her so lifeless, and he pulled her into a tight hug. He almost had to blink back tears of his own, and rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Let me help with this, Mrs. Cheng. Please.”

Sabine nodded. “I will. How long are you going to stay in Paris?”

“As long as I’m needed.”

And he did. He stayed.

Garfield was the one to march into Françoise Dupont to deliver the paperwork to Damocles, his chin up and shoulders back. Even if he was at average height — and shorter than a good half of the school — they cleared a path for him, the school yard silent enough to drop a pin.

He didn’t spare them a parting glance.

Gar was the one to walk her to her new school, where she was mobbed by Kagami, Luka, and Chloé. They thanked him, each thank-you heartfelt, and he grinned, knowing his girlfriend was in good hands.

He was there for her first week, and went back to the Tower knowing she had friends to support her there.

And when Hawkmoth was finally defeated months later, with a new team and a new Chat Noir, he pulled Marinette into a searing kiss as the rain began to wash Paris clean.

#garmari #garfield logan #marinette dupain-cheng #teen titans #dc comics #miraculous ladybug #pv #lila salt #class salt #kim salt #ml salt #ml x dc #maribat #lord help me im back on my bullshit #AGAIN

[watchtower-feed]

Death Do We Part (Part 15)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Words: 2,700+

     You rest your head on your knees as you look at Tim. Your lips tremble as you watch him struggle with his thoughts.

     He stares at his hands with narrowed eyes before you hear his broken voice.

     “... I don’t know if I want to be Robin anymore.”

     The morning dragged on agonizingly slow with Tim hiding in your room, Bruce nursing a drink in the kitchen, and Alfred sitting beside him. But when Bruce’s phone rang and the hospital told him that his son, Richard Grayson, was just admitted into Gotham General, everything sped past like a blur.

     The city traffic buzzing through the car’s window. The loud reporters hounding you at the entrance. The doctor’s mouth moving in silence as he reads from a chart, explaining Dick’s condition. You were only picking up words like critical and surgery.

     The first thing you became conscious of was Alfred’s hand on your shoulder. “Y/N. He’s going to be okay.” You didn’t even notice your tears until he was wiping them away.

     It’s past midnight in the hospital room. Tim is sleeping on the couch. Alfred is  in an extra bed. Bruce had just stepped out for coffee. And you’re still awake, curling up in the armchair closest to Dick. You’re holding his hand and looking at the fringes of his hair lying on his forehead. Slowly you loosen your grip to brush them back, but Dick’s fingers curl around yours.

     You’re too busy staring at his hand when he opens his eyes.

     “Hi…”

     You cover your mouth to trap the sob that’s lodged in your throat. “Dick--”

     He smiles. “H-hey hey. I’m okay.” He sounds exhausted but he still tries to laugh. “It’s just-- what? Like broken ribs again?”

     You frown at him, “One punctured your spleen, Dick. They had to stitch it up during surgery.”

     Dick chuckles, “Another one? Man. I swear I get one every other month. I probably passed out on Jason.”

     “You were with Jason?” your voice hitched a little but you lower it right away and check on Alfred and Tim.

     “Oh yeah… we had a nice little chat…” Dick’s looking at you now while frowning. “So… you’re leaving.”

     You pause and then look down when you answer, “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from Jason since yesterday morning.”

     Dick raises one eyebrow and teases you, “The morning after?”

     “Shut up,” you snap at him in a whisper, making him snicker quietly. You blush but you can’t help give a small laugh as well.

     Dick smiles at you.

     “He told me you were leaving and I was hoping to charm the two of you into staying.” He gives you a look, one that’s both sad and disappointed. “But I don’t really think that’s an option, huh.”

     Dick squeezes your hand and your voice is a lot softer when you answer, “He killed the Joker, Dick. In front of Bruce.”

     “Yeah. He told me.”

     “And you almost died, too.”

     Dick laughs, “Ye of little faith in me, Y/N. I had those guys--”

     “But the bomb. That one was real--”

     Dick shushes you. “Jason’s friends got me off the bridge before it went off. Guess you guys were too busy watching Jay and Bruce’s fight.”

     Dick slumps back against the pillows and stares at the point where the ceiling and the wall meet. “I hate to say it but Jason thought of everything.”

     Tim grumbles in his sleep and you both turn to him. Once the rise and fall of his chest becomes even, Dick speaks again.

     “This must be hard on Tim, huh?”

     Tim has been tossing and turning in his sleep. When he was in your room, he checked on his wound and was surprised to find that Jason had changed his bandages when he was unconscious.

     You watched Tim’s surprised look slowly morph into one of anguish. He didn’t know how to believe that Jason and the Red Hood were one and the same. Or is he just a persona Jason created to do what he can’t do. To protect the hard truths he wanted Bruce to realize.

     You close your eyes and slowly climb into the bed next to Dick. He makes room for you and you carefully curl up next to him.

     “He told me he didn’t want to be Robin anymore,” you whisper.

     Dick pats your head and hums to himself.

     “If I was Jason and Tim-- I was them. I was Robin and I always thought… I always saw Bruce as more than just Batman. He was my dad and my friend. He was my protector.”

     When Dick’s hand stops moving, you wrap your arms across his chest and hug him tightly. You can feel the even breaths he’s trying to maintain but failing.

     “But after what Jason did--” you can hear him clenching his teeth as he speaks, “After realizing that Bruce will always be Batman--to everyone-- more than anything else in the world… it shatters something in you, like you’re not special...”

     Before your life turned into this living tragedy, you always thought Batman was just a myth. You’ve seen him sure, leaping and gliding over rooftops from your window and from the streets, but you always knew he was just a man playing pretend. Maybe a police officer finally fed up with the red tapes and the joke that is the Gotham justice system.

     You always thought Batman was just another Gothamite who just got sick of being battered and bruised.

     “It doesn’t mean I agree with Jason, though.” Dick’s voice is a little lower. He’s giving you a long look with the same sad and disappointed expression. “His heart’s in the right place but Y/N, he’s the one who doesn’t understand.

     “When Bruce first brought me in, my parents were murdered by this guy-- Tony Zucco-- just a typical low life mobster in Gotham you know-- no one like the Joker. But when I became Robin, Bruce’s greatest concern was whether I would seek vengeance against that guy.”

     Dick’s gaze strays away from you. He’s looking somewhere past his feet, seeing something that’s not there.

     “I had him, Y/N. I tied him up and suspended him over a ten-story building, half hoping he would die, or break every bone in his body from that height and live out the rest of his days as a vegetable.

     “Then Batman came out of the shadows. He didn’t stop me. He didn’t talk to me-- he just put his hand on my shoulder the whole time, while I stood there and held this man’s lifeline in my hands.”

     Dick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath but he doesn’t open them again. The skin at the corner of his eyes crease and there are folds in his brows. When he speaks again, it’s rushed and he sounds exhausted.

     “In the end, I couldn’t do it. I dropped him from the third floor. He broke a few bones and that was it. It didn’t make me feel better. Killing him wouldn’t have brought my parents back-- it also wouldn’t prevent another family from ever being murdered…

     “Jason thinks he can get rid of evil in the world by killing criminals but he can’t. Because everyone is nursing evil inside of them-- I have something evil inside me.”

     Dick’s lips are quivering when he opens his eyes again.

     “Batman is the only one that doesn’t because all he wants to do is protect... everyone.”

     Bruce has heard enough. He’s been standing outside the hospital room with his hand on the handle when Dick started talking about avenging his parents. Desperately, he wants to go in there and join you and Dick. But the writing on your arm pushes him to visit the rooftop instead.

     He steps out to meet Gotham’s foggy air and reaches the end of the ledge when he calls out, “Worried about Dick?” He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t hear Jason’s footsteps approaching him from the shadows, but he knows he’s there. “You should be. He’s here because of you.”

     Jason stops abruptly and clenches his fist. “Wrong. He’s hurt because of your self-righteous courtesy toward the psychotic filth of Gotham.”

     Bruce turns around. Jason doesn’t have his helmet or his mask. He’s wearing a black trench coat but Bruce can still see the Red Hood symbol peeking from his chest. Bruce lifts one corner of his lips. “How does it feel?”

     To Jason it looks like a smirk on its ways to becoming a snarl. Any semblance of a smile on Bruce is unsettling.

     Bruce faces him fully with his hands in his pants pockets. “Now that you’ve killed half of the inmates in Arkham, how does it make you feel?” He watches Jason and lowers his brows and his mouth turns into a straight line. “Like it’s not enough. Right? Like there’s still a few more loose ends-- and you just have to be sure.

     “I know you went after Penguin and Dent after the club last night. I also know you’re still after Harley.” Bruce eyes his clothes.

     Jason tips his head to the side and replies to Bruce with a small smile.

     Bruce tries to control the urge to arrest Jason then and there. He tries to stop being Batman for just one second before he loses his son for good. He takes in a breath and releases it like a sigh. He takes out his hands to gesture to Jason.

     “If I could give you one last piece of advice. As a father. As a friend. Ask yourself if this is the type of person you want Y/N’s soulmate to be. Do you want her to be with a murderer?”

     Jason didn’t expect that. He was ready to have another go at Bruce, maybe their last showdown before he leaves town, but now he just feels insulted.

     “Fuck you, Bruce. I just want her safe-- To do a better job than you did for me. Be better than you.”

     Bruce shakes his head. “You can do that without taking another person’s life, Jason. Killing people will only put your lives in more danger.” He points to Jason’s chest. “And you-- the Red Hood-- are a testament to that.”

     Jason looks down, the crimson symbol on his chest peeking at him from his loose coat. The Red Hood is supposed to be just a means to an end. A myth strong enough to withstand the Bat’s. A new player to hook in the Arkham villains. Not someone who’ll join their ranks.

     Jason looks back to glare at Bruce.

     “I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

     The pause Jason gave didn’t go unnoticed to Bruce.

     “I assume you’re here to see Y/N,” Bruce replies. “She’s talking to Dick. She hasn’t noticed your message yet.”

     Bruce walks up to Jason and sizes him up. Jason watches as his demeanor changes. Bruce stands taller, his shoulders seem to go wider. Jason doesn’t need to see the cape to know who’s standing in front of him now.

     “Leave Gotham before sunrise.” 

     Jason can see himself reflected in Batman’s eyes. He suddenly looks like a child. The kid sleeping on the streets of Gotham. Scavenging in the garbage just to get by. Stealing to survive. 

     Bruce sees his own reflection in Jason’s and it terrifies him. He relaxes his shoulders and leaves his eyes half-lidded. Slowly, he lifts his hand and places it on Jason’s shoulder.

     “Take care of each other, son.”

     Bruce takes back his hand and starts walking to the door but Jason slaps something against his chest. Bruce looks down and sees that it’s an envelope. He looks back at Jason but he’s looking away from him.

     “Give it to Alfred… please.”

     Bruce smiles. He gives Jason a small nod before he takes the letter and leaves the hospital rooftop.

     When Jason hears the doors close shut behind him, he lets the panic settle in. He first feels its claws scratching at his throat on its way up to his mouth, prying it open, making him gasp for air. Jason jumps when the door slams open.

     You see your soulmate standing on the rooftop.

     “Jason?” 

     You run to him and wrap your arms around his shoulder, as far as you can reach. He bends down and you hold him tighter. “You’re okay!” you exclaim against his coat. “I passed Bruce on the way here and I thought--”

     “Y/N.”

     Jason’s voice is shaky. You pull away to take a look at him but he holds you tight against him. You feel it now, the way his lungs are expanding rapidly and his heart is beating hard against his chest. He’s gripping your clothes as he pulls your body closer to him, afraid to let go. Afraid you’ll let go.

     “I want to stay…”

     The Joker had killed him and it killed you. The League had planned on using you against Jason. Scarecrow poisoned you. But now they’re gone. Dead. The Joker. Scarecrow. Black Mask. Bane. Croc. Clayface. Penguin and Dent.

     Jason killed them all.

     “You told me to find a better life. Away from all of this, remember? And I wanted that.” Jason hides his face on your shoulder and you can feel his tears seeping through your shirt. “I wanted that for both of us. But how could I do that if we have so many enemies? How could I do that if they can come after us at any second?”

     Battered and bruised.

     Dick’s wrong. Jason doesn’t have evil inside of him. None of them do. Everyone is just broken. Cracked under the pressure of the city’s heavy fog and manipulated into playing a never ending game of survival.

     You glare at the horizon of the drab cityscape. Yellow lights left on all night. Sirens blaring at every corner. Sewer stench wafting toward the roofs. If Gotham hasn’t broken you yet, it will tomorrow.

     You hold on to Jason tightly.

     “It’s okay, Jason. Everything’s going to be okay.”

     “It’s not, Y/N. We can’t stay-- I can’t stay.”

     “I know…”

     You rub Jason’s back to soothe him. 

     “It’s not just the Joker,” you whisper. “Gotham did this to us. It’s taken something beautiful from us-- our link-- and used it to abuse us. It tore us apart and made us forget who we are.

     “We can’t stay here. We need to leave Gotham not because we’re not welcome. But because we need to heal, Jason.”

     Slowly, you pull away from Jason to take off his coat. He watches as you unzip his kevlar vest and lets you take it off of him.

     You stare at the symbol in your hands and silently thank it. Then you drop it on the floor. Jason is too stunned to stop you when you reach for one of his guns inside his coat. You fire two shots into the vest.

     This is something you feel you need to do. Jason got to kill the Joker, the phantom menace that has haunted your dreams and waking moments. You only get this. The barrel is still smoking when you return it to him.

     You pick up the vest and walk to the ledge of the roof. You pull back to gather as much momentum as you can and throw the vest out and down into the busy streets. You watch the Red Hood fall to its death until you can’t see it anymore.

     Jason holds your hand and you turn to face him. He watches the look on your face, determined and unmoving. As if you hold all the cards and you know exactly where to go. He’s never seen such an expression on you.

     He squeezes your hand

     “I’ll go anywhere with you, Y/N.”

     Just before the sun rises over, you’re already on a bus heading West, far enough away that even Wayne tower’s shadow can’t reach you. You pat the bag on your lap that has some clothes and your new identities.

     As the bus crosses the bridge, Jason is watching the subtle pink and orange light peeking over the ocean that meets Gotham harbor. It’s a rare sight and one you’ll both miss. He turns to you.

     “Hey,” Jason calls. “Look at your arm.” He takes out a pen. You watch as Jason writes on his arm and finally finishes his last words to you.

     I love you.

END.

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#ssa #jason todd #red hood #superhero soulmate au #DC imagines #DC fanfiction #DC reader insert #Jason Todd imagine #Jason Todd fanfiction #Jason Todd x reader #Red Hood imagine #Red Hood fanfiction #Red Hood x reader #watchtower-feed #atbucud

[the-three-idiots]

The Blurred Line #4

It’s been two days since I left Rata sum, I’ve been thinking more about what Ashal said. She thinks I can make the right choice, she holds too much faith in me but I have to appreciate the effort.

I arrive at The Lusty Maiden, it’s very...well, the building is very nice. Yellow walls with a red roof with palm trees at the front, it’s got a quite tropical feel to it. There isn’t a door, just a curtain. Not exactly good for security.

I enter through the front do-

Front curtain.

I step inside and I’m immediately hit with the strong scent of Vanilla followed by the very hot atmosphere. I look around to see mahogany decking the floor and stairs, red sofas and chairs are organised in a circle like a waiting room and the walls are a cream colour with various cracks in the paint, it seems intentional.

This building looks like it was lifted straight out of the old Lion's Arch.

The cream walls are lined with paintings of various buildings but oddly,only one of them is of a group of people. I recognise Ashal, Voroni and Yue in the painting.

Why would a painting of the Tales of Thedas be in a whorehouse?

“Ah Ashal finally sends a short one my way.” a voice shot out from across the room.

I turn to see a Sylvari, thin, light green skin, reddish-orange hair and orange eyes. The Sylvari is wearing red lipstick with black eye shadow, they are wearing a rather skimpy blue and gold dress. The dress shows off quite a lot of skin but nothing too revealing.

This Sylvari is confusing, body structure suggests the Sylvari is a male but the dress, makeup and the voice suggests female characteristics as well. Though most plants are dual sex so they reproduce by themselves, could this mean tha-

“Darling, you stare at me any longer, you're going to have to start paying…” the sylvari said.

“Are you Gwaeddan?.” I ask

Gwaeddan nods as they walk towards me.

“And you must be Zela Arcturis, I have heard quite a lot about you. Yue spoke quite highly of you…” Gwaeddan says as they sit down on one of the red chairs. They signal me to sit on the chair opposite them. I walk up and jump onto the chair, the human sized chair. “How do you know Yue?” I ask

Gwaeddan smiles.

“Formerly wife number five and very good with her hands.” Gwaeddan states with a smile.

That’s a detail I did not need to know.

“But I’m sure you're not here to talk about that…” Gwaeddan pulled a small piece of paper from the top of their dress “Castrum Aurelius, first apprentice to Yue C’Dornay and born a right nuisance.”

Gwaeddan hands me the piece of paper, I grab it and open it.

Blank.

Gwaeddan gives a small laugh.

“You are that desperate aren’t you darling?” They say with a smile.

“He shot my teacher, my friend!” I snap at Gwaeddan.

Gwaeddan seemingly produces two glasses out of nowhere, they offer me one of the glasses.

“I’m not here to get drunk Gwaeddan.” I state.

Gwaeddan drinks both glasses and then places the glasses on the floor.

“A Heroic Mind on the mission type?...how boring. Here’s me thinking Ashal sent me someone interesting” Gwaeddan says in a disappointed tone.

They get up and start to walk away. I can’t let my only source of help walk away.

“I need to kill Castrum.”

The footsteps stop. Gwaeddan comes back around and sits back into the chair.

“A bit more tasty, not usually Ashals type. Intent to murder? Spice things up.” Gwaeddan stands up, they walk over and give me a closer inspection. they take special interest in my eyes. Gwaeddan smiles.

“Two apprentices, both with the urge to kill each other. One who has crossed the line and the other who has yet to do so, oh how very tasty.” Gwaeddan looks directly into my eyes. This is uncomfortable.

“Why are you staring at my eyes?” I ask quite understandably.

Gwaeddan sits down on the floor in front of my chair.

“Windows to the souls and yours is grey...” Gwaeddans looks at my chest before going back to my eyes “Ashal’s white as day, clean and perfect. Yours is still trying to find its way, deciding whether to kill Castrum or not.” Explains Gwaeddan

“I’m going to kill Castrum.” I state

Gwaeddan smirks as they pull another piece of paper from the top of their dress, they hand it to me. I open it. Map coordinates, weaknesses, strengths and Castrums description. Why would Gwaeddan give it to me now?

“Yes you will kill him.” Gwaeddan stands and goes to a drinks cabinet, they pull out a bottle and a pistol. They walk back with a confident swagger, they look like they are enjoying the situation.

They sit down, placing the bottle and pistol on the table next to the red chair.  Gwaeddan looks at me and they smile.

“As much as I care for Ashal, one must recognise when someone's morals get in the way of what is right.” Gwaeddan points to the pistol “The world has enough righteous heros and not enough people willing to do what is necessary to keep Tyria safe.” Gwaeddan states.

I  pick the pistol up, inquest design, heavy, wood and metal build. Heavily modified, custom built. Why would Gwadeddan give this to me?

“Ashal sent you here in the hope I would stop you.” Gwaeddan says.

Stop me? It seems I underestimated Ashal, she is more cunning than i initially thought but there is a more pressing issue, why isn’t Gwaeddan stopping me?

“You're a courtesan, how are you going to stop?” i ask

Gwaeddan's smile became a grin.

“Honey firstly lets not tiptoe, I'm a prostitute by trade and secondly-” Gwaedan disappears from their chair, I look around the room to see where they went before feeling something wrapping around my neck. “If i was trying to stop you, you wouldn't have been able to step through that door alive.” Gwaeddan whispers into my ear.

Gwaeddan moves their hand in front of my face to reveal a garrote, a device used to strangle people.  Gwaeddan walks back to their chair and sits down. They place the garrote on the table. A thought comes to my mind.

“Ashal sends people here to be killed?” i ask

Gwaeddan shakes their head

“Ashal won't kill someone until she absolutely has too, anyone who comes here is either calmed down by my…’services’ or they ‘disappear’.” Gwaeddan looks down in shame “If Ashal ever knew what i did here…” Gwaeddan looks back up at me “Discretion is key Zela.”

I jump off the chair. I think I've spent enough time in this whorehouse, Gwaeddan is keeping me here.

“You're keeping me here on purpose.” i say to Gwaeddan

“You're more perceptive than I thought…” Gwaeddan says with a smile.

Gwaeddan smiles as she motions her hand towards the door.

“Don’t miss your shot.” Gwaeddan says.

I nod to Gwaeddan and walk over to the door.

“Does Ashal know your doing this for me?” i ask

Gwaeddan stands up from her chair and begins to walk away. They stop at the painting and look at it, focusing on Ashal.

“Discretion is key.” Gwaeddan says as they walk up the stairs.

I look at the piece of paper again, I study the coordinates. My next stop is Brisban wildlands, Where Castrums lab is located. I imagine the pistol Gwaeddan gave has more use than just shooting Castrum but for now I have to get there before Ashal.

#gw2 fanfiction #gw2 oc #gw2 #guild wars 2 #Guild Wars #tales of thedas #stories #fanfic #gw2 asura #tyriaslibrary

[goldenart0]

Things I love about RWBY: It really blurs the line between good and bad and how morality in no way black and white but on a very gray scale and people fall on different points at different times for doing certain things. Good and bad incredibly subjective and heroes can do bad things and villains can do good. Because good and bad are all in the eyes of the viewer and participants.

It shows this in so many ways and at different times. The entire Oz lying for one. That entire thing is a mess of people trying to take a very gray scenario and shove into black or white, both in show and in the fandom. Everything that bridges off from that is mortally gray situations, from the fact of Oz hiding things to how everyone reacts to Atlas and how Ruby deals with telling Ironwood. You can make points for any sides for good or bad and you’d probably be right in a way.

Do I think Oz hiding all that from them was the best thing? No, the group deserved to know the information. Does that mean I don’t see why Oz did it and thought it was better? Absolutely not. Was the group right to be mad at him. Yes, putting your trust in someone and not getting that back can hurt. But does that mean that I don’t think they overreacted? No they should have taken a second to see why he did it, especially with being given the reason why. Did Ruby make a bad choice not telling Ironwood about Salem right away? No after all she wanted to see Ironwood stood and after that sketchy scene from first entering I don’t blame her. Does that mean that just because it wasn’t fully bad it’s fully good? No, and she got called out for it.

Speaking of Altas, Volume 7 ended us on a very morally gray moment and choice. Help Atlas but leave Mantle and hopefully live to fight another day or risk losing everything to Salem now. Both sides make good points and I’ve seen people in the Fandom argue both ways. In the end both sides have a fair point and are right in their thinking. Both are good and bad and could have great risks.

There’s this, and @electricdemon10 explain that far better then I could have so please read it.

We are shown characters on the protagonists side, the hero’s side, so bad things like be racist.

Because that’s how the real world works. No person is fully good or fully bad all the time. Everyone, everything, is on a sliding gray scale. Some people and choices may be more good or bad and some may be good enough that you’d say it was good and you wouldn’t be wrong. Likewise someone/thing might be so far to the bad side that you’d say it’s bad and you wouldn’t be wrong. But there are many sides to every story and different people see things different. And people rally ever make themselves the villain of there own story.

An example of this is Salem. Now, you could that she is quite quite evil and you would be very right in that. But we get to see that it started from a place of love, of wanted someone she cared about back which is something I’m sure people can relate to. She just went a wee bit to far, I’m not quite sure why getting humanity to kill the gods was a great idea. But it still started good. And people (in the fandom) have used that to make her less bad, despite all the horrible things she’s done in her life (ya know, the murder for one). But it shows that mortality is more fluid, good can become bad and pure evil doesn’t exist.

There’s this quote from MCD that I love and thinks deals with issue with morality well: “I don’t care who your brother is, but nothing is ever so black-and-white. Relics, like people can be used for good, or evil. Especially since these labels always differ from person to person. Your evil may be another person’s righteous.”

And RWBY does a great job of showing these. The real world isn’t black and white. It isn’t pure paragons of greatness and virtue versus Disney evil. Pure good and bad only truly exist in story books and fairytales. And even though the world of Rement may be based on these tales, it still fallows the rules of the real world. Because as Blake said back in Volume One, “Unfortunately the real world isn’t the same as a fairytale.”

#oops morality rant time #as least i didnt go off about the definitions of good and bad this time. those are a mess #rwby

[chubbyooo]

Blurred Lines: Cursed Past Chapter 69: Taking Five

Nice

hey we’re finally back with the main story and I’m raring to go :D

Kyradia tries her best to be patient while Ashara finds her next lead on Zash

Kyradia wrapped her fingers against the table as she sat waiting for Ashara to find something, it had been a couple days since they’d last encountered Zash and Kyradia was beginning to get agitated. Ashara had been adamant that using her connection with Zash was off the table and that she needed rest, Kyradia didn’t feel like she deserved the rest every second she sat here Zash was out getting one step closer to whatever goal she had with the sisters.

Kyradia shuddered to think what they could do together, she didn’t even know how Zash had found any last time she had checked the place was abandoned just like home. She must’ve missed someone, either way they were bound to have a plan of their own and Zash would be playing right into their hands. Zash was many things but she was less than cautious and she wasn’t only endangering herself but the Mirilian girl, Kyradia frowned; she still didn’t understand her place in all this. Was she just a naive accomplice? She clearly didn’t appreciate Kyradia’s efforts with the alliance but then again not many people did, she had to stop them though if she was ever going to do something ‘good’ or ‘righteous’ it’d be this.

She sighed getting up and making her way out of the ship; being cooped up in there wasn’t helping her, she wandered around the base for a little bit before coming to the war room where she saw Lana was looking rather swamped.

She noticed Kyradia as she approached “ah commander good to see you I’m afraid I haven’t much time running your alliance single handedly is not an easy task” the terse tone made Lana’s annoyance with the position clear

Kyradia nodded “yeah I’m uh sorry I just got caught up in the mission you sent me on” Lana nodded folding her arms at Kyradia

Her expression softened “yes well as I’m told it has gotten rather out of control, I’m not so annoyed at you  though Commander it’s the other two advisors I have rather” she paused “choice words for” Kyradia nodded she didn’t even want to think about the argument with Kavaraa right now 

Kyradia sighed “yeah I gotta admit I thought they’d be back by now Lana” she didn’t know what would’ve happened when they came back, she still stood by what she did but knew how strongly Kavaraa felt about it.

Lana sighed looking agitated “word is that the Basen’thor stumbled across something that required their ‘immediate attention’ something more important apparently than running the extremely crucial alliance” that didn’t surprise Kyradia at all Kavaraa had a tendency to run off on some great quest for some bullshit

Kyradia nodded trying to keep civil about the matter “well um I promise as soon as this whole Zash thing is sorted I will get back to this pointless war” Lana nodded they both were heavily among the belief this war was stupid but the republic and the empire would always be just that and if they wanted to survive they had to pick a side

Lana shook her head “don’t worry I’ve got people beginning to take over their duties so I’m not doing everything” Kyradia nodded they would be totally lost without Lana and she knew that

Kyradia thought a lighter conversation topic may be good “sooooo while I was away something else happened with you Lana?” Lana looked at Kyraida her eyes narrowing in confusion, Kyradia sighed of course “um I dunno the big 6ft Hero of Tython who you’re apparently pretty farmiliar with???” Kyradia winked as Lana began to squirm.

Lana held her head “I told him not to tell everyone I want it on the down low to avoid this kind of stuff” Kyradia nodded her smile only broadening to Lana’s dismay

Kyradia chuckled “see he didn’t actually tell me that I just have a sense for these things” Lana’s eyes widened before he let out a long sigh

She responded clearly agitated “I swear why do you do this to me” Kyradia smiled as Lana sulked at her

It was fun to see Lana squirm “Cause you’re so cute when you’re annoyed, come on Lana it was so obvious you too wanted each other and that comes from the galaxy wide expert of accidentally falling in love” she would never forget the moment when she realised she’d actually fallen in love with Andronikos, oh yeah totally just a ‘casual thing’ Ky well done dummy.

Lana stifled a laugh “well I guess you do have me beat there, he’s sweet ok and he’s been through a lot I think we’re beyond the point of pining” Kyradia chuckled at Lana it was sweet she finally had someone. Lana changed the subject quickly “oh by the way we need you to have a check up with the doctor about your recent injury” Kyradia groaned more doctors stuff 

“Ugh do I have to” Lana nodded seriously

She folded her arms “if you want to keep chasing the sith around then yes Ashara assured me it’s necersarry” of course she did stupid Ashara trying to look after her.

Kyradia sighed “fine but I’m not gonna be cooperative” Lana nodded as she got roped into another conversation

She was glad she had someone like Lana who knew what she was doing behind the alliance otherwise everything would just fall apart she could tell. Kyradia made her way to the medbay where she was met by a black haired moustached man tending to a patient, as she entered he spun around to face her with a smile.

He held out his hand “ah Commander so nice to finally meet you you can call me Doc I’ll be in charge of your checkup ok” Kyradia frowned at the man awkwardly taking his hand

Kyradia responded “I mean I would call you that considering you are a doctor” he chuckled awkwardly leading her to a table

Doc spoke up again “I must say it’s an honour to finally meet your love-” Kyradia was not a fan of his ‘oh so charming’ tone and interrupted him

“Look ‘Doc’ if you want to keep your larynx keep the talking to a minimum” his eyes widened as he nodded without another word

Kyradia showed him the laceration scar still rather prominent on her stomach, Doc looked at it closely “looks like it’s healing right at least although it’s hard to see the scar tissue quite right with these uh markings” Kyradia raised her eyebrow at him “um sorry I uh” Kyradia had a feeling this guy was not used to people not being charmed by his persona

Kyradia stood back up “if you’re referring to my Tattoos then yes I imagine they would, we didn’t exactly have high tech when I got them so there is scar tissue” Doc nodded awkwardly giving a thumbs up, Kyradia chuckled it was fun to make people like that squirm. 

She wandered around the base a while longer trying her best to calm the thoughts but couldn’t seem to manage it, she tried to do as Dzûsa said though and headed out to the hill she normally found him on.

When she arrived however she found two men standing there in a rather difficult looking pose, Dzûsa smiled as he saw Kyradia “well hello Kyradia it’s nice to see you alive and well, would you like to join me and Arcann we are doing calming stretches” Kyradia was shocked as she realised Arcann was with him 

Kyradia looked around awkwardly, she was hoping this was just Dzûsa and her thing other people made it embarrassing “yeah um ok I’m uh surprised to see you here Arcann?” Arcann nodded returning to a normal pose

He spoke softly “Dzûsa has been helping me calm my mind, I find it quite difficult to think about some of the thing I’ve done and it can be overwhelming” Kyradia cocked her head that was kinda similar she guessed, it was still very awkward the only reason Arcann was alive was because Kavaraa stopped her from killing him.

He had forgiven her but she always felt kinda awkward, Dzûsa spoke up “I think you too share a lot in common Kyradia but mostly you both felt irredeemable” Kyradia guessed Dzûsa had a point it was still very awkward

Arcann spoke clearly noticing the tension “sorry if me being here is awkward I know it is still very difficult for you since you tried to murder my entire family” Kyradia shuddered she knew he wasn’t being sarcastic but it sure felt like it

Kyradia shook her head “no no it’s ok Arcann I think we’re even on that front, I’d think I’d like to join you” Dzûsa smiled as he scooted over making room for Kyradia.

He began to explain each of the stretches they were doing and how to think during each one and after a while Kyradia began to feel much calmer, it was nice with these two there was no judgement one was a former tyrannical emperor and the other a vicious sith no moral high ground here.

After a while they sat down and Dzûsa spoke “I know for the both of you right now the mountain may seem an impossible climb but wherever you want to go you can get there, it is good to know your goal no matter how small or big” he looked at each of them to speak

Kyradia’s seemed pretty simple “uh I guess I wanna stop my old master from gaining uncontrollable power” Dzûsa shook his head at her great she already did it wrong

Dzûsa smiled “that’s not a personal goal what do you want to change about your headspace” he looked to Arcann to speak

Arcann nodded “when I look in the mirror I don’t want to see the Masked man who killed his brother and stood complacent while his sister was corrupted, I want to see the man who worked to make things right and has been performing good deeds since. I don’t want to be a shadow of my past” Dzûsa nodded. Kyradia tried really hard to think of what she wanted to change but she didn’t know it was all so foggy.

Kyradia sighed “I uh I don’t know what I want to change, shit have I done it wrong” did she really have no idea what she would do

Dzûsa took her hand “no no that’s ok too you’ve just begun on this path, we don’t all know what we want to change but the first step is knowing we at least want to change something” Kyradia frowned she didn’t want to change that much though she just wanted to stop hurting people

Kyradia sighed “I guess it’s just I want to stop losing people” Dzûsa nodded seeming to at least understand the sentiment

“That’s a start and you may be able to but if you don’t that’s ok too just as long as you keep your morales in your heart things will work out, be kind that’s all anyone can do really” Kyradia nodded not really knowing if she could ever be ‘kind’ but she appreciated the sentiment. Dzûsa continued “I hope I’ve helped and feel free to come back any time it’s not like this old man is up to much” they both nodded and Arcann got up and left leaving just the two of them

Kyradia looked across to him “I don’t think it’s as easy for me as it is for him, I uh I have very destructive impulses I just can’t control them” Dzûsa nodded stroking his chin

He smiled “Kyradia I was trapped and used as a battery for about 8 years it took me that 8 years to wear the machine down and gain enough power to send out a single message that saved me from 8 more” Kyradia frowned not seeing how it was relevant “we can control anything if we persevere and I’m positive you can control these impulses just keep at it and wear those bastards down” he gave a bright smile and stood up “I’m afraid I must go I am furiously hungry” he chuckled sauntering off down the hill

Kyradia sat there on the hill looking at the landscape around her ‘wear them down’ she guessed she could try no harm in that.

Her comm crackled to life and Ashara’s voice came through “Kyradia I got a lead people matching Zash and Terristera’s description just broke into a botanical plant on Kowak, told you patience paid off” the comm shut off, well looks like next stop Kowak maybe Ashara was right a rest had been pretty great...

#swtor #blurred lines: cursed past #blurred lines #kyradia zandar #kyradia #zash #darth zash #terristera #terri #dzûsa #dzûsa zâtan #arcann tirall #arcann #doc #lana beniko #ashara zavros #my fiction #fanfiction #fiction #fanfic #Fic #swtor fanfiction #SWTOR Fic #swtor fanfic #swtor fiction #oc fanfiction #oc fanfic #OC fic #OC Fiction

[thebikles]

Little Merlin Fanfic Chapter 5

chapter 1: https://thebikles.tumblr.com/post/616315012077813760/little-merlin-fan-fiction

A few hours earlier 

Merlin dreamed that all of Camelot knew he was a sorcerer. He stumbled through the lower town, the buildings surrounding him almost familiar, with twisted geometries and shuttered doors. He needed to make it to the cover of the forest and beyond, but his legs wouldn’t obey him, they existed in slow motion. Duck into an alley, shy away from the torchlight. Shouts and sword points licked at his heels, the space between houses grew smaller until it was whittled away entirely.

He was trapped. Trapped! And it didn’t make sense that there was nowhere to flee because it didn’t make sense that he should die so young. The fear didn’t fit in his chest and that’s what finally woke him, a sort of bodily instinct to de-escalate. 

Merlin lay gasping for several minutes in disorientation, allowing the residue of his dream to evaporate, willfully forgetting. 

Though, the reality he had woken into didn’t feel much better. Merlin burrowed back beneath the covers and lay in a close musty darkness of his own creation. The events of the night before were still too hot to touch, so he forced his mind to drift in the starless cosmos beneath his eyelids. To not think was a matter of survival. 

Gaius, however, would not allow it. 

The morning had barely begun to drain away when he called through a firmly closed door, “Merlin! Breakfast!” 

No response. 

“It’s getting cold!” 

Then, “You’re going to be late…” 

Finally footsteps on the stairs. He tensed as Gauis poked his head into the room, 

“Merlin, what are you doing? Arthur will be asking for you.” 

“No he won’t,” came the muffled reply. 

Giaus eyed him then yanked the covers away with surprising force, to reveal Merlin lying there crumpled like a wet cat, blinking in protest. 

“Right. Up you get. Eat my oatmeal and tell me what’s the matter.” 

Merlin pawed for his pillow which was swiftly confiscated as well. 

“I won’t permit you to wallow any longer. Your clouds of gloom are slipping under the door and contaminating the air, spoiling all my medicines…” 

He stood with his hands on his hips, waiting. 

So Merlin got up. He trudged down the stairs, plopped onto the bench and stared bleakly at his breakfast. Gaius situated himself opposite and ate industriously, trying to set an example. 

“Oh, I almost forgot. There was a note addressed to you this morning.”

Merlin felt a fresh stab of fear. It was like the first jolt of a fall, when your body is in one place and your stomach is in quite another. It could only be from one person. To wait any longer would be excruciating, so Merlin asked, in a shaky voice,

“Would you read aloud?”

“Alright.” Gaius cleared his throat and began to speak as if he were reading from one of his clinical textbooks, “Sorry for being an ass last night. I’m off hunting- need to be alone for a while. Will be back whenever. Signed, Arthur.” Then, in his own voice, “What happened Merlin? Why do you look so sad?” 

Merlin sat in silence for several moments. He knew he could be stubborn, that Gaius would eventually grow tired of questioning. But it was difficult, living with these sharp edges inside of him. How was he supposed to think, when there were so many places in his mind he could not go? He didn’t want to be comforted, he wanted someone to acknowledge his hopelessness, to bear witness. 

“Last night I told Arthur I liked him.” It was such a childish sentence but Merlin didn’t know what else to say. 

“Ah.” Gaius enunciated carefully. He sat digesting, “And how did he react?” 

“I don’t- know. I didn’t stick around to find out.” He felt leaky and out of balance. Merlin kept speaking, but not of his own volition. It was like he was rolling down a hill and had gained too much momentum to ever imagine slowing down. “He was drunk, and he kept pushing me and I snapped. I told too much truth. So now he’s run away to the forest. Because he doesn’t want to see me.” He paused, then spoke thickly,  “I think I’ve ruined something, Gaius.” 

“Maybe he just needs some space,” the old man offered, “some time to think.” 

But Merlin’s hole was already too deep. He didn’t want to know about other, more livable worlds, for hoping was how he’d hurt himself in the first place. 

“Yeah. Maybe. By the way, are there any chores you need me to do?”

Gaius scoffed, “I never thought I’d live to hear you say that. As a matter of fact there are.” 

So Merlin hauled and scrubbed and polished. He changed and rearranged small objects of no consequence and imagined himself to be a sardine among many interchangeable thousands, a grain of sand, a single pine needle, curved and delicate as an eyelash, waiting out the winter.   

Anything to keep from sitting around in his room watching for Arthur to return. He knew it would be empty and abstract as the inside of a cello, trembling with vacancy. Fear of what might happen if he stayed there too long fueled his furious application of elbow grease. Merlin couldn’t promise himself that his magic wouldn’t find a way to seep into the world. He couldn’t be sure that books wouldn’t shudder from their shelves, or that cracks wouldn’t scurry through the foundations of the castle. 

Merlin was walking down another stone corridore. He didn’t trudge or hurry, he simply moved forward through space, feeling detached, as if a glass wall separated him from the rest of the world. As he passed, furtive voices trickled from Morgana’s door and Merlin almost kept walking. Let Uther deal with whatever she’s got planned, part of him thought bluntly, don’t get involved for once, just let it fall. 

But some instinct yanked him as close to that door as he dared. He couldn’t quite bring himself to let things lie, it wasn’t in his bones. Besides, secrets and conspiracy were a much better distraction than window washing and reorganization. 

Merlin could tell right away that Morgana was not speaking to a friend of Camelot. The airy sweetness to her voice, which she took great pains to maintain, was all scraped away, leaving nothing but cool impatience.  

“Now is the perfect time to strike, he’s off in the woods, he’s brought no men with him…” 

Merlin stopped breathing. She was talking about Arthur. 

Another voice spoke, but it seemed to come from a long way off and he could not make out the words. 

“Yes, as many as you can spare, we must take no chances, he needs to-” 

There was a sudden, suspicious silence, like a shift in the clouds so that shadows materialized in the dirt. Merlin frowned, listening for the other muffled voice, realizing too late that he needed to run. 

The door burst open and Morgana stood framed there like a fury, with snake bites for eyes. 

They watched each other and Merlin knew she expected him to plead and make excuses. He lifted his chin.  

“What are you doing here?” it wasn’t a question, it was a threat. 

Merlin sighed and glanced away. What had become of Lady Morgana? They had been friends once. Her eyes were still full of intelligence, but now they were barbed and guarded as well.  

“Why are you doing this?” he said so exhaustedly, without malice. 

She laughed coldly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You don’t have to hide each day, you don’t have to live with the knowledge that you would be killed if anyone discovered who you are.”   

Merlin swallowed and said nothing. 

“Uther is a tyrant and murderer. What could be more righteous than taking him down and bringing freedom to my people?”

“But Arthur’s your brother, and he is no tyrant.” 

Morgana stiffened, something like doubt shifted in her eyes. It occurred to Merlin that she had no reason to speak to him, for the king would never believe a word against his beloved ward. It was as if she needed to justify herself.  

“Yes but one day he will be,”

“-You don’t know that-” 

“...and his life is a small price to pay for justice, and equality.” 

Merlin kept his eyes locked on hers, “There is always another way.” 

Morgana smiled poisonously, “How sweet. I remember when I was as naive as you.” 

“I won’t let you do this.” 

The door closed firmly in his face. “Have fun trying to stop me.” 

So Merlin took off running, his malaise slipping like a cloak from his shoulders. It didn’t matter now, whether Arthur didn’t want their friendship, so long as he was alive to avoid it. 

Merlin discarded the stairs, leaping three at a time, blurring the line between a fall and a sprint. He ran until his thighs burned and his teeth ached and then kept running. Let Morgana laugh, let her underestimate him. He could feel magic sloshing beneath his skin.  

#bbc merlin #merlin #merarthur

[writingstarling]

Loki's Memories

Moments after his death in Infinity War, Loki went on a travel down memory lane.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Darkness. It felt as if he was sinking. Sinking into the ocean deep as the light from above went dimmer and dimmer. He tried to swim up, but as he did, bubbles surrounded him. The bubbles circled around him like a whirlpool until finally, he can't see the surface anymore.

The scenery blurred away into an eerily familiar surrounding. White walls, pillars, pristine marble floors, a golden throne. He was back in Asgard, specifically the great hall. A mop of yellow ran past him, short, dirt covered, and seemingly enthusiastic. Muddy footprints imprinted themselves on the once pristine floor every step he took.

"Brother! Brother!" Loki recognised that obnoxious voice anywhere.

"Thor?" he called out, but little Thor couldn't hear him. He looked young. Really young. Probably 4 to 5, he was still in good terms with his brother then.

"Brother, where are you?! I am in need of sharing this fantastic news with you!"

Then emerged, his younger self. A book clutched in his hand. A magic book, Loki guessed. Despite this possibly being his memory, he didn't quite remember it.

"What is it, Brother?"

"I have mastered a little of the groot language art! Watch this! I am Groot! It means 'hello brother'!"

"That is fantastic, Brother," a small smile cracked on his face.

Little Thor grinned proudly. His hands covered in a mixture of mud and dirt pulled little Loki into a bone crushing hug.

"Brother! You are getting dirt on my clothes!"

Thor laughed out heartily, ignoring his brother's cry.

Loki smiled slightly. It was hard not to. That might have been one of the most peaceful moments in his life. He was young, innocent, loved. He loved those moments whether he would admit it or not.

The scene blurred away once again; he was in the library. Unlike the previous memory, he remembered that. He was secretly practicing to shape-shift to surprise his mother. So far, his younger self has failed multiple times.

"Loki?"

Little Loki promptly shut the book, "Yes, Mother?"

"It's late, why are you still up, Child?"

Little Loki settled the book on his lap. The title hidden under his fingers that drummed on it. He contemplated his next move. His mother was raised by witches, lying would be out of the question. However, he still wished to surprise her later on with his newly possessed ability. He finally settled on telling his mother a half-truth with hope that she won't see through him.

"I'm studying for my next magic class, Mother. I would like to get a head start."

Frigga smiled, sliding an arm around his shoulders, "Alright, but do not sleep too late or I shall have you banned from the library for a week."

"Yes, Mother."

She planted a soft kiss on his temple before bidding him goodnight and returning to her quarters.

Loki remembered telling Thor about his plan... which resulted in Thor accidentally blurting it out from excitement. He kept that grudge for a month. Petty, perhaps. But to Thor and him it was fair. He remembered several of Thor's attempts to achieve his forgiveness. Gifts like meat, snakes, swords, and other stuff that Thor was fond of. He did that with the thought that perhaps Loki would enjoy it as much as he did.

After a bit of guidance from their mother, Thor slid in a gift that for once Loki actually enjoyed, and that was the start of his forgiveness.

Perhaps Thor wasn't that unbearable as a child, Loki thought.

The scenery changed again. He was in their garden. Loki could hear panting in the distance that was soon followed by a war cry. Curiosity compelled him to follow the ruckus. Before he could reach the noise, he saw his younger self. A smirk decorated little Loki's lips before he morphed into a snake and slithered through the grass towards the cacophony. Loki spontaneously recognised the event.

Oh, this will be fun, he thought. He quickened his pace. When he arrived at the scene, he tried to find a place to hide before recalling that he was merely an apparition in his own memory.

Little Thor wielded his wooden sword. Slicing, cutting, and stabbing the air as if there were enemies around him. Then came slithering through, his younger self. Thor instantaneously stopped his training.

"Ah, a snake!" Thor cheered. He picked up the snake to admire it.

Loki snickered in the distance. Suddenly, the snake morphed back to the form of little Loki. Little Loki held a knife in his hand.

"Bleah, it's me!" he exclaimed and stabbed little Thor before making his grand retreat.

Loki couldn't help but to lightly chuckle. That was one of the funniest pranks he did. Number one would always be when he turned Thor into a toad, no doubt. Come to think of it, he never really just stop and reminisce the past. Why didn't he?

The scene morphed again; his younger self stood before Odin in the great hall.

"Loki, why can't you just be more like Thor?"

Right. That's why, he sighed. The past was just an admonition of how defective he was compared to his brother.

His brother was -- is a great achiever among Asgardians. He's strong, righteous, brave, and among other things, benevolent. Something their father has decided to become... and he having a hard time to be.

"I apologise, Father. I will strive to be better, as you wish me to," Loki bowed.

He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. The air surrounding them was suffocating; he hated it. He hated how his father wanted him to be something he isn't. To be like Thor. It was infuriating; it vexed him for years. The people repeating the same comment about him. Whispers that they thought he didn't know about.

"He should be more like Thor."

"If only he's more like Thor."

"... like Thor."

Everyone wanted him to be like Thor. Everyone, but his mother. He remembered vaguely of his mother's consolation. When he was still so young and not as strong as steel. When his feelings were still open and fragile like porcelain before it was hid away in layers of masks and deception.

Suddenly, the memory he resided in mirrored the one in his mind. His bedroom; he almost forgot what it looked like. Walls a grass green lined with dark coloured bookshelves replete with various types of books. The ceiling was painted mimicking the infinite cosmos. He had to admit, his ceiling was quite breathtaking. He forced himself to pry away from the astonishing sight of his ceiling to look around once more. Unlike the ceiling, his furniture was rather elementary. A king-sized bed in forest green and a dark oak desk beside it accompanied by a matching chair. However, Loki enjoyed the simplicity of it.

He peered over to his younger self. Little Loki sat on his bed, eyes narrowed at his fists that clutched his garment. His jaw was slightly clenched; it was a subtle fluctuation of muscle, but he recognised it. His younger self was indignant. It wasn't unusual for him to be. The judgement he faced in his childhood was excruciating. It wasn't hard to be indignant.

A knock caught both Lokis' attentions, "Loki, may I please come in?"

It was his mother. Probably checking in on him after another one of his feuds with his father.

"You may enter, Mother."

Frigga entered the room. Little Loki could feel a dip near his spot on the bed, his eyes still trained on his fists. Loki observed them as silence encased the room. His mother was the first to break it.

"So, what was it about this time?"

Silence.

"A failed sword training?"

No reaction.

"An act of mischief against Thor?"

Little Loki shook his head.

"Well then, what has got the God of Mischief to lose his spirit?"

Little Loki clutched on his garment tighter. He bit his lips; a tendency he yearned to expunge. It gave away his mind, his thoughts, his feelings. He couldn't let that. With that thought in mind, he liberated his garment from his vice like grip and his lips from his teeth that sank into it. He took a breather to compose himself; he straightened his posture.

"It was nothing, Mother," he said, a crumpled copy of a smile on his lips.

Frigga frowned, her son lies -- it wasn't rare for him to -- but that. That lie he told to her face, that was different. Loki knew better than to lie to her; she was sure of it.

"Loki, please tell me the truth."

His lips quivered, trembling as he did inside, yet his smile didn't falter. Frigga took note.

"What do you mean, Mother? I just did."

Frigga knew better than to push him at times like this. Because of that, she decided that it would be judicious for her to leave it alone; at least until Loki was more comfortable with telling her. Frigga pulled him into a hug, stroking his head ever so gently as if he would break if she were to put in just the slightest of pressure.

"All right, my son. But if there is anything that exacerbates you, know that I will always be there for you. No matter what."

Both Lokis felt tears pool their eyes. To some, those three words might not mean a lot. But to them, it meant the world. In Frigga's embrace, he broke down. He poured his heart out whilst marinating his mother's dress in his tears.

Don't, Loki commanded himself mentally. The tears threatened to fall.

Don't, he repeated. His body leaned on the wall for support.

Don't, because he knew. He knew once even a single tear rolled down his cheek; he won't be able to stop himself. He won't be able to dam the tears that were begging to plunge.

All of a sudden he fell. The wall, his room, his bed, his younger self, and his mother were gone. He was left alone on the cold ground, fighting back tears.

Cold. He felt cold. That wasn't right. He was a Frost Giant Prince; he's supposed to be invulnerable to the icy sensation. Yet that time, he was freezing. The tears in his eyes were frozen into globules of ice that descended to the ground and shattered like glass. Loki constrained himself to eye his ambience. Blue. He turned left and right and all he could see was blue!

Wait, blue and a wintery feeling that's capable of making him shiver. There's only one place that had the wherewithal of such thing. His birthplace and rightful birthright, Jotunheim. Still, one thing didn't add up.

Why was he cold?

He went to Jotunheim to help his brother in his endeavour of slaying them and when he manufactured a deal with Laufey; he didn't feel cold then, why now?

Suddenly, a cry was heard echoing throughout the place. It was a baby's, perhaps an infant's. Loki hoisted himself up on his feet; he did a sweep of the area to locate the provenance of the commotion. His eyes widened as it landed on a small, blue hand waving around frantically. Loki's steps were cautious when he approached the infant. He had a hunch of who that was. He peeked his head over where the infant lied.

He was right. It was him, as an infant. Abandoned by his biological father to die in the frost before being found by Odin to be used in the future and be disposed off when he was of no use. Wasn't that a phenomenal memory he would just love to relive? His infant self cried to no end. He was probably cold like Loki was a few seconds ago. He inspected his infant self's profile. His eyes were a crimson red while his skin an icy blue. He had quite the chubby cheeks, one that parents love to dote on. In the distance, heavy footsteps were faintly heard.

Odin, he absent-mindedly guessed. His father trudged in; an eye lost and was left as a bloody void.

Odin glanced at baby Loki, his cries catching his attention. Loki scrutinised the situation. Odin staggered his way to Loki's infant self, the son Laufey's ashamed of. In Odin's hands, Loki saw how his younger self transformed slightly in appearance. His once icy blue skin became more humanly as his crimson eyes shift into a grass green. Loki saw something in Odin's eyes.

Pity, he bitterly recognised. He was merely a charity case, with a purpose. A pawn Odin wanted to use to fabricate peace with the Frost Giants.

It repulsed him how he used to strive for Odin's love and attention. Making himself believe that perhaps -- if he were to try hard enough -- that he would finally be Thor's equal. That he would finally gain his father's approval. He never stood a chance and now because his father is gone; he never will. All his past efforts were pointless. He felt like a fool.

Anger burned in his chest similar to a forest fire. Consuming everything in its path. His memories were one of those things. His memories, ones that were once impetus twisted into one he saw as fuel to his rage. The ones that brandished the kindness of his family weren't substantial anymore. He didn't even know what wonderful memories are anymore.

He never had any of that before. How was he supposed to know?

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Ending coming soon!

#marvel #mcu #loki #loki laufeyson #loki of asgard #loki odinson #loki of jotunheim #frigga #frigga of asgard #thor #thor odinson #thor of asgard #loki imagine #loki and thor #infinity war #loki and frigga #avengers infinity war #odin #fanfiction #loki fanfic #marvel fic

[nancywheelxr]

Kara and Brainy being captured together and realizing they have feelings for each other

Gosh this grew way bigger than I expected. Hope you enjoy it, anon!

Kara punches the glass doors again.

It’s useless, she knows. It didn’t work the first dozen times and it’s not going to work now, but going through the motions, burning through the adrenaline, the ache on her knuckles, it all makes her feel a little better, a little more in control.

“Supergirl?” his voice is cracking, but it’s there, and Kara rushes to the wall between cells, as close as she possibly can. “Where are– oh, no. We were captured.”

It’s not a question, she can see him remembering their fight this afternoon– the Children of Liberty surrounding them, so many of them, faceless with their masks, and she had gotten separated from Brainy, and she couldn’t see him in the sea of people, and then suddenly someone had dragged him forward, unconscious, pressed a gun to his head, and he had been so pale, blood trickling down his temple and disappearing on his black shirt, and his heartbeat had been so faint, so when the man yelled at her to give up, Kara had simply raised her arms behind her head and let them cuff her.

“How’s your head?” She asks gently, fingers itching to reach for him, “they hit you pretty bad there.”

His hands fly to the dry patch of blood, coming up thankfully clean. “It’s healed. But I’m afraid I might be slightly concussed,” he frowns, gingerly touching the back of his head, where Kara remembers he had hit his head on the bench when they carelessly tossed him in the cell. “What about you? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she shakes her head, glancing at the walls, “but I still can’t get us out of here. I think they’ve got inhibitors like the ones in Shelley Island. Are you sure you’re okay? There was so much blood, I– just, I was so worried, you were out of it for so long, I thought–”

“I’ll be fine,” Brainy reassures her, standing up shakily. He needs a minute to steady himself, before shuffling to sit in front of her, leaning against the back wall. The glass between them is no more than four inches thin, but it feels terribly far from where she’s standing. “I heal faster than humans, the concussion will be gone soon. Do you know where we are?”

“No,” Kara sighs, mirroring his position and leaning back, hugging her knees to her chest. “The van was lined with lead. It’s like– they are scarily good at this.”

“Indeed,” he raises his hand to his forehead, closing his eyes. The crease on his brows deepens, “I cannot connect with anything either. These cells must be blocking any signals from coming in. It’s as if they had been prepared for me as well.”

“I don’t like this,” she shakes her head, “Lockwood is in jail, they should be scattering, not upping their game.”

Before any answer could be given, the door at the end of the hall is thrown open, three men stalking past it. They all look more or less the same– tall, burly, scowly. Their leader, the one with a scar above his right brow, steps closer to their cells, grinning, “now that’s a sight to see,” he crows, “not so super now, are we? But don’t worry, Blondie. We’re not here for you this time. We just wanna test a new toy our sponsor sent us.”

Dread pools on her stomach and Kara is on her feet before Scarface over there can finish pressing a button on a device he brought. She tries to run forward, but a high-pitched noise pierces the room. It seems to be too high for humans to hear, but even as she falls to her knees, Kara sees Brainy stumbling too, his image glitching and shimmering as his image inducer gives out.

And if this is hurting her ears, it looks so much more painful for Brainy, Kara has to– nothing. Like this, barely able to stand on her own, there’s nothing she can do.

“So it does work, uh?” Scarface laughs, turning on his heel to leave, his minions in tow.

She waits just until the ground feels steady under her feet, ignoring the ringing echoing on her head. “Brainy, oh my god, you’re bleeding again–”

“It’s– well, it’s not quite alright, but it does look worse than it is,” he’s breathing heavily, and when he coughs, she can see the blood on his palms. “There are more pressing things to worry about. Did you see the logo, on the device?”

Unfortunately. “Yeah. That’s not good, we need to tell Alex and the others.”

“They talked about a new sponsor, but why would L-Corp– why would Lena do this?”

Kara feels her own face hardening, “no, not L-Corp. Lexcorp.” This is really not good, they have to warn Lena, too. “But Brainy, they don’t seem to care what we hear. And they weren’t wearing masks this time. You know what that means, don’t you?”

He coughs again, wiping the blood from under his nose. “It means they’re planning to kill us.”

*

There’s a tiny window above her head, allowing natural light to spill inside their cells. Kara watches the sunlight move across the room as the hours pass, disappearing into pale moonlight by the end of the day. And then, she watches it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

The days pass in a blur of awful helplessness. Without her powers and with little to no contact with their captors, Kara isn’t sure what she can do. There’s no one she can try to talk down, there’s no superpower to help her kick down doors. Their food comes only once a day, and the water too, only enough to keep them feebly alive.

One thing is for sure, these people are much better at kidnapping than the last crew.

“How long until Alex finds us, do you think?” She sighs, leaning against the wall between the cells, her legs stretched in front of her.

“No more than a day, I’d say,” Brainy guesses, the same guess he’s been answering her every time she asks. They’re sitting back-to-back, so Kara can’t see his face, but she imagines it must be as despondent as she feels.

“We need to come up with a plan of our own,” Kara suggests, awfully aware their time is running out. “Before they decide it’s not worth it to keep us here anymore.”

“They must need us for something,” he says, voice flat, “or we would not still be alive.”

At the very least, Brainy looks better, she concedes. His concussion did heal itself with time, and so did his cough, and his skin isn’t so pale anymore, but Kara hates to see the strain on his eyes. She absolutely loathes to see him hurting, and she hates even more that there’s nothing she can possibly do. He’s here, so close they would be touching if it weren’t for the glass, and she can feel the warmth radiating from him. Glass is a good heat conductor, she can almost hear him saying.

“That’s a smart one, uh?” Scarface is back, slamming a magazine against the glass door to her cell with a delighted smile and she hates herself for not hearing him approaching. It’s a Catco magazine, and Kara’s heart cracks at the cover. No more Age of Heroes? Supergirl MIA! “I can’t have you popping up dead, now can I? Oh no, then everyone would be crying their heart outs for you. I don’t need a martyr. No, I need you alive and breathing, so at the end of the week, you can tell all those nice people you could have stopped all these terrible, terrible fires. That shootout in City Hall? Shame you didn’t feel like stopping that one, uh? Yeah, wonder how your little fan club will feel after that.”

“Okay, look,” Kara sees the opportunity there, and scrambles up to snag it, “you want to discredit me right? You don’t need him here for that, he’s got nothing to do with this. Just let him go, and I’ll do it. I’ll say whatever you want me to say– just let him go.”

Scarface laughs a full-bodied laugh that echoes all around like nails scratching on a chalkboard. “You ever played poker, Blondie? Oh man, you’d be terrible at it. Rule Number One, never show your hand, man!” He shakes his head fondly, as if he had been dealing out real advice for her. “See, I already know you will do whatever I tell you to. Because pretty boy over here is my insurance. You think I’m gonna part with my insurance? Of course not, especially now that you just told me how much you care! I was banking on your whole self-righteous moral gig before, but boy, oh boy, did I hit the jackpot with this one– it’s personal for you!”

The magazine slides to the floor as he leaves, still chuckling.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Brainy says as soon as the man is out of earshot. He’s standing now too, face scarily blank, and Kara wonders if it’s too late to gather back her cards, hide them back up her sleeve along with her heart. “What if he had accepted your offer? It would have jeopardized your work as Supergirl– my well-being is not worth it. When the time comes, you must promise you will not do as he asks.”

“Brainy, what–”

“Promise me.”

“What? No, I will not,” she shoots back, stalking to the glass wall, “what are you talking about? Brainy, my reputation, Supergirl’s reputation, I can rebuild. With time, the people will trust me again– I did it before, I can do it as many times as I need. You being safe– that’s all that matters right now.”

His eyes are wide, and she can almost see the gears turning behind them, parsing through her words. “I don’t– the man with the scar on his right brow said it was personal for you. What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve been calling him Scarface in my head, actually.”

“Oh, yes, that is a better one!”

Kara’s ticking clock just got a new deadline, and she supposes now that she’s aware of this thing herself, it wouldn’t take long until Brainy figures it out on his own. She never learned how not to wear her heart on her sleeve. And besides, if they don’t make it– she might not get another chance to say this. “Well, first of all, my decision on this would be the same no matter who was here with me. It could be a freaking stranger– any life is worth more than the public opinion,” she swallows, fidgeting with her cape, before taking a deep breath, steeling herself, “that being said. When he says personal, he means I’m in love with you.”

A whole minute goes by in silence. Kara wonders if she broke Brainy. Then, she wonders if he’s wishing he would have been kidnapped with somebody else, someone that isn’t stupidly making him more uncomfortable than those ratty, lumpy mattresses. Then, he speaks, “and is that what you mean?”

She smiles, relieved, “yeah, duh. Even out kidnappers can tell,” her heart is fluttering as she presses a hand to the glass, “it took me a while to realize it, and I kind of hate that I’m saying this for the first time in a prison cell, but Brainy. I’m in love with you.”

He raises his own hand, pressing against hers in answer, just a few inches away from touching. “I wish the circumstances were better,” he says, “I wish I had better words to offer you, but until then. Know this, my heart is yours, Kara Danvers. I love you as well.”

In a perfect world, this would be the moment they would kiss and fireworks would burst in the sky and everything would be alright. But in reality, Kara can only wish fiercely for a happy ending yet.

“Brainy,” she decides, “we are getting out of here. Scarface talked big game about not showing his cards, but he did give us something to work with.”

Brainy raises an eyebrow.

“He can’t kill either of us, not until after the weekend. When they come to move us, that’s when we escape,” a spark of hope is igniting a wildfire on her chest. Now that she has a plan of action, now that she knows this thing between them is real and possible and so, so close– Kara has never been more alive. Right now, she could reach for the stars.

“It will be difficult,” Brainy reminds her, but his voice sounds just as sure as hers, “they’ve defeated us before. But it could work.”

“It will work,” she states, no room for doubt. Then, because it still feels as if she’s melting inside, “but you know, I could really use seeing your smile right now.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but his lips curl in the most beautiful smile in the whole wide world if you ask Kara.

“Now I know, everything is going to be okay.”

*

They never make it to the end of the week.

It couldn’t be more than a day when even Kara’s powerless hearing picks up on the commotion outside. She stands to the attention, nods at Brainy who is doing the same in his cell. “Looks like it will be sooner rather than later.”

“Good luck,” she bites her lips, “and be careful.”

The door at the end of the hall swings open and half a dozen agents of liberty fill the room, throwing their cells open. “Change of plans,” one of them says, dragging her out by the arm, “time to sing, roach.”

There are guns pointed at them, and somewhere there’s a dog that just won’t stop barking, and the commotion outside is still raging on, and in the middle of all the chaos, Kara looks away and meets Brainy’s gaze. He nods back. They spring into motion and she has to trust he can handle himself in the fight.

A bullet grazes her shoulder. She punches someone’s face. Her side hurts. A punch to the stomach. It goes by in a flurry of motion, her training kicking in automatically, muscle memory taking over. Kara makes a mental note to thank her sister for all that hand-to-hand in the Kryptonite room.

The agents of liberty might have been better equipped this time, but between the two of them, they still fall down one by one.

“We did it?” her voice echoes in the hall.

“We did it,” his arms wrap around her waist.

And the fireworks might just be an automatic gun emptying its clip somewhere upstairs, and her shoulder is aching where it bleeds, and Brainy has blood on his temple– and none of it matters, because they’re finally, finally, free and he’s kissing her and she’s kissing him and that’s all there is.

Until the cocking of gun, gunshot loud in the silent room.

“Well, well, well, sorry to interrupt,” Scarface says, not smiling for once, gun aimed steadily at them, “but I’m afraid there’s been a change of schedule. Let’s see how well you wear martyrdom, shall we?”

Seriously? is all Kara can think while staring down the barrel of his gun, hasn’t it been enough?

The safety is off. She sees his finger ready on the trigger. Time slows down. And–

“Supergirl,” Alex is suddenly there, throwing something high in the air, and the whole place burst with blinding light. 

Yellow sun grenade.

Kara grins, feeling the rush of power thrumming once again underneath her skin, and god, she puts herself in front of Brainy, the rain of bullets bouncing off harmlessly off her. “What took you guys so long?” She laughs, ridiculously relieved, “this place has the worst room service.”

“What? It’s not my fault, these idiots kept setting buildings on fire,” Alex shrugs, faking nonchalance even as she pulls her into a tight hug, “I was so worried.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” she reassures her sister, “we’re fine.”

“Thank you for the rescue, Director Danvers,” Brainy comes to stand beside them, wheezing when Alex hugs him just as tight, “but there is much that needs to be discussed. We have gathered quite a bit of intel.”

“Well, silver linings, I guess?” Alex makes a face, “I need to check on my team, but you two– stay here. It’ll take me two minutes, don’t you dare move, hear me?” She leaves, grumbling, “god knows I don’t want either of you out of my sight for the next ten years.”

Finally, Kara breathes.

“I think that cut might need stitches,” she says softly, fingers tracing gingerly along the edges, “how do you feel about needles?”

Brainy catches her hand, gently turning it around to kiss her inner wrist, just below her pulse point, and she shivers. “Terribly,” he says, eyes shining mischievously, “I guess you will have to hold my hand until it’s over.”

“Gladly,” she tells him, “and I’ll kiss it better after.”

He smiles.

And Kara thinks, yeah, everything will be okay.

#look an ask #kara danvers #querl dox #brainy #supergirl fic #karadox #brainiac 5 #alex danvers #karadox tag

[featherfang]

‘Don’t Worry‘- An exert from ‘Phantom Pains‘

Skylar had done a lot in the last six years she’d been alive. She’d walked thought tattered timelines and screwed realities. She’d helped kill gods and stop pledges. She’d seen the city fall and rise again. Seeing Uldren get eaten by a corrupted servitor with ghostly tentacles… that was new and maybe just a little satisfying.  She’d hoped after Crota she’d never have to set foot back in a throneworld, but now she had done so twice in under a week. Her nerves were fraying at the ends, the Ace of Spades heavy in her hand as she picked it up from the ground.

It was beaten to hell, a grim reminder of it’s master and even herself.

Everything ached, her body shivering slightly from the battle with whatever that thing had been. It had summoned Taken, and she knew enough to know that wasn’t good. It was something to take note of for later. The prince groaned behind her and Skylar felt her spine stiffen as she turned on her heels to face him, whatever wonder she’d had over the last few events – even meeting bloody Tolland the Shattered – gone, instantly. Her eyes fixed on him as he pushed to a sitting position and met her stare. His face was contorted in frustration and defeat, a distressing look someone only got when everything blew up in their face.

He would have been better off if the thing really had eaten him.

Her foot splashed in taken residue as she closed the distance and Sterling removed her helmet, storing it away, without stopping. Her hand was up, gun pointed at him before she even realized it. Uldren blinked at her and then let out a long tired sigh, eyeing Petra as she stepped into the light of the room, her own gun raised for the support of the guardian.

“Where is my sister?“ he whispered, agitated. Petra gave him a pained look torn between anger and disbelief. she shook her head.

“She isn’t here, Uldren. She never was.” There was a tinge of pity in her voice at seeing the man she’d know having fallen so far, but her gun stayed raised to him despite they’re history.  Uldren looked between both women and SKylarnarrowed her gaze.

“So this is to be a reckoning then?” he murmured. “After everything I did, I stare at you: a so-called hero?” he huffed leaning back on his hands, disregarding his fellow awoken in favor of Skylar. She scowled at him, eyes narrowing, hand gripping tighter on the gun, the chilling power of her Light ripping up her vanes. Purple lightning sparking over her hands, dancing across the hand cannon in a near caressing way.    

“That’s all you have to say?” she whispered venomously. “After everything you did-”

“What I did,” he snarled, cutting her off. “I did, for my sister.” He’d been calling out to his sister when he’d been trapped in that monster. It appeared Petra’s theories had been right. The awoken woman took a step closer, her eye steely, resolve planted deep in her gaze. Skylar flicked her attention back to the prince, considering his words for a moment, understanding them more than he knew. Sterling hovered near her, waiting and spinning his pieces in worry and Skylar glanced to him for a brief moment before returning her gaze to the fallen prince.

“Then we have an understanding,” she said finally; drawing his attention, surprise flickering on his face. “Everything I’ve done, that I’m doing, is for him.” For the man, she’d been forced to watch die in front of her. Uldren stared at her for a long moment before a humorless chuckle came out of him and he shook his head.

“So what I’d heard was true: the Hunter Vanguard and The Phantom – together.” He rolled his shoulders, somehow more at ease with his revelation. “I suppose you're justified in your own right, but it changes nothing – I did what I had to.” His words – still so righteous felt wrong on her ears, felt like slander. She had thought it would send her spiraling into range like it had with Zavala, but the cold in her vanes seemed bone-deep and a sense of calm ran across her mind, not really hearing what he said to Petra or her words back.

“Then I must do what I have to,” Skylar agreed quietly, ending the two awoken’s an exchange, and pulling the hammer back on The Ace of Spades. Sterling made a hasty chirping sound.

“Guardian… Skylar – maybe this is wrong. It doesn’t feel quite right. I’m not sure Cayde would want this…” He trailed off, his pieces moving in an agitated way. He was right; this hadn’t been what Skylar had expected. She’d come to kill a raving, crazed Awoken who’d killed for his own sadistic reasons. What she’d found was a broken but devoted brother willing to do whatever it took to get his only family back and had still lost. For the first time, her gun lowered slightly, hesitating. Would she have done any different?

“Yes, what would the famed Cayde-6 do?” The prince mused hotly; giving a nearly delirious laugh that had Skylar tensing all over again.  He eyed her, amused. “You would know – wouldn’t you hero?  But do you know where your line is drawn – Darkness and Light are so easy to blur.” It was insane, but also somehow true. Skylar had walked such a line just as every Guardian did, and had heard of those who chose one or the other. So many questions of rights and wrongs and what if’s. Too many to ever try and answer, yet only one really mattered.

In the end, it was his lack of remorse that made that choice all to clear – for even if she had walked the same path she would have known at least that. Glancing only once at Sterling who seemed to have calmed, seemed to understand, she took a step forward and raised the gun back into place. He wouldn’t interject again.

“I don’t really care,” She answered finally, and saw shock, sharp and glorious, riddle his face. “I never really had and you took the only person from me that made me want to.” It a way, he caused his own fate and Skylar was just fulfilling it. Standing over him, she met his eyes and a brief understanding passed between them, an understanding that he’d crossed a line and she had no problem doing the same if it meant stopping him. A humorless smirk crossed her lips and she couldn’t quite tell if she was pleased or not to finally – finally – end this. Something wet slipped down her cheek and she couldn’t tell if it was blood, sweat, or tears - it didn’t matter. “Don’t worry,” she stated softly, the words bitter on her lips, her resolve clicking into place. “You won’t feel a thing.”

The look on his face was priceless.

The shuttering bang of the hand cannon firing was relieving, yet so loud, Skylar thought for a moment that maybe she’d gone deaf in the silence that followed. A silence that seemed to finally cast away the grating claws in her mind and let her rest for the first time in weeks.

~~~

Hey guys, Feather here! So this is an exert from my Phantom’s Storyline (stage three: Phantom Pain) in destiny, taken from the halfway point of Skylar’s journey after Cayde-6 is killed. She’s not a happy camper and I think we both got a bit of satisfaction from this piece - what about you?

#destiny #cayde-6 #the Cayde Logs #Tale of the Phantom #Phantom Pain #fanfiction #destiny fanfiction #cayde x oc #uldren is mine #uldren sov #spoilers #destiny forsaken

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

For @mhandersmyheart and @dadrunkwriting!

Companion to this piece. 

---

Crisis of Faith

“It’s you...”

(It was. Had to be. Surely, it was him, but--he was here, and he--)

Cullen’s fist wrapped around the pommel of his sword without thinking as the flames burned around them. He could hear Meredith’s low, dark tones; she was saying something, and by the reactions of Hawke’s friends and Orsino’s quavering response it wasn’t anything good, but Cullen couldn’t tear his eyes from the mage.

Anders. Yes, that’s right. He had known him abstractedly--one couldn’t know Hawke and not know the misfits that made up their ragtag band of friends--but rarely had interacted with him. Had he ever? Surely he would have recognized him, even now, almost a decade since Kinloch. But no, surely Anders would have avoided the Gallows, and though it went against everything he believed, Cullen understood why.

(He looked… older. Haunted. Empty. And yet… relieved. Cullen hated it.)

Cullen’s jaw ached, clenched tight against trembling at the scene. Here was the Darktown Healer, shedding his moniker in the name of--what, destruction? Senseless slaughter?

(How could Anders do it? He had been a good man, hadn’t he? Back at the Circle? What could warrant this?)

His fingers bit into the joints of his gauntlets. He was there again, outside the Harrowing chamber, trapped and useless while the world around him burned and shuddered, the screaming blurring one moment to the next.

(“No, no, no,” he muttered, kneeling before the barrier, as far away from the mangled bodies of his fellows as he could be in that little nook.)

“No, no, no…” Cullen chanted under his breath, eyes wide and staring at the scene. Hawke, reasonable Hawke, logical Hawke, stepped behind, knife in hand, and--

Hawke threw it away.

“No!” The Brother--Sebastian, a good man, quiet, kept to himself--howled and stalked to Hawke’s side. “If you do this, Hawke, I swear I will go back to Starkhaven and return with an army,” he threatened.

Cullen shuddered. No, he, no, he couldn’t let that happen. Kirkwall was innocent. He couldn’t let the people suffer for this..

(He couldn’t. He wouldn’t let that happen, not on his watch.)

“No, no, no…”

Hawke bent to pull Anders from the ruined column upon which he sat, brushing the stone dust from his shoulders. “Do it, Sebastian, and you’ll condemn them all to their deaths.” Their words rang out in the destroyed courtyard.

“Hawke,” Sebastian pleaded, voice breaking. “Don’t do this.”

(Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t do this.)

“It seems you’ve made your choice, Champion,” Meredith spat with disgust. She turned and around them the gathered crowd exploded into movement.

Cullen stared ahead at Anders, hand still firm on his sword.

“Come, Knight-Captain.”

Anders looked up from over Hawke’s shoulder and met his gaze with a grim nod.

Cullen fought down the urge to retch, his body clenching, as if punched in the gut. He turned to follow the Knight-Commander from the ruins of the Chantry with a silent, aching snarl.

--

“Knight-Captain.”

The legendary escape artist of Kinloch Hold stood like a silent spectre before him. He could capture him, bring him to the Chantry. It was his duty, to the Chantry and Kirkwall alike.

(Cullen was a good Templar, wasn’t he? Even still? He believed, he was skilled, he… If Cullen took him now, he could--he could present him to the Divine, they could get justice for the people Anders murdered, he could--)

His sword hand trembled. “Why?” Cullen all but howled.

Bodies littered the courtyard around them, staining its pristine tiles red with gore. In the corner of his vision he could see Hawke and their assembled friends checking the bodies, someone even going so far as to recite hushed strains of the Chant over the fallen.

(It did not escape him that he could still very well die this night.)

Anders gestured to the carnage around them. “As long as this--the Gallows, the Circle, all of it--as long as this stands, there will never be peace. There will only be slavery, and the enslaved, and the masters. And as long as you and your order stands, we will always need to fight.”

Cullen’s hand steadied and he brandished his sword, the bloodied tip pointed toward Anders’ throat. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise, Cullen,” Anders said. He spread his hands wide, gesturing around them with his staff. “Look at this. Really look, Cullen. Mages didn’t do this, your templars did. Your lyrium-addled Knight Commander did this.” He looked past him at the approach of more heavily-armored templars.

Hawke’s voice rang out in the disquieting hush. “And if you think you’re going to have any of your shiny lackies here try to take him or any of us in, well… You’re more of a fucking idiot than I thought, Cul.”

He couldn’t fight the gnashing of his teeth at Hawke’s casual ease, at the way they walked so confidently to Anders’ side. His eyes never left Anders’ own. “He is a wanted apostate, Hawke, and just committed mass murder--”

“Which is a civil crime, Knight-Captain, and I will personally make you rue the Maker-damned day if you even try to overstep your jurisdiction in my city again.”

Andraste’s grace, even the Guard Captain was against him. His mouth twisted into a snarl. “I am a sworn Knight of the Chantry,” he said, fighting for control. Maker preserve him; Aveline, normally so level-headed and pragmatic, looked like she might casually rip out his spleen through his navel if he so much as twitched in Anders’ direction. “I--I have my orders--I have my duty.”

“Then do it.” Anders shoved past Hawke’s intimidating figure and moved just beyond the edge of Cullen’s sword. “Do it, then, if you feel so righteous after slaying your own Knight Commander. If you feel that you can go on abusing the people in your dubious care.”

(Should he? Could he?)

Anders threw down his staff against the shouted protests of his friends. “You said once that you joined because you wanted to protect. Isn’t that how you put it, when you tried to befriend Surana? Before the Blight, before Kinloch fell? Before the Order chewed you up and spat you back out, only to send you to the Gallows?”

Cullen flinched and took an unsteady step backwards. “That’s not what happened,” he protested weakly.

(The acrid smell of burnt blood and seared flesh, the brittle taste of ozone and spent mana, filled his senses once more. No, no, no…)

“It is, though, isn’t it?” Anders pressed forward, and was hardly a hair away from the finely honed point of Cullen’s sword. “They condemned you to this place, just like any of your wards, didn’t they? The worst Circle in all of Thedas. Kept an eye on you, watching to see if you’d break? But you only turned a blind eye to the abuse here--became the perfect Templar, I’d imagine. They broke you, just like they break the mages.”

A deep breath on Anders’ part could have had his blade piercing his breast. “Come no further, mage.” Cullen said. “You are an apostate. I name you maleficar - a danger to society, who should be brought to justice.” Cullen was glad to hear the strength of the words, if lacking in conviction. “I am nothing like you.”

Anders snorted and shook his head. “No, Cullen, you’re not. You’re worse for it.”

The haggard emptiness fell from Anders’ shoulders like an old cloak and he once more let Hawke step between them. Cullen’s lip curled at the sight of their scowl and he fought to sheathe his sword.

“We’re going to leave, Knight-Captain,” Hawke said warily, hands splayed open. “Meredith is dead, as are her loyalists. As a favor to your change of heart, we did not attack any of your men who did not attack us first. The mages have been evacuated.”

“They--you can’t just--” Cullen sputtered.

“And if you choose to go after them, you’ll have a lot more to handle than the bodies in your courtyard,” Hawke interrupted. They regarded him coolly, eyes narrowed and fingers twitching toward their weapon. “We are free to go, are we not, Knight-Captain Cullen?”

He nodded stiffly and waved them off. “Get out of here, Hawke,” he snapped. “If I see you and yours in Kirkwall again, I’ll--”

“Report them to the Kirkwall City Guard, specifically the Guard Captain,” Aveline replied with a snarl. “Jurisdiction, Rutherford. No one saw Anders use magic on the Chantry, you don’t officially know he’s an apostate.” Her stern expression fell to one of quiet disbelief. “He’s just got a rather unfortunate sense of taste, but, try as I might, that’s not a crime.”

Cullen snorted. “You cannot seriously believe anyone will take that as truth.”

“And you cannot seriously believe I’m going to let you lot run my city like you have been,” Aveline retorted with a huff. “I am the authority of Kirkwall, like it or not. If I see your men out there harassing the good people of the city again, you and I will have some hard discussions, and I will tell you now--trained Knight or not, you will not enjoy them.”

He met her glare for a moment. She was a veteran of the Blight, he knew, and her late husband a well-respected templar in his own right. From what he’d learned of the Guard Captain, she was a formidable opponent.

(Could he take her? He considered the thought briefly. Very briefly.)

His lips pressed into a tight line and he nodded. “Hawke and their company are leaving. Templars, to me,” Cullen called loudly.

“Thank you, Knight-Captain,” Aveline said, rolling her eyes, moving to lead their crew out of the Gallows.

Anders almost turned to walk away with this companions but he stopped. He handed his staff to Hawke and ignored their protests; instead Anders approached him, not a hint of fear playing over his face.

“What do you think you’re--” Cullen started.

“‘Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.’” Anders reached his hand out, flinching when the armored knights around them shifted to draw their swords. Cullen shook his head ever so slightly to still their hands and stared at Anders warily.

“‘Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just,’” Cullen finished, almost by rote. He knew it well--it was the most frequent mantra Knight Commander Meredith had chanted, making its way into her daily prayers in the chapel. Anders rested his bare palm on his pauldron, and Cullen raised his brow at the sight. “Do you think yourself righteous, then?” he asked incredulously. “After all this?”

A wan smile flickered over Anders’ gaunt face. “Do you?” he replied.

(Did he?)

He opened his mouth to answer but couldn’t find the words.

“Get out of here, Cullen,” Anders said quietly. There was something almost warm in his eyes--concern? Sympathy? “Out of Kirkwall, out of the Order, all of it. Don’t let them break you like everyone else. Find someplace quiet and, and, get a cat. Or--you’re Fereldan, get a dog. A mabari or something. Anything. Just get out, while you still can.”

(Andraste preserve him, advice from a maleficar. No matter how well meaning, it would surely be his ruin--wouldn’t it?)

Cullen shook his head. He had his duties, had to make sure the Gallows recovered--that Kirkwall recovered.  “Go, Anders. Maker’s breath, just… go.”

Anders closed his eyes for a breath before regarding him sadly--him! A Knight of the Templar Order! Cullen chafed at the expression in his gaze.

“Get better,” Anders said with a shake of his head. “I hope that whatever prayers you say to get you through this bring you… something,” he finished on a sigh.  

Cullen bristled but only watched while Anders turned away. Hawke quickly made their way to his side, their hands all but clutching at his arms as they rested their brows together. Cullen’s eyes narrowed at their familiarity. Of course.

“Anders,” he called sharply. Both of them turned, and Anders shot him a tired frown, even as he moved in front of Hawke. Cullen curled his hands into fists, the metal of his gauntlets clinking against each other with the movements. “I… The Chantry will be looking for you. Hawke’s status will not protect you. Turn yourself in and…”

“I’d rather die than be a slave to the Templars or the Chantry, Cullen,” Anders said, his words carrying easily. “That’s why you’re nothing like me.”

Cullen didn’t stop them again when they turned to descend the stone steps leading to the docks.

#Cullen Rutherford #Anders #Dragon Age 2 #DA2 #Aveline being a delightful hardass #and being good at it #background Handers #DA Drunk Writing Circle #soulrebel writes #reblogs appreciated and welcome!

[dragonologist-phd]

The Weight Of All Our Memories

This weeks fic fill for @pillarspromptsweekly “Roll For It”, featuring 3 themes- Thaos, Aloth, and betrayal. This week’s fic features my Watcher Desta, and a conversation with Aloth concerning certain revelations and confessions. Also on AO3.

Defiance Bay was burning.

The smoke was a dark stain in the sky, visible even miles away from the city. By now the buildings and walls blurred into nothing but a dot on the horizon, and yet the smoke billowed and curled, dark and sinister and showing no signs of fading. Aloth could only imagine what must be happening back there- looting, destruction, a mad scramble from the authorities to restore order to the chaos.

The Leaden Key had created that chaos, and the guilt of that fact pressed harder on Aloth every time he caught sight of the smoke cloud in the distance.

I tol’ ye not to trust ‘em, ye ninnywit.

Aloth winced and pushed Iselmyr’s voice away. She had been simmering just underneath the surface for days now, fueled by Aloth’s own frustration at himself. For once he couldn’t say she was wrong in her criticisms; unlike him, Iselmyr had never wanted anything to do with the Leaden Key. Aloth had always disregarded her protests, so sure that she was only trying to keep him from finding a way to reverse his Awakening. He’d refused to let her dissuade him from his path. At the time, he thought he knew what he was getting into.

Now here he was, watching Defiance Bay burn and wishing he had listened a little closer to the voice in his head.

“Look out!”

Aloth started at the voice and quickly ducked, narrowly avoiding the pinecone that flew past his ear. He blinked in surprise, trying to pull himself out of his thoughts enough to figure out what had just happened. “...Why did you just throw a pinecone at me?”

Desta grinned sheepishly as she approached. Despite her silver metallic armor, it was difficult in the evening light to make out her figure among the trees. Her dark green skin blended in with the scenery, and her golden godlike eyes caught the light in strange ways. Seeing her emerge from the forest was strangely otherworldly, even as she plopped herself noisily down next to Aloth and gave him shrug. “I wanted an excuse to shout something at you. You seem distracted, and not in your usual ‘leave-me-alone-so-I-can-read’ kind of way.”

Aloth let out a small breath and closed the grimoire in his lap. He’d hoped nobody would notice his momentary absence- as Desta pointed out, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to distance himself from the campfire that the others were gathered around. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m just trying to focus on this new spell.”

Without meaning to, he glanced again towards the smoke rising from Defiance Bay. Desta noticed. “No, you’re torturing yourself by obsessing over the riots. It’s what you’ve been doing ever since we left the city. That doesn’t do anybody any good, you know.”

“I-” Aloth started to protest, then stopped himself. “I know. I know it’s too late now to fix things. That doesn’t stop me from wondering what I could have done differently.”

Aloth could feel Desta watching him, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. It had only been a couple of dats since his guilt-ridden confession about his connection to the Leaden Key. Telling her about his past with the organization had been terrifying; that was why he had avoided it for so long. He’d seen her righteous anger firsthand, and had no desire to have that anger turned upon himself.

But when he told her the truth in the shadows of the burning city, there had been no anger. Desta had only given him that same soft, unreadable look she was giving him now, and he had been instantly forgiven.

It made no sense. At the time, he’d lacked the bravery to question it, but now he had to know. “Why aren’t you furious?”

Desta’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Aloth shook his head at the outrageousness of the situation. “I lied to you! I betrayed you! I was a member of the Leaden Key, I worked for Thaos! How am I still here?”

A good-natured smile played on Desta’s lips. “You didn’t betray me, Aloth. Yes, it would have been nice if you’d shared certain information sooner…” Her voice took on a disapproving tone,, but even now there was no true malice behind it. “But you can’t actually expect me to blame you for all of this.”

“But-”

“Aloth.” Desta firmly cut off his protest. “Did you know Thaos was planning an assassination?”

Aloth’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Well, no. But-”

“Did you know the Leaden Key was doing all that crazy shit with the machines and the animancers?”

“No.”

“Did you know that Thaos was messing with souls and killing people and trying to throw a city into anarchy?”

Aloth held up a pleading hand. “You’ve made your point. I didn’t know this would happen. But I still played a part. I thought what Thaos was doing was good, and I never questioned it. Not once. Even when I knew something was wrong, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. And you…” Aloth trailed off, trying desperately to arrange his thoughts correctly. “The entire time I’ve known you, all you’ve done is go out of your way to help people. The Leaden Key does the opposite of that. They’ve tried to kill you, many times. You should hate everything about it.”

The silence hung tensely in the air around the two companions. Aloth waited for a response, an explanation. Perhaps Desta had a reason for keeping him around she hadn’t yet divulged. Perhaps she was about to come to her senses at last, recognize the weight of what he had participated in, and send him away for good.

Finally, Desta heaved a deep sigh. She reached down and plucked the pinecone she’d thrown off the ground, turning it over in her hands as she spoke. “I don’t hate you, Aloth. I get it. I understand why you stayed loyal for so long. When you found the Leaden Key, you were aimless and alone. You didn’t have a family or home you could turn to, and then all of a sudden you had a purpose. You had something to believe in, to give your life some direction.”

Desta’s words came with the rushed tone of vulnerable honesty, and they hit at the memories within Aloth.  He stared at her, trying to discern if she was using her Watcher abilities, but she didn’t seem to notice him. Her gaze was fixed on the pinecone she held, and she spoke faster and faster as she turned it in her hands. “Maybe for the first time in your life you didn’t feel lost or rejected or isolated. And maybe you would do anything to hold on to this new life because that feeling of belonging can be the most intoxicating thing in the world and you really, really don’t want to let go of that.”

She stopped to take a breath, and seemed to notice Aloth’s stare for the first time. He politely dropped his gaze, and she laughed self-consciously.  “Come on, Aloth. I’m a walking tree. I know what a big deal it can be just to be accepted.” She motioned to the armor she wore, emblazoned with the sigil of the Kind Wayfarers. “You think I don’t know a little about dedicating yourself to an order?”

“But you’re a Kind Wayfarer,” Aloth pointed out. “Your order stands for peace and protection. You literally have Kind in the name. Can you really compare that to the Leaden Key?”

“Maybe not exactly,” Desta conceded. “But although I hate to admit it…when I joined I wasn’t some perfect hero looking to uphold peace and protection. I was young and lonely and starry-eyed. The Wayfarers are wonderful, and I’m glad I met them, but… if I had met a Leaden Key agent instead of a paladin that day… I don’t know. I might be in your place right now.”

Aloth mulled over her words. Despite what she said, it was nearly impossible to imagine Desta as a solemn Leaden Key agent, steeped in secrecy and pledging her services to a man with a hidden agenda. “I don’t know. I still think you might be a little wiser than me in that regard. You would have stood up to Thaos and his followers before it got this far.”

Desta chuckled, leaning over to nudge Aloth in a friendly way that caught him completely off guard. “Not wiser. Come on, have you met me? Wiser. Ha.” She smirked at him and shook her head. “No. Just luckier.”

Now it was Desta who was staring in the direction of Defiance Bay. Her eyes seemed to suddenly grow tired. “Luckier this time, at least. You have a lot of faith in me, but I’m not sure it’s deserved. That feeling I talked about… I know it. Not just from me, but my past life. And not about the Wayfarers. These strange memories keep coming back, and a lot of them don’t make sense, it’s all just bits and pieces. But believe me, I recognize that feeling. That sense of purpose. I think past me felt that around Thaos.”

Desta’s voice grew quiet, and she gnawed at her lip in distressed concentration. “I think past me did a lot of things for the sake of that purpose. For the sake of Thaos. I don’t know what I did, but it feels…bad.”

Aloth took a moment to let this new information sink in. He still found it hard to imagine Desta as she described herself, but there were no rules on how souls could change through their cycles. After all, something in Aloth had once been Iselmyr. “Perhaps we do have some things in common.”

A triumphant smile crossed Desta’s face. “See? I know what I’m talking about. So trust me when I say that reliving the past and wondering what could have gone differently will drive you mad. Whatever you did or whoever you followed...it happened, and it’s over. Nothing can change that, not even a Watcher. You can only decide what happens next.” She paused and studied Aloth for a moment. “I want you to stick around, but you shouldn’t do it just because of that. I don’t want you to follow me.”

“You… don’t?”

“No!” Desta leapt to her feet, her golden eyes shining with passion. “Don’t you get it? I want you with me, not behind me! You have to make a choice about what you’re doing next, and it has to be your choice. I’m not going after Thaos out of obligation or to carry out orders. He doesn’t have that kind of power over me anymore. I’m going to hunt Thaos down and do what I can to fix the harm he’s done because I think it’s the right thing to do. And I hope whatever you decide, that’s your reason, too.” She held out a hand to Aloth, waiting for his response.

It took him a moment to sort out the disorganized thoughts running around his head. To be honest, Aloth still wasn’t sure if he could trust himself; he’d once thought the Leaden Key was doing good work, after all. The memory of his old mistakes drew his gaze once more back to the silhouette of Defiance Bay, but as night approached it had rendered the distant smoke invisible.

In the end, Aloth finally decided, he really only had two choices. He could either continue to choke on his mistakes, or do what he could to move on and rise above them. He gripped Desta’s hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet.

#pillars prompts weekly #pillars of eternity #watcher desta #poe fanfic #fanfic #i love aloth i relate so much to this anxious boy #hes the type to obsess over things #and i wanted a scene where desta reaches out to him #bc she comes off as very confident and assured but she has her moments too #aloth #desta #fic: desta #ch: desta