#AND LIKE! HE MUST KNOW! HE KNOWS! HE KNOWS THAT VENGEANCE WILL BE A HOLLOW POINTLESS VICTORY

[hiraganasakura]

I'm being so normal over Osvald's Chapter 3 guys I totally wasn't about to tear up over it at all [sarcastic]

[nautls11]

ok but hear me out: riptide x slay the princess (big ol yap sesh and closeups below)

Chip: The Spectre

109, obviously, but also the spectre’s yearning for what once was, wanting back her “freedom” of the life she had before. The parallels between the spectre’s longing and Chip’s longing for his life with the Black Rose Pirates work so well together. Another factor is how Chip needed to learn that he was not alone anymore. He had a crew, friends, captains, siblings. Through his ups and downs, he learned respect, trust, honor, and responsibility; he learned to love again with a fiery passion he had not felt since he sailed alongside Arlin.

“I offer you absolution, and you take my hand in yours.

You felt the pain you caused another, and you were willing to sacrifice everything you thought was you to set me free.

Without sin, there is no redemption.”

“This one is vaporous. She is a dream of a life she could never have, but that longing has given her so much capacity for Kindness. She will make for a yearning heart.

Do not mourn her — she will finally be able to hold What she never knew.”

Jay: The Cage

I was heavily debating between Jay and Gill for this one, but the Cage’s final confrontation is what sold Jay for me. Her constant fear of abandoning her blood family because she has already lost so much (her sister, and soon her mother), that abandoning the last shred of family she has left would be losing everything. It is her inaction which drives much of her conflict, balancing the line between Ferin and pirate, because no matter which side she turns to, she is always afraid, because she always has something to lose. There are times where she feels like she can only watch from afar and see what will happen (especially in the case of lizzie’s war), but she must understand that inaction is most often a deficit. She has proven herself time and time again to others, she just needs to prove it to herself.

“Fear is a chain around the neck and a needle in the eye.

It was fear that made our prison, and it was fear that told the lie that

our spirits were not free to choose.

But together we left it all behind, and found a world free of burdens.

We found the beauty in accepting our dance.

This construct is a machine of fear. It has no place in our divine hearts.

Shatter it. Leave with me.”

“This one is a body that convinced herself she was only a set of eyes. She will make for a watchful heart.

Do not mourn her. She is now what she wished that she could be.”

Gill: The Drowned Grey

Unlike the others, I couldn’t really find a princess that fit gill as well as the others did, so I decided to do a more specific moment of gill’s story for his princess: his oath of vengeance and dunjon arc.

The Drowned Grey is a story of hurt, loss, and rebirth. Gill loses everything; his friends, his closest companion, and is taken away from the life he once knew to be trapped in an endless white void, to be judged by the apparitions of those who had always judged him before. He is raw, violent emotion, rage being the only way he knows to understand his pain, and thus inflicts it onto others. His actions endangered those who wanted to help him be because all he could process was his loss. And that loss he screamed at the elder’s with his entire soul, only to be swept away in the dark depths of Niklaus’ control. But after the anger, was his rebirth. He was never meant to remain in an endless void for eternity, and Born anew in the eye of a leviathan’s storm, the violence and grief was left behind him in the cold icy storm. He had his catharsis, leaving those demons behind him in the darkest depths.

“I kill you. You kill me. Back and forth we go, faster and faster and faster. I kill you. You kill me.

Hollow eyes watch from the dark corners of a forgotten place flooded by emotions left unspoken. The tide rises.

I kill you and me.

An ending is a passion that can only be expressed with a moment in time. It is a seed for a new beginning. To linger on an ending is to rob it of its life.

And without me, all that's left to do is linger.”

“This one is guarded sorrow. She saw herself as alone but in the end had courage to share with another. She will make for a deep heart.

Do not mourn her - she has finally been heard.”

anyways uhh thanks for coming to my tedtalk, i lowkey wanna do this for other campaigns, currently thinking about prime defenders and the suckening so ye 👍👍

[onmyyan]

A/n: had a thought about a homelander-like reader in the DC universe, reader has homelanders powers minus his incel-like qualities just something self indulgent

It was over in an instant, the second her eyes refocused she calmly stood from the ratty chair he had her bound to, the dark steel cuffs he'd been sworn would weaken her became paper as she stood and shredded them to nothing. The tall young woman rolled her head between her shoulders, and the small grimace on her face fell after a satisfying pop echoed throughout the room.

"You know how I feel about people poking around up there." She smiled at him, tapping her finger against her temple, then took her first step forward, like a predator stalking its prey. 

"In fact- I'm almost certain you know how much I hate it." Another calculated step.

They both knew she could end him anytime she felt like it, so the slow almost teasing way she hadn't yet, chilled him to his core.

"I was only trying to right a wrong- you must understand the world must be protected-"

His tearful plea was cut off by the harsh bark of laughter leaving the younger woman. "Please, this is me you're talkin' to. I know you old man- you don't give a shit about the world." Her smile cracked giving him a flash of the beast he'd raised.

"You just want someone to remember your sorry ass when you keel over and die. You want them to think you were worth something- well guess what? You were. You made me, and I'll always remember you for that." She stared down at the man she'd called Papa, her serene smile looked as hollow as it felt.

She'd finally made it close enough to see the microscopic beads of sweat on his upper lip. Her stare was eerily curious, (e/c) eyes forced him frozen as she looked him over, akin to the way a cat stared at a mouse it was about to bat around for fun. Her (s/c) hand came up to rest gently on his chest, dead center. She patted the area a few times as gently as she could, the force shaking him in place, he moved for the syringe on his belt, if he could get to it fast enough he had a chance of survival.

"I'll also never forgive you for it." 

He saw it before he felt it. In a flash she had pushed forward and punched a hole straight through his chest, her fingers made contact with the cool cement wall behind him, Her free arm came up to cradle the back of his head, and she calmly pets his hair in a gesture she'd only seen in the hero films they showed her, his choking, bloodied sputters and gasps were quickly shushed.

"I think it's time for me to move out." She sighed to herself, yanking her arm back from the warm insides of her papa. Her face twisted in disgust at the chunks and viscera clinging to her skin, she wiped as much as she could off on the cleanest part of the deadman shirt before making her way out of the room, she had a few more doctors and nurses to say goodbye to.

Across the city was a soon-to-be hero having a not-so-good time.

Tim was having a very, bad day.

His alarm never went off forcing him to run to his classes to be on time, some freshman got too excited at lunch and knocked his soup all over the front of Tim, he had to wear his ugly gym shirt for the rest of his classes, then that idiot Kon accidentally crushed his phone with a little too much strength so Tim was screwed when it came to patrol tonight, he had a police scanner on that thing.

Then it began to rain. Sure he had an umbrella, but with the way it was coming down, it was useless.

He huffed a harsh breath through his nose, trying everything not to scream, there was an alleyway nearby that had a cover, and he quickly ran under it to avoid getting any more soaked. That was when he saw her.

A woman stood hovering over a mewling kitten, the small creature's desperate cries were almost inaudible from the harsh pound of the rain. He watched as she just stared at the helpless creature and felt himself hit his breaking point, he stormed over with a vengeance. 

Tim glared at the odd woman, his attitude more directed at his shit day than her.

"You some kinda' sicko? What the hell are you doing just standing there?" He yelled poking the taller woman in the shoulder.

She didn't budge.

"I can't grab her cuz' I can't control my strength. I think I might hurt her." She responded in such a sad tone, the guilt in her gaze made his stomach lurch with shame, the instant regret was a new feeling he noted, not one he enjoyed. "And you're standing there because you couldn't leave her either." He said it more like a statement than a question. 

The drenched (h/c) haired woman remained silent, offering a nod instead. He cleared his throat, a nervous pattern developed in middle school, and took the few steps needed to kneel next to the creature, he untied it simply enough and the small kitten instantly calmed down, rubbing its little face against his palm.

He risked a glance up and found the stranger smiling down at the scene before her. His heart did a funny little skip when he caught her gaze. From the way her eyes reminded him of warm honey, to the way she stared at him as if he was the most interesting person in the world, down to the way the rain beat against her (s/c) face, her plush lips curled up in that smile that sent shivers through his belly, everything about her pulled him in. She was enchanting so- enchanting, he'd thought it was her quirk.

"Thanks, mister." The tall woman smiled at him so brightly he felt the urge to shield his eyes, but he couldn't look away, she stood there like this goddess carved from marble, it almost seemed unfair how she lit up the grimy alleyway, how she looked to good just standing there.

"My name is Tim, what's yours?" She seemed to ponder it for a second, her head tilting, eyes calculated as she smiled at him again, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, 

"(Y/n), I'm gonna be a hero." Her greeting was odd, but he returned her smile with a small one of his own, she stuck her hand out and shook his with a toothy grin, he could feel her strength in the simple motion as they shook hands. He had a feeling she could give Kon a run for his money.

"What are you doing out here? Besides rescuing kittens that is."

"Oh, you know stuff. Normal stuff." Was her calculated answer? He laughed to himself a bit, "Well whatever you're doing, you know you don't have any shoes on right?" She looked down with a hum. 

"It would appear I do not." He took that moment to really observe her. She looked like a gorhamite, including her clothes, she wore a white set of hospital thermals, well mostly white. Splotches of pink stained her front as if she'd been splattered with paint. Thick (h/c) curls clung to her perfectly carved face, framing it even more, the fabric of her clothes hugging her body like a second skin. He had a feeling she'd been in the hospital recently, judging by the thin band across her right wrist. He got close enough to read the word 'HOMELAN' but the rest was concealed, He chose not to comment on that, having a feeling one wrong move would send her flying.

"You hurt?" He asked standing to his full height, he had to look up a bit to meet her gaze, "Nah- I'm all good hot stuff." She made a point to flex her arm playfully, even in jest he could see she was packing some serious muscle under there.

"You running from someone?" Again she took her time to respond, her finger tapping against her chin in thought.

"Hmm, I'm gonna go ahead and say no. They definitely can't chase me anymore." The thought pulled a snort from her as if genuinely tickled, by the it, her gaze seemed gleeful, but something in her tone made his stomach do a flip, and he didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Another thing that caught his attention was that innocent look in her eyes whenever she looked away from him, how she stared at the ivory leaf-covered brick with the most interested expression, something in the way she looked at the sky reminded him of a child's innocence.

It was as if this was her first time outside or something.

His heart had been steadily rising throughout the entire interaction, a strange but warm feeling began to grow, and a dangerous little seed had sprouted in his heart the second he realized she was just some poor soul looking for someone to reach out and save her.

He could definitely be that person.

"I can't leave you out here like this- do you have someplace to stay?" He watched her rack her brain for an answer.

"Yes, thank you." She nodded more to herself than him and began walking in the opposite direction, straight into the storm that seemed to only worsen. He cursed under his breath and did a light jog to catch her. "You're a terrible liar." It was instinct to lift his umbrella higher, now standing side by side the good few inches on him really seemed to stand out.

"You can tell? Gotta work on my poker face then." The smirk on her plump lips felt teasing, paired with the confident way she carried herself left the purple-haired man with a swarm of dancing butterflies in his tummy.

"I know somewhere safe-" he flicked his tongue out over his lip, "I'm..connected with some heros in this town, I can protect you." He said as earnestly as he could, something telling him not to let this one go, he rubbed her arm, trying to warm her with his hand as he gave her a crooked grin. She giggled at the man before her, she wasn't used to people worrying for her so intensely, so honestly, to think she'd known him five minutes and he'd shown her more kindness than any of the cold, calculating doctors who raised her ever had, it made her laugh to herself. He had no idea how little she needed protection, but still, the thought made her chest feel funny and warm.

 "Oh jeez, my own personal hero? Lucky day." He returned her grin, the festering feeling of obsession gripped him all that more. With that, he took a calculated risk and linked his pinkie with hers. "Come on, it's not far." The kitten was happily asleep in his hoodie pocket, the stallion beside him reminded him a lot of a feral kitten, just asking to be taken home and pampered.

[avocado-writing]

Hi, I really like the way you write BG3 party members! I had a thought for a while and wanted to request the main party with a Revenant!Tav? Imagine all the angst that comes with Tav only seeking vengeance on their killer, knowing that their time is limited (revenants have only 1 year to enact their revenge). Or maybe the companions try to find a way of making them 'alive' again, if you want a happy ending? I just think it has a lot of potential and want to know your thoughts!

this one is a bit angsty, so reader beware

My beautiful boy Astarion understands the need for revenge, and is committed to helping you get it if you help him kill Cazador. The two of you stay up late at night to discuss tactics, how you will enact your brutality upon the people who deserve it… but then Astarion realises that you do not talk about what comes after, like he does when he considers a life without his abuser. He does a little research and finally finds what a revenant is. It breaks his heart to think that you’d die at the end of your quest because… well, he loves you. He begs you to reconsider. That there are other ways. You don’t need to be like him. But you take his cheek in your hand and tell him there is no other path for you, so the two of you must just enjoy the time you have together. If he finds a way to cure you, he’s yours forever - if not, the time you have together is sacred. He wastes not a second.

Gale immediately researching about how to lift your curse, that the two of you may live a happy life together after you get your revenge. You tell him not to bother, it’s too much effort, he needs to move on and find someone better - someone with a life worth giving to him. He deserves proper, warm, and tender love, something your dead heart isn’t capable of giving. He does not listen. He doubles down, desperate to keep you in his arms. Maybe he finds some secret forgotten rite which allows you to live after you’ve killed the person who wronged you… or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he watches you die and pass on peacefully when you’re done, then does everything he can to ascend to godhood and bring your soul back into his arms. Either way, nothing will stop your wizard. 

Wyll listens to your story with a heaviness in his heart, but he knows he wasn’t upfront about his past either… but that does give him an idea. One night, with no way to understand how or why, you feel your curse being lifted, life returning properly to your body. When you seek out your Blade he tries to act pleased, but there’s something weighing on him. It does not take long to realise that he has given up his soul in its entirety to Mizora in order to restore yours. You cry and wail and beat at his chest pathetically. How could he make such a trade? You are not worth it. He holds you at arm’s length to look you over and tells you you’ve always been worth it, and he’d make his choice a thousand times over again. You love him so utterly that you're brought to silence. You vow to make the best of this gift he’s given you, with him by your side.

She knows what it is like to live your last days, does Karlach. The infernal engine in her will kill her sooner rather than later, so she indulges with you. Rich food, fine wine, long evenings of partying and celebrations of life. At Baldur’s Gate you hold her after she kills Gortash, and she begs you not to follow her suit, because revenge isnt worth it. This confession just leaves you empty. There is nothing left after except hollowness. And maybe you listen to her, the two of you find a way out of your curse and go on to Avernus to live out your happiness there (or what you can muster of it) or maybe you ignore her, or your time runs out, and she is left to face the Absolute alone - and lets herself burn on that dock, because a life without you isn’t a life at all.

Lae’zel is excited about your revenge. Enthusiastic, even supportive. She does not understand the nature of your curse. Many a long evening is spent training with her so you may sharpen your abilities, and she gains a great respect for you as both a warrior and a person. Either you find a cure which allows you to be together… or too late does she find out what your revenge brings. She holds you in her arms as you pass, your final words ones of love as your body goes limp and your soul passes into a different plane. She takes a lock of your hair and keeps it on her as a reminder. It is all she has left, after all.

Shadowheart is a great supporter of you… as a Sharran. She pushes for your revenge, evangelising the merits of you killing the person who wronged you, as it’s what Lady Shar would want. But then, as a Selûnite, she begins to think differently. Life is sweeter than she believed. There is more to it than suffering, and she wants to experience the loveliness of it with you by her side. She spends her nights poring over tomes to try and cure you. Maybe she finds a way with her new goddess. If not, when you pass, she keeps you in her heart forever, trying to move on with the guidance of her new goddess, but always feeling just that little bit empty without you.

Taglist:  @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kat @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget @useless-contributions @beardedladyqueen @snoozeeebee @hopeful-n-sad

[902186]

thinking about kurapika and chrollo and parallels and this circle of horrors where they are the victims AND the tools of their fates.

they both think they are neither or more like they don't care about it at all. they don't see themselves as victims, and they see absolutely no other way to live other than this role they took upon themselves. kurapika had such a strong sense of identity and what he wanted to do with his life and understands himself perfectly at all times. he was a part of his clan, but he was more an individual than anything else. kuroro, on the other hand, never knowing, never thinking what his motives are, deliberately not understanding himself and desperately holding on to the spider. he can't be an individual but with others, he can be the spider.

and for both of them, it all started on vengeance. kurapika abandoned himself in order to become a tool, a weapon, to avenge his clan, and to collect scarlet eyes. he stopped being himself and became his people. kuroro didn't know his family, didn't know where he actually came from, didn't know who he was or what he was supposed to be. so growing up in meteor city, he held on to his people strongly. and in order to avenge and protect his people, he would become a tool, a weapon, he would give himself to them. he started being himself as he became his people.

kuroro could be something for his people. and kurapika could be nothing for his people.

kurapika took on the role of judgement for vengeance. kuroro took on the role of villain for vengeance. kurapika acted his part by diminishing everything he was, and kuroro acted his part by filling up his identity with it.

but one thing stays clear and fixed with them throughout it all. they would do anything for their people. for whomever they consider their people. "he'll put his friends before his mission." a weakness kuroro sees in kurapika so quickly and so easily. but the same thing he considers a strength in himself. "i am not your top priority. it is the spider that must be kept alive." as long as his people are alive, his identity will live on. and as long as kurapika is alive, his people’s identity will live on.

"now you will get to experience the pain of losing your home." kuroro (and the spiders) killing the kurta clan set this parallel in motion for himself as the circle began for kurapika. and (speculatively) kurta clan hurting his people was what set the circle in motion for kuroro, too. now thinking about where they are in the story and how their end could be, it is very clear that they are finally ending up in a place where they mirror each other (as they have from the beginning) and they can recognise it in each other and themselves. kurapika ending up empty after his mission and kuroro ending up empty after losing spiders. both of them purposeless and with no self left outside of it. in a way, this is how the circle ends. "i can hear that he accepted death." they walk with death every day with no fear and full acceptance and after losing the only thing they live for, not even something they hold on to because they don't see a point in being alive outside of the fact that they must keep going for their people, for their purpose, and if not then there's no reason to exist, they are meaningless.

kuroro's vengeance left kurapika all alone, with everyone he knew dead, and feeling hollow at the end. by fate, he ended up all alone, with everyone he knew dead and feeling hollow at the end.

and at that point, they will have to start a new page and build a new self for themselves.

[rottendollface]

The Horror of Our Love. Chapter 4.

Co-author: @bigtimesalt8196

Character: Childe Tartaglia | Ajax.

Image: Picsart Al.

Warnings: NSFW; Ajax is older than in canon;

broken time line and age line for the sake

of plot; female virgin reader, incestuous

relationship, family abuse, self-harm,

misogyny, mentions of rape, unprotected

sex, black magic, blood and flesh magic,.

body horror, sacrilegious, Foul Legacy

Childe, breeding kink, miscarriage, marriage

grooming, pregnancy, erotic lactation.

murdering, abyssal soulmates, serfdom

system in Snezhnaya; all the characters are

adults; 18+.

Time was running mercilessly and the date of Ajax's departure was getting closer. Your mental state improved and you opened to your family, but the common joy ended quickly, as you hid into your wordless shell again, frustrated with a hollow feeling of upcoming loneliness. 

Ajax was stressed out. It wasn't rare for you to find him talking to himself, discussing plans for the future and even arguing. Ajax's short temper and unreleased anger were showing at these moments: he was gesticulating in an excited manner; if not, he was walking back and forth, and sighing heavily. 

It happened again when you were searching for Ajax to tell him to come and help others on the stable. You heard his heavy footsteps on the second floor. Before you knocked on the door, you overheard him saying something about grandmother. 

“How in the world could an uneducated hard-working woman become a witch? Still can't get it right in my head.”

You shouldn't be heeding to his words – you were taught not to eavesdrop, but something in your mind told you to stay and spy on Ajax. You pressed your ear to the door and leaned on it. It was unusual and exciting for you until you heard someone answering him.

“You don't need to have specific knowledge to become a witch. She was in so much despair and pain it made her prayers especially sweet and strong. We couldn't ignore such a broken soul. After she got the power, she got the education as well – we taught her to read and count in one hour.”

You frowned, trying to understand who Ajax was talking to. You didn't hear that voice before and it sounded strange: loud, deep and hoarse. At first you couldn't even understand what the person was talking about – their speech was gibberish without words. You heeded, then your mind translated it to a normal humanly sounding state.

“Brilliant. And who was she praying to?”

“She was praying to the devils, young master. The disadvantage of her choice is simple – you never know who will answer to your call.” The person chuckled. You frowned. “In her case, it wasn't just a deal. It was a salvation. We saw a potential in her: her hatred and thirst for vengeance were commendable. She wanted someone from her family to inherit the power and continue the legacy. Just like in the prophecy.”

“A prophecy?”

“Not now, young master. You want to ask me about the diary and the missing part of the power, I can feel.”

“Don't you dare tell me what I want to do.” Ajax hissed. “I had enough of this! One more time you and your fucking henchmen show me these lousy dreams I'll send you all to the deepest of the Abyss and let the guards have some fun with you all in the same manner. Speak and then get lost, son of a bitch.”

“So, part of the power was passed to your dearest sister and there is no way for you to get it back from her, but she will share it with you.”

“What?!” Ajax was stunned. 

“Ask her yourself. Not in my duties to explain everything to you. But I must confess she has a rather beautiful birthmark on her pretty back. Such a pleasure to watch her dressing up in the morning.”

You felt that someone pushed the door and jumped back so as not to fall into the room. 

“Ajax! Father needs your help on the stable.” You spoke first and played like you didn't hear anything. Ajax froze with an aggressive expression on his face, but his gaze became softer when he looked at you. 

“'Thanks,” He didn't wait and rushed to the stable. You stood aside to give him enough space, then looked into the room.

You made a step into it. The atmosphere here was different. A cold sweat broke out your body when you realized whom Ajax was talking to. In a second you felt that everything around you was hostile and hurried to get back to your room, but the door closed right in front of you. In fact… you had questions too, but you were afraid to build up communication with those ghoulish creatures. 

“How can I get rid of you?” You asked into the fake emptiness. 

“There is no way.” The answer was given to you immediately. You cried out, regretting your decision. “We serve your brother.”

“What about me? You said I have the same power as him.” Your brain was running fast, as you tried to rate the risk of the situation. You didn't want to repeat your recent journey of escaping demons, so you stayed alerted. Just a reminiscence of it made you weak in your knees.

“You stole a part of it from him. We mean no harm to you because of the master's order, but we have no desire to help you.” A mocking voice said, leaving you angry. 

“You caused me a lot of harm.” You flared up. You realized that you wanted to play dirty on them. “I'll ask your master to execute his threat. You'll get what you deserve.” You grinned, imagining the torture Ajax promised to them. “Open the door.”

The door opened with a creak. You stepped out and the daze fell from your mind. Your heart was beating like crazy and your limbs started shaking from the fact that you commanded those demons. 

“I hope you are suffering in a sulfur flame, grandma!” You couldn't keep the sudden outbreak of anger inside your throat. It all was her fault. Ajax and you were doomed to repeat her miserable fate because of her selfishness. The old fool believed in some prophecy – you were sure it was just a fiction of the demons to trick her into selling her family's souls to the devil as well. “Stupid cunt! Why couldn't you kill your husband without this fucking heresy?!” You screamed and froze. You opened your eyes so wide they hurt and pressed your palms to your mouth, trying to understand what you just said.

You made it to your room, feeling dizzy from the overexcitement. You laid down to rest. You felt so disgusted by your attitude you couldn't even believe that you let these words out of your mouth. Guilt was gnawing at your heart. Your head and your chest were heavy, you were about to doze off to sleep. Recently you got health issues: no matter what, you always were sleepy. With every day it was harder for you to wake up and get out of bed. You slept for ten and more hours, skipped meals and house work, as you felt completely drained out of energy. Even father stopped bothering you: despite his strictness, he was concerned about your health. 

Suddenly you remembered about the diary and your attention focused on it. You got up but sat down on the edge of your bed, because your vision blacked from a sudden move. You took the diary from its secret place and started reading from the very beginning. You didn't know what you hoped to find, and everything you read didn't make any sense. The words were written in a normal human language, but you couldn't understand a thing from it, as if the diary itself didn't want you to know its secrets. 

You stopped in the middle part to examine a magic circle that was drawn on a page. It was a simple circle with two smaller size circles inside of it. The smallest one had inside two triangles merged in the shape of a star, and in the free space in the middle of the triangles there was an eye; outside the smaller circles there were four crescent moons. You looked at it carefully, then read through the text on the next page and managed to understand it. The text was about an astral plane – an experience of lucid dreaming with the astral projection of your soul traveling through the spiritual world. Flashbacks of grandmother's house attacked your mind right after you decided to explain to yourself the definition of the spiritual world. There was no other useful information to gain and nothing was said on how to get into another world. 

You returned the diary to its place, then realized that there was something wrong with it. It seemed like the diary was deciding which information to give to you, and which one to hide – maybe it was some sort of magic. Bewildered, you took a deep breath and laid for a nap. You were in a slumber when Teucer opened the door and came to your room on his tiptoes. He looked around, then stared at your face. 

“Older sister,” he whispered and shook you by your shoulder. You woke up with a scream, making him jump back. “There is a noise inside your room!” By Teucer's tone you could tell he felt as scared as you. 

“What? I heard nothing.” You rubbed your sleepy face, hardly understanding what he was trying to tell you.

“No! I could swear I heard something inside!” In a second Teucer turned into a whiny boy, his voice got crying notes – it was his usual strategy to attract attention to his words. “'Like someone was scratching on the wood!”

“It was mice, probably.” You tried to wave him away. You were too tired to talk: your whole body was heavy and your eyes were closing on itself. You couldn't sit anymore and lay on your side. Teucer's ginger hair irritated you with its bright color, it made your eyes hurt. You couldn't hear him anymore, simply ignored everything he tried to tell you. Teucer ran away, as he got no response from you.

Just a moment after he came back with Ajax, lamenting on your behavior. Ajax sighed, patted Teucer's head and promised to take a look at the situation. Teucer, who was feeling like a hero, left Ajax and you alone. “What's wrong, dove?” Ajax closed the door and sat on the bed. He brushed away hair that fell on your face. You could feel his peculiar look with your skin.

“Nothing.” You mumbled, hiding your face in a pillow. “I just want to rest.”

“Don't want to seem rude,” Ajax's voice was anxious. “but you are resting too much. Are you okay?”

You didn't answer him, as you fell asleep already. All Ajax could do was to cover you with a blanket and leave, tormented by conjectures. He asked the devils by his side about your health, but their answer was vague – an eclipse was about to happen. Ajax spent the day without you, hoping that you would wake up, but you didn't. 

As usual, he came to your room at night when everyone else was asleep. Ajax found you awake, reading the diary. Two candles were illuminating the room; the wind was howling behind the window, bringing chilly air through the loose shutter. Your room was the coziest in the whole house to Ajax, because it was you to leave here. It was located in the back of the house, poorly furnished and cold, but your presence made it comfortable and welcoming. You closed the diary and put it in the secret spot.

“Do you mind sharing something interesting with me?” Ajax blew out the candles and made himself comfortable in bed. He laid on his side, so he could face you.

“Just a magic book paired with an autobiography.” You did as well, looking at your brother in the dark. “Ajax,” you started, but stumbled, afraid that your question would make him angry. Still, you continued. “Is there any chance for us to return to a normal life?”

“It is our normal life now. You better get used to it.” Ajax sighed. “It is our fate, dove, and we can do nothing about it.”

“I don't want fate like this. I would better die, than…” you bit your tongue, realizing how foul your words were. 

“We were talking about the diary.” Ajax replied with a stern voice that sent shivers down your spine. 

You got nervous and scratched your clavicle. “I don't understand what is happening. Why are we talking so casually about something like this, ignoring all the devilry that is surrounding us?” 

You were the voice of sense, and Ajax lost all his words. You were right – for him it was a usual topic, but for you, who almost lost one's mind contacting the devils and was contaminated with abyssal power against one's will, it was a delirium of polluted brain. 

“That's not something we should discuss for a night. I'll tell you everything later.” Ajax put his pinky finger towards you and you did so, sealing the promise.

In a small talk you were the one to lead the conversation. Ajax kept you in his tight embrace, replying leisurely. His warmth and soft smell of his sweat made you feel relaxed – in this chaos of life Ajax's hands were the only space you felt safe in. It was selfish, it was unfair, but Ajax was the only reason that kept you in this world. His love was your motivation to live and become better. You wanted to protect Ajax in your own way by giving him solace he needed. No one could replace you in his life, no one could love him and comfort him better than you. Was it jealousy? It definitely was. You couldn't even imagine Ajax doing the same things he did for you to another woman. Those fantasies made you feel angry and reckless. 

You turned your head to him, his lips were dangerously close to yours. You looked at him, waiting for something more – out of sudden the desire to be closer awoke in you. Ajax tarried, taken aback by your sudden move, so you pressed your lips to his gently. He slightly opened his mouth, helding your lower lip between his. You felt Ajax fingers brushing over your jawline, that made you hold your breath. An unusual drawing feeling curled in your lower belly; it made you thirsty for more than a kiss – your nipples hardened, full of lustful sensation. 

“This is wrong…” he whispered, pulling away from you. The two extremes were fighting inside his soul – being on the verge of another Fall, Ajax suddenly remembered that he was a virtuous man once. Even his corroded heart contracted nervously. He desired to have you, but you were his sister.

Perhaps, he just needed a little push into this abyss.

Ajax quickly got on top of you, his trembling hands caught your hips. It was the first time he touched a woman in such a private place, that left him overly excited: the beast he was restraining broke out. His mouth covered yours, he placed heated kisses across your face, got down to your neck, biting soft skin, then traveled lower, until your night dress. Ajax's ardor surprised you, the way he forcefully pushed his tongue inside your mouth and squeezed your breasts with tenacious slender fingers made you squeak. 

Ajax lost his mind: all the moral borders were broken and he was striving to push his erected member into your hot, wet place. Afterall, you were a woman in the first place, so it was nothing wrong in sharing bed with you and making you bear his children. 

It was hastily and clumsily, as arousal and thrill of being caught took over both of you. Ajax pulled down his pants quickly; you felt the tip of his cock pressing to your entrance. It was more painful than you expected it to be, so you bit on your index finger to ease that stinging feeling.

“Please, relax…” you heard your brother's husky voice. You did as he asked, and Ajax showed more of his member into you. It was hard not to cry, as it felt like you were about to split in half from this burning and stinging ache. Ajax's lips were trembling, as he was close to climax already.

You kept silent when Ajax started bucking his hips into yours. The process wasn't pleasurable at all and left you praying for it to end soon. Ajax, unlike you, couldn't keep his voice inside his throat, and moaned quietly: your quivering wet walls wrapped him around, sucking his cock deeper inside your womanhood. He had never felt more pleasure in his life. It didn't take long for Ajax to cum, staining your walls with his seed.

The following fuss went in a shy and wordless atmosphere. You left to clean yourself up, and Ajax stayed in the room to fix the bed. Intimacy proved to Ajax that you loved him the way he loved you – and your relationship should result in marriage. He was ready to marry you right now, but it was impossible to his own regret. Demons suggested Ajax take you to another village and introduce you as an orphan to a priest, so the marriage would be possible. His mood lightened – it was the first time those devils recommended something good to him. 

You came back and curled on the bed, as your lower tummy still disturbed you. Ajax hugged you and fell asleep right at the moment, soothed by your warmth. Your brain was restless. For demons it was a triumph, you thought. Despite the fact that this night was calm, you still felt their presence. They were a part of your normality, so you tried to think positively of them. It was very convenient to have servants like them, probably: all the dirty and impossible work was on their shoulders and they couldn't say no. 

You snapped out of your cogitation. You got an awareness that it wasn't your thoughts. They belonged to your head, but were planted in here artificially. You knew yourself well enough (at least you thought you were) and it wasn't in your character to have such destructive ideas. You didn't want to end up like Ajax – losing yourself over uncontrollable animal impulses that were implied to him by demons. They were trying to take control over you, you were sure, and Archons did nothing to protect you, which led you to a painful question – was there any point in praying to someone, who didn't respond to you? Slowly you started to understand your grandmother, and it sent shivers down your spine. 

To calm down you got out of bed and came to the window. Looking out, you saw the Moon. It was unusually bright today, you could see its surface in detail out of your window. It was exciting, for a moment you forgot how to breathe, beholding celestial beauty. Was it possible to reach it? You never heard of experiments of entering outer space, but you were sure it was possible. Why didn't Archons try it? Or, maybe, there were experiments, but in your obscure village no one heard of it. You sighed heavily. You were jealous of Capital citizens, they had everything on their plate by birthright. Ajax promised you that he would find a school for you in the Capital, but you were sure it wouldn't happen. He would be a regular soldier, no one would even think about doing him favors at the beginning of his career. If only you had access to actual knowledge and science… you brushed it away. You had enough disappointments in your life and didn't want to focus on sadness before going to bed.

Unexpectedly, out of nowhere, you saw a green lightning in front of you. It disappeared before you could react, and something fell on the floor, making a sound of fallen glass. You picked up what turned out to be a trinket, something similar to a pendant by its shape and design, but it lacked a chain. 

Shadows in the room started shifting chaotically. 

“What happened?!” Ajax jumped on the bed, aware of a strange sound. He quickly made it to the window and looked out, then he rushed about the room. “I heard something.” Ajax was turning his head, his eyes peering into the darkness. 

“I don't know…” You came to him and showed the find. “It appeared here.”

“A Vision!” Ajax exclaimed and covered your hand with the trinket. “You should hide it, okay? Don't let someone see it.”

“Why? Is it bad?” You got scared and wanted to throw it away, thinking of it as some kind of cursed treasure.

“No. I don't know what you wished for, but Celestia found your desire worthy of attention and granted you Vision. It allows you to manipulate a certain element of nature,” Ajax took his hand off and looked at it. “Dendro, in your case. I have one too. Mine is Hydro.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” You spoke with an offended tone. You thought Ajax would share such a great thing with you, but he chose to conceal it.

“I was told not to. I'm sorry, dove.” He got a guilty face and scratched his head. “But it means we became even closer! You and I both have extraordinary powers. I'll teach you how to use them.”

“I thought we were close enough already. Thanks, I guess.” You looked at the Vision again and decided to hide it in the same spot with the diary. 

You had no idea on how to use it and why you needed it, but at the same time it gave you a hope – if Celestia counted you as worthy, then your future was determined to be interesting and wasn't bonded with this gloomy village.

One day was left until the set date. You thought parents would prepare some kind of celebration or a farewell dinner, but nothing was done. Everyone took it as a natural part of his life, as if nothing had to happen. You were puzzled, until you realized: for them Ajax's enlistment in the Fatui was a shame. Instead of saying proper goodbye to Ajax and spending time with him, father brought his friend, Pavel Korneevich, into the house and introduced him as your groom to everyone.

You could swear: you physically sensed the immediate tension and confusion coming from Ajax. Your opinion wasn't welcomed, so you stayed silent, afraid to stand up for yourself. You weren't just shocked – you were scared to death. All your dreams for a happier life were about to be broken with a marriage.

It was scandalous: Pavel Korneevich was old enough to be your father. You were indecently younger, yet it didn't stop father from bringing this man into his own house. With this gesture he showed how little respect for you he had had, and the scanty amount of good things he had ever done to you was immediately forgotten by you. That grain of love you had for him was destroyed and turned into pure hatred. But Pavel Korneevich… How could he even think about marrying you? He was out of his mind, if he thought of you as a suitable wife for himself. 

“Is this some kind of a cruel joke?” Ajax's aura gave you shivers. His tone was serious, yet soft and sickly sweet, while his slightly narrowed eyes were fixed on the guest and father. “Don't you dare to put a ring on her while I'm out. I want to see my dear sister walking down the aisle with my own eyes.”

Ajax's words didn't make sense and you hoped that he said it only to win time. Ajax stood behind your back and put his heavy hand on your shoulder, that almost broke at the weight and a tight squeeze that he gave you. You portrayed a labored, trembling smile.

“Of course,” Pavel Korneevich nodded. “We need no rush in such things.”

“Sure,” Father grunted, munching on his wrinkled dry lips. “You are free to go. We have business to discuss.” Then he looked at you and, without calling your name, addressed you. “Pasha will talk to you later.”

On numb legs you made it to your room, Ajax following you like a shadow. As soon as you entered the private area, you cried out and fell on your knees, helpless and miserable. All he could do was hold you in his arms and remain silent. 

A familiar shadow appeared in front of Ajax, waiting for instructions. Ugly, ridiculously slim and tall, the demon in the shape of a man with a pig's nose was looking right into Ajax's soul. A second shadow, small and stout, showed up right near the first one: the same pig nose, but also small sly eyes. It was too late to pray, so Ajax made an order – to ruin the wedding and kill Pavel Korneevich, but his death should seem natural. By sinister smiles that bloomed on twisted faces and revealed sharp, abnormal teeth, Ajax figured out that the order was taken. They disappeared to prepare their nasty trap.

“Worry not, dove,” Ajax nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. “I'll take care of it. Your brother will never leave you. I'll always be here to help you.”

On the contrary, Ajax's words made you feel even worse than you did before: dragged away from his home, he would think about you without the opportunity to communicate with you properly. You wanted to disappear, to dissolve, to stop existing in a physical way only to escape from this agony. If not Pavel Korneevich, then somebody else would be chosen as your groom. Parents wouldn't miss an opportunity to get rid of you. What could you do? 

“Take me with you!” You clutched at the collar of his shirt, your gaze crazy behind the clumped lashes and redness of the eyes. “Take me with you, or I will run away!”

Ajax hardly endured your emotional breakdown. Your broken voice and hysterical ideas were impossible to listen to; at this point he wished for the night to come sooner and take him from this cursed house – he didn't tell you that Fatui would take him in the night to avoid unwanted attention. Ajax stayed until you cried yourself to sleep. The last day with you was meant to be tragic, for his own regret. When the clock struck midnight, Fatui appeared in the yard, waiting for him. Mother gave Ajax a heartless kiss at his cheek, and father remained uninvolved. Ajax left without looking back not to torture his soul. For the first time of his life he found calmness. 

The gate grated, soldiers in heavy boots left, leaving deep footprints on the snow; a small lamp went out inside the house. The moon was unusually bright, its agily light oozed into the house through every crack. Your room was filled with moonlight, making it as bright as day. In your dreamless sleep you heard someone calling your name, and your body, hit by impulses, stood up on its own, pursuing the voice; step by step you made it to the front door.

The door opened on itself and closed, when you walked out. Your bare feet touched the snow; it melted from your heat. A bigger celestial body closed the Moon, causing the eclipse and hiding all the blissful light that Illuminated you. You felt like falling: the horrifying hungry maw of abyss opened under your feet, swallowing you into the darkness and covering your body with snow. You opened your eyes and saw nothing. You landed on the stone floor, all your body responded with pain. 

It was a big room with just one chair and a burning fireplace. Cold walls of unknown color were hidden in the dark, as well as other spaces of the room. You heard steps and a woman appeared in front of you. She had long white hair and manic crimson eyes. Her expressionless face scared you.

“This must be a joke.” She smiled to herself. “How could a worm like you deserve the Forgotten God's blessing? This is ridiculous.” She turned back on her heels. The cape on her bony shoulders followed her moves, and you noticed dozens of death masks that froze in scream on the hemline. 

“Where am I?!” Your voice broke on scream. It couldn't be that the nightmare from your grandmother's shack found you in Morepesok.

The woman sighed irritably. “He had one job – yet he failed. You are in the Abyss. The power you stole from your brother brought you there.”

“I want to go back.” You stated. Unusual hardness in your voice made the woman laugh. “This ain't funny! I'm tired of these devilish tricks I'm being involved in! I swear this time I'll fight you instead of running away!”

“Then fight.”

At an impossible speed she made an attack that struck you into your shoulder and made you fly to the nearest wall. You couldn't breath at the pain you felt – it seemed like your clavicle, scapula and ribs were crumbled into tiniest pieces. You were opening and closing your mouth with no sound, just like a fish that was taken out of water and left to die on the surface. It was a pure shock that paralyzed you and concentrated your brain on the inhuman pain. 

The woman sat in the chair and looked at the fireplace, as she immediately lost her interest in you. You didn't know how much time had passed since you were left to suffer, but it felt like decades to you before you were able to stand up. 

“You possess great power, yet I bet you know nothing about it. That's why you should think before stealing.” She spoke, watching the fire. “I heard a prophecy about brother and sister, who would free us from the shadows we were trapped in and restore the ancient order. It doesn't matter anymore – deep inside I stayed skeptical, and it proved that all prophecies are lies. Look at your right hand.”

You did as she said and staggered. One of your wrists was abnormal: your fingers, palm and veins got black, traces of the same color ascended until your elbow. 

“I'll teach you the concept of ritual – that's the starting point of your journey. Then, you will be on your own.” She let out a short chuckle, full of sadistic anticipation.

[rasolomonwrites]

A snippet I would love to see is the moment Armand pounces on Daniel in Dubai. The moment Daniel realizes that Armand is going to attack him and the moment he realizes that he is going to turn him. Also, before that - the silence after the door slams behind Louis and they are left alone together is such an intense set-up! Thank you for considering!!

Louis shutting the door behind himself ricocheted off the sparse and mausoleum-like modern interior of the penthouse and rang in Daniel's ears like a series of screams.

His mind told him to run, but his body felt utterly frozen. His heart hammered in his chest.

He and Armand were alone and he had just ruined his marriage. He and Armand were alone.

Armand is going to fucking kill you. Move.

Then, Daniel made a critical error.

He turned to look back at Armand.

The vampire was still laying in a heap on the floor, face bloody after Louis literally put him through a wall in his rage.

Even like this, Daniel couldn't help but think that he looked beautiful.

With his cool composure stripped away he looked like a wounded animal.

Their eyes met and Daniel was lost.

He tried to make a break for it, and suddenly found himself in cruel hands, claws digging into him through his clothing as he dangled helplessly in the air.

"Armand," He started, voice panicked and the vampire removed one hand from his back. He held him next to the ceiling with only one hand and pressed the other against his lips to silence him.

The finger against his lips felt electric and a half vision flashed across the backs of eyes: Armand in another place, another time: fireworks exploding around them in the night sky. The same finger pressed against his lips.

In his present, Daniel found himself on the verge of tracing the pad of that clawed finger with his tongue, muscle memory taking over.

Daniel took a mental note to explore why he would even have that ingrained habit, as if he wasn't probably about to die. As if he had time for reflection left.

"Stay out of my head!" He snapped, feet dangling pathetically in the air. "I guess you'll finally get what you want. You get to give me an easeful death or whatever the fuck it was you said in San Francisco."

So many emotions flickered across Armand's face that Daniel could barely catch all of them. Where he would have expected to see a smug sense of vengeance fulfilled there was almost everything except that.

"An easeful death?" Armand repeated, almost robotically. His claws dug deeper and Daniel wondered if he'd been gored to the bone.

"An easeful death."

Armand repeated again and a cruel smile gave his ethereal, angular face all the warmth of a skull. His eyes burned into Daniel.

The old man mets his gaze, breathless, elated, and unable to look away.

Wild that it's happened to me twice in one lifetime.

What a way to go, tortured to death by this stunning, horrifying, evil, mournful creature.

Daniel felt Armand rifling through his thoughts like he was shuffling a deck of cards. He let the cool presence slide through him without complaint. He could feel Armand sampling his fear and his desire and most of all his awe.

"If you must." Armand replied, the fury with which he had grabbed Daniel gone. Daniel wondered if he was going to die after all. Though, he couldn't imagine Armand just letting him go.

"Can I make a last request?" Daniel finally asked and his voice sounds hollow. He had made peace with his own death long ago, but something was telling him it might not be coming as soon as he thought.

Armand still held him tight and he made no moves to escape his grasp.

"Before you kill me, I need to know what happened between us." Said Daniel, suddenly noticing that his feet were on solid ground again.

"Give me my memories back, Armand."

Armand seemed to consider for a long while, a look of visible pain on his face.

"I need to know what you did to me."

The vampire unhanded Daniel and the old man stood in place, watching as Armand turns his claws on himself.

With animal grace he sliced a long red line down his forearm.

Daniel did not need to be told twice. He sucked the finger into his mouth.

"I will give you more than that, Daniel Molloy." The vampire intoned, as he held out his bleeding forearm to Daniel.

"You will know exactly what I have done to you."

Before Daniel could respond Armand dipped a long finger in his wound and pressed it to Daniel's lips, painting his bottom lip red.

"Drink." Armand commanded.

[sungbeam]

BIRD HUNT — three

nonidol!choi line x f!reader

gotham city is a gutter running rampant with the ill, corrupt, and the insane. at times, justice and vengeance must be served by one's own hand... no matter the lengths one must go to do so.

▷ genre, au, etc. bat family au, dc comics inspired, dark, vigilantes au, slow burn, ceo/billionaire au, cat woman!reader, murder mystery au, action, suspense, angst, slow burn-ish?, love square??; choi line inspired by dick grayson (csb), jason todd (cyj), and tim drake (cbg), including bruce wayne for choi minho and damian wayne for nishimura riki, inspired by 2022's The Batman

▷ chapter warnings. swearing, mentions of death and murder, mentions of weaponry, depictions of violence, use of pepper spray, breaking and entering

▷ word count. 4.4k // taglist: open

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FILE_03 : by the tail

gotham city.

[seven days since your mother was murdered.]

"Is she here?"

The voice was familiar to your sensitive ears, and although your eyes remained fixed on Mrs. Lee, you shifted your attention mentally to the two—no, three—wait… four?—figures making their way over to where you and Mrs. Lee stood in the home office space. Their footsteps were as quiet as heeled loafers could be against hollow wood floors. The Lees' home in the suburbs was a safe distance from the heart of Gotham, so the neighborhood was much nicer and much more like a home. The Lees had been ushered here after Lee Sungjae had been found murdered, and they'd resided here since.

You had been called in the day after the incident happened—that was the day after you had gone to see your father. We must work fast, Yn. They've already gotten to one of my… men. That was what he'd told you, and when he elaborated, you had discovered that every news channel now blasted footage of Lee Sungjae's dead, glassy eyes.

You had been busy since, trying to both grieve in peace and work at the same time.

"—take more time, Yn-ah. Losing a loved—" Mrs. Lee's voice cracked slightly and she covered her mouth.

"Mrs. Lee—"

She waved your hand away, angling her body away slightly so she could regain composure. "No, no. It's alright. I'm alright. I just… I know how it feels, and I think you deserve time to yourself, as well."

Of course you told her about your mother. You had to take another day off when one of your coworkers had noticed how spaced out you were when you came in. No, you didn't tell her your mother was murdered the same way her husband had. That was between you, your father, and the motherfucker who did this.

But for now, you were supposed to be here to answer the police's questions about your employer. You had been one of three of Mr. Lee's secretaries for the past several months now, having come under his employ about a year ago after Choi Enterprises turned you away. But magically, a few days afterward, this offer from the office of one Lee Sungjae had arrived in your inbox. When one door closed, as they said, another opened. Whatever guardian angel was looking over you then certainly wasn't looking over you now though.

"Miss Ln?"

You turned around and expected to see Commissioner Kim Namjoon and your co-secretary, Shin Ryujin, but you hadn't expected the two others with them. They stood behind the two aforementioned, both in black domino masks that covered the top halves of their faces. Their suits were skintight, most likely to allow for more mobility, but they also accentuated their starkly muscular figures. The taller one wore a suit of dark blue and black, while the other donned a maroon red and black ensemble. You recognized them, respectively, as Gotham's very own Nightwing and the Red Robin. Vigilantes. What were they doing with Commissioner Kim?

Ryujin bowed her way out, gently taking Mrs. Lee with her. That left you with the others.

"Hello, Miss Ln," Commissioner Kim greeted with a tired, but not unkind, smile. He fished a small notepad out of his coat pocket, ballpoint pen clicking to life. "My name is Commissioner Kim. These two… not sure if you need any introductions."

When you remained silent with only a nod, he continued, "We're here investigating the murder of your former employer, and we were informed that you often handled his familial affairs. We've already spoken with Miss Shin and Mr. Yun, but we wanted to ask where you were last Wednesday night at ten o'clock."

You were very aware that Nightwing had decided to wander about the office, eyes taking in the shelves and the notes and the desk… then there was Red Robin, who's attention was pinned intently on you, arms crossed firmly over his chest. There was something awfully familiar about these two. "Is that an accusation, Commissioner?" You asked, leaning against the edge of the desk.

"It doesn't have to be," he said airily. "Just answer the question, Miss."

"I was at home," you answered, schooling your face into neutrality. "You can ask my employer's wife and my coworkers—I was taking time off to grieve my mother's death."

The shock was not the most stark on the commissioner's face, but on Red Robin's. "She's dead?—" He coughed; even Nightwing had paused his movements. "I mean, I'm sorry for your loss." You didn't recognize the voice, but you suspected it was probably being disguised with a voice modulator.

The commissioner sent him a bewildered look, but turned back to you. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Yn. Truly." He asked with almost a grimace, "Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts? I understand you were most likely home alone, but perhaps a neighbor, a significant other…?"

And there it was again—that shift in energy as both the vigilantes in the room stopped to focus on you.

You shook your head with a tight smile. It probably wouldn't bode well if you revealed to them who your father was or that you paid the Iceberg Lounge a visit that day. You were also a little too preoccupied with survival to have a significant other, and you hadn’t been close enough to a neighbor in years. "No. Just my cats."

There was something so familiar about this Red Robin character, but you couldn't put a finger on it. Or maybe it was the way he was staring at you with such pity (and sympathy) that made you wish he was someone else. Either way, you needed to know why these two vigilantes were put on the case, and what they might have already found out. At the moment, it didn't seem like it would pose a problem, but you thought it wouldn't hurt to be a little more careful.

When you arrived home that night, bones aching as much as your head pulsed, you collapsed on the couch. A few of your cats began to swarm your legs, soft fur tickling the skin exposed when your pant leg lifted. Blue, a very introverted Russian Blue who you managed to make an extrovert when it came to you, plopped himself onto your lap like a warm, vibrating mass. You ran your fingers through his fur to the symphony of someone's purrs (you figured it was Byeol; he was quite vocal).

"Should I invite him to the funeral?" You murmured to Blue in question.

He stared back at you, then silently turned his gaze to a particle of dust floating in the air.

You exhaled back against the couch cushions. "I'll take that as a yes."

In the dead of night—because there was always a dead of night, even for Gotham City—you pulled a dark beanie over your head and the top half of your face. Two holes had been cut and sewn for your eyes to see through, and at the top of the hat, two little triangles sat akin to ears. You recalled the night you had crocheted this on a whim, your mother having done most of the work.

"Blue wants it to have cat ears, mama," you'd told her just as she brought out her tub of yarns.

Your mother's eyes glittered. "Is that right? Well, we'll have to add cat ears then, won't we?"

You thought it would be fitting to find her killer in this. You thought it fit you quite well, at least.

The rest of you was dressed in black, and your hand grazed over Soul's fluffy, white head as you propped open the second floor window. "I'll be home soon," you whispered to the last of your family, then disappeared into the night.

"I can't get why this is so familiar to me," Beomgyu voiced into the echoes of the Batcave, hands braced against the main monitor as he stared at the copy of the note: A Debt Repaid. He had been staring at it for the past week, not consecutively, but it hadn't left the forefront of his mind. Like you.

Soobin trudged over to his brother with a bowl of cereal cradled in his large palm, the other hand spooning the sweet milk and wheat flakes into his mouth. "Mm. Maybe give it a rest for a little, Beom."

"And do what?"

"How do you know Ln Yn?"

Beomgyu whirled around just as Soobin settled into the desk chair, waiting. Beomgyu made a scoffing noise, eyebrows flying up to his shaggy bangs. "Where did that come from?"

Soobin smiled and shrugged. "You tell me." He slurped up a bit more milk before adding, "You're the one who reacted like that in front of everyone when she said she was grieving her mother's death. You sounded shocked that she died."

"Well yeah, wouldn't you be shocked to hear someone else died so close to another's death?"

"Stop trying to bullshit him, Gyu."

Both the brothers looked up at the voice who had just entered the underground space. Yeonjun strolled into the main area in a white tank top and sweats, hair sticking up in different places. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned loud and wide.

Soobin cocked a brow at him. "Nice of you to finally join us, hyung. How'd the date go?"

"Great," Yeonjun quipped. "We're going on a second one soon. I think Felix almost sent me off with a kiss goodnight." He slumped onto the edge of the desk, eyes lazily taking in the images and information displayed on the many monitor screens. "This is our stiff, huh?"

Soobin sent him a look that distinctly said 'No, we're just looking at dead bodies for fun.'

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied. "The note the killer left is so familiar to me though. Have you seen it before?" He knocked his knuckles against the monitor with the note.

Yeonjun's eyes narrowed on the screen, before he leaned back with that bored look renewed on his face. "You're both idiots. It's from that one killing a couple weeks ago."

Beomgyu and Soobin traded looks. "What?"

Their eldest brother leaned down to reach the lowest drawer at the desk. From its depths, he fished out a large bag of chips and grabbed a handful to stuff his face with. "Y'know," he garbled and gestured vaguely with his crumb-dusted fingers. "Beomgyu, you know! You were there with me. It was that one lawyer guy who was found dead in his car beneath the bridge. That same note was taped to his windshield."

"Oh yeah," Beomgyu drawled, while Soobin shook his head with a sigh. The former then knocked his foot against the latter's shin. "Aye! You didn't even know it."

"Yeah, because I wasn't on that case," Soobin fired back. He finished off the rest of his bowl of cereal and set the empty ceramic in his lap before crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes, like his brothers' were lined beneath with heavy eye bags. Someone was supposed to be on patrol around the city right now, but neither of the three brothers were in any rush to get up. "So it's just one person going after these people then."

Yeonjun chewed his bottom lip. "Then we just gotta find the connection."

"Was the lawyer guy from a couple weeks ago Lee Sungjae's attorney?" Soobin asked.

Beomgyu grabbed a hold of the wireless keyboard on the desk and braced it upon his thighs. He pulled up an internet browser and typed in their inquiry. All three brothers made noises of disgruntlement; if the lawyer hadn't been Sungjae's attorney, then how were they connected? It was no secret that 99.9 percent of the population here in Gotham had some sort of… shadow looming over their shoulder. It was almost impossible to get anywhere without the help of a corrupt figure, whether that be a mob boss like the Penguin or loan shark with special strategies to get someone to pay up.

Either way, there would be lots of digging required.

"Let's start with Lee Sungjae and the lawyer's records,'' Soobin decided as he sat up in the chair. "We'll sort through phone records, acquire security footage of their movements, their texts, etcetera."

"I call none of those," Yeonjun said. When his younger brothers scowled at him, he raised both hands in feigned surrender with a giggle. "Fine, fine. You're both lookin' at me like I murdered your favorite puppy."

They remained silent.

"What, too soon?"

The basement headquarters suddenly erupted in a dull siren sound, and Beomgyu was swift to pull up a set of footage on one of the monitors. It displayed a section of the sky, a white spotlight circle cast against a massive, dark gray cumulus cloud with a distinct bat shape in the center—their call to action.

All three men were on their feet in an instant—keyboard and cereal bowl abandoned on the table, capes and utility belts clicked into place.

"Meet you losers there!" Yeonjun hollered as the cave filled with the revving roar of his motorcycle engine like a clap of thunder.

Soobin and Beomgyu hurried over to their respective cycles. "Hey, we're not done talking about Ln Yn!" Soobin called to his younger brother.

Beomgyu flashed him a thin smile. "That's what you think!" And he sped away down the runway.

Soobin chuckled to himself, grinning. Then he revved his engine and launched himself after his brothers.

To be completely honest, you had no idea what you were doing. Actually, that was a lie. You kind of knew what you were doing, but that was leagues away from completely knowing what you were doing until it was muscle memory. Right now though, as you gripped onto the side of the building, fingertips digging into the concrete ledge like a lifeline (because it might as well had been one), you couldn't wait until it became muscle memory.

God, your arms were going to ache tomorrow morning.

"It's worth it, Yn," you muttered to yourself, under your breath, and that was what made you reach up one more time and grasp onto the ledge of the window sill. You had always wondered why buildings like this lacked security cameras, but based on its practically smooth facade, it was no wonder. Only a crazy person would dare scale something like this.

The law firm building was not one of the largest nor one of the dingiest. If it had been some place like Clark & Field, you would have considered other ways to get into the building, but it would probably be through the inside (because scaling a fifty story skyscraper without a net was not on your bucket list). And if the building had been on the dingier side, it would have, frankly, been much easier to find footholds and places to brace. Except for any mold or crumbly parts. That was not fun either.

Or maybe you could classify scaling buildings as just… not fun in general. But the skills and the strength would come with time.

This time, however, was fueled by pure willpower.

But the universe was on your side for once, and the window you clung to gave way and granted you entry. The stupid lock picks had actually worked.

Despite being dead for two weeks, Yang Eunhyuk’s office still looked like its owner was still alive. There were documents left out in the open, all of the furniture had yet to be touched, there was an old (upon further investigation, really old) cup of coffee on the desk, and a two-week-old calendar for the week’s appointments and cases. You peered at the calendar and skimmed its contents, but found nothing terribly noteworthy. You strolled by the bookcase, footsteps light as a cat’s, and glimpsed the titles. There were a lot of convoluted-sounding titles on the shelves, and honestly, you doubted that he even read half of the books there. They were probably just for show when clients came in.

After you had given yourself a tour of the space, you determined that no one had truly cared enough about this man to really clean up for him. The door out into the hallway was locked, and through its frosted glass door, you could make out the distinct yellow police tape crossed over the frame. This was no crime scene, but the police had still had the room locked down… odd.

You figured they didn’t care enough. But maybe this guy had more connections than you were giving him credit for. He had been one of your father’s clients, after all. (Actually, that wasn’t enough to determine whether or not Yang was smart or not. Resorting to your father’s ever-generous solutions was stupid; and you were very well-aware that that made you stupid, too.)

Your father had sent you to this office for something in particular.

“Yang Eunhyuk was an idiot and a half,” your father had told you the day you had come to him. “But he knows how to hide his things when he needs to.” He had carefully relayed all of the necessary information to you as the two of you sat on the couch together to outline your next steps and what exactly he was asking of you. “He owes me a compilation of files and a burner phone.”

When you’d asked what for, there was that gleam in his eyes as if he found the question amusing. “Well, to find out who betrayed us, of course.”

“To find who killed Mom?”

He had nodded at you—waved his hand flippantly. “Yes. That’s the same thing, Yn.”

A burner phone and a compilation of files. Your father had already searched Yang’s personal place of residence, but there had apparently been nothing but “shit." So here you were… sorting through more shit.

You drummed the pads of your fingers on the surface of the desk.

“Where would he hide you, hm?” You murmured to yourself. You tried all of the drawers under the desk—four of the seven came up locked. The top three drawers were all filled with a smorgasbord of knick knacks and junk like a fidget spinner, fidget cube, a package of cigarettes, and even a used gum wrapper. (Gross.) You slipped a lock pick out from your sleeve as you considered the remaining four locked drawers, then realized that Yang Eunhyuk might not have kept your father’s files in the same place as his regular, ol’ case files.

And so, you moved away from the desk.

You figured there were specific places a lawyer would keep their most sensitive files to ensure discretion and privacy. You recalled how your late employer, Lee Sungjae, often had his most precious files stashed away in a place that was so obvious that no one would ever assume any person in the right mind would hide such things. For Sungjae, it had been a picture frame on the wall of his office, the one with him and his entire family pictured. It was cute; but when one peered behind it…

There was only one picture frame in the entire office space. It was small and it housed his law degree. You wondered if it was phony.

You decided to give it a chance and reached for it with a gloved hand.

When you took the frame off the wall, a frown slipped onto your face at the solid wall behind it. Huh. It was worth a—

You stepped backward and inhaled sharply when your leg hit the back of his cheap office chair. You managed to right yourself, but your ears had also perked up at a curious sound. You swiftly replaced the frame on the wall and knelt down by the desk chair and twisted your body to peer beneath it.

The sound you had heard had been a soft swish. It was subtle and not at all loud, but thanks to the empty office and your own hearing, you had picked up on it. It was practically a miracle.

Your heart pounded in excitement as you stuck your hand beneath the chair and felt up the bottom. There—you felt a distinct, padded folder—and there—

Your fingers wrapped around a small device no bigger than the palm of your hand. It must have been attached to the bottom of the chair with some kind of tape, and you gave it a good yank. And behold… in your hand was the alleged burner phone, staring up at you, just begging for you to sneak a peek into its logs. But before you could, you removed the file that had been hidden beneath the chair as well. It was a standard manila folder stuffed to the brim with papers and, you assumed, lots of sensitive information. Your eyes were widening like your smile as you just struck gold.

Not too bad for your first time in a while.

You startled at the sound of a thump.

There was a figure, a shadow, standing on the window sill by the end of the desk. He was familiar to you with his dark hair and domino mask, and his red and black uniform. His cape flowed from just off the precipices of his shoulders and hung around the backs of his knees—imposing and regal but not in the way of any movements he made. The Red Robin had stood before you just earlier in the day at Lee Sungjae’s suburban home. He had been the one with the familiar presence to you, along with his… colleague? You didn’t know his and Nightwing’s association or relationship, but you weren’t about to interact long enough to find out.

“Breaking and entering is illegal, y’know,” the masked vigilante mused, and you could just make out the shadow of his smirk in the darkness. “Even at crime scenes.”

You rose from your spot on the floor, slipping the burner into the holster pocket on the garter around your thigh and tucking the file in the crook of your arm. There wasn’t really a place you could hide the chunky piece of shit. Despite your heart palpitating in your chest, you maintained a cool exterior. He didn’t know who you were, and you expected that he wouldn’t be able to recognize your voice since you had only spoken to him once.

“Nothing done in Gotham is illegal,” you replied to him.

His head cocked to the side, arms folding over his chest. “You’re not wrong about that. But…” He nodded at the file folder. “I really can’t let you leave with that.”

Oh, dear god. You needed an escape plan—and fast.

Nothing was coming to mind; it was just get out get out get out! (Very helpful, as always.)

“I’m sure you can make an exception for me,” you said with a mocking pout. “How’d you even know I was here? I didn’t realize Yang Eunhyuk had a connection to Gotham’s exclusive Bat Boys.”

A scoff from him. “He doesn’t. Your luck just happened to be running out, sweetheart.” He stepped off the window sill and entered the office, stalking toward you with slow, methodical steps because he knew you were cornered. You really should have tried that office door when you had the chance.

As you began backing away, you shook his head and tsked. “C’mon,” he coaxed. “Give me the folder.”

“And I can go?” You wondered how fast you could disappear once you flung yourself out of that window.

He smiled. “If you give me that burner, too, sure.”

Your heart stopped for a millisecond. God damn it.

He must have seen the doubt in your eyes, and that fucking smile of his widened. Something about that was tug-tug-tugging a nerve. He stopped walking toward you as you slowly made a move to set the file down on the floor. “Good girl.”

The file flopped onto the wooden floor.

"Slowly," he drawled, eyes glued to your form as he watched your hand move toward the holster pouch.

All the while, you were counting down in your head.

Before he could blink, you swung a leg out and kicked the file back behind Red Robin and toward the window. His head swerved in that direction, and you launched yourself at him before he could realize his mistake.

You kicked at him, one-two, adrenaline pumping through your veins like a virus. He blocked your blows, just as you swung around and made a grab for his mask.

He caught your wrist; you whirled—it was a high stakes tango you had not been prepared for. But you jabbed your elbow behind you, fist flying up toward his nose. Every move you made was desperate and offensive.

You slipped free and ducked, body curling under his arm, under his cape, until you ended up in the flurry of the dark fabric.

The vigilante knew his own cape though. You gave him that much.

He grabbed the opposite end and arced it over your head, arm coming down to wrap you in it—but you threw yourself out of it, landing a swift blow to his shin. Wouldn't do much except make him curse and loosen his grip slightly.

The file was in sight—oh god, it was right the fuck there.

You made a mad dash for it, leaning down slightly and reaching out with your hand—

"Not so fast, kitty—"

You hit the floor with a curse, palms flat against the wood. His foot had hooked around yours and tripped you, his knee set against your back like his own palm as he held you against the floor.

You felt his breath by your ear. "What's in the file, sweetheart?"

"None of your concern," you gritted out, then throwing your head back until you heard and felt that telltale "fuck!" from Red Robin.

You ignored the throbbing in the back of your skull to fling yourself around and throw off his balance again. Your hand dove into your holster pocket to retrieve the small cylinder of mace, then sprayed it in a final move of desperation, breath and chest heaving.

The man sputtered, hand flying up to his mouth as he stumbled backward and tried to eject the chemical from his body. "Dirty fucking move," he spat as you turned tail and made for the file.

Only—

"Looking for this?"

Two others had joined the party, to your absolute horror. Nightwing stood with the file in his hand, while Red Hood—the vigilante from the bank, and supposedly Choi Yeonjun based on your deductions—was perched up on the window sill with zero care in the world.

Well shit.

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[caffienatedtree]

When Bruce first started out the whole Batman thing, he saved a little boy from some street thugs who had a little too much to drink and not enough entertainment. He was one of the first children he rescued as Batman. A few days later he was patrolling around the same area when he sees the boy standing outside with yet another little boy, siblings, by the look of it. He spares them just another glance to make sure they’re okay and that’s when he’s spotted. He’s impressed, honestly. They wave him down.

“Mr. Batman,” the older one shouts.

“We have something for you Mr. Batman!” The other boy yells too, he can’t be older than six.

Bruce tells himself he’s just going over there to make sure the boy is alright, not because he’s soft. He’s tough, he’s vengeance, he can maybe spare a few minutes away from patrol. The boys beam at him when he stands in front of them. They hold out a piece of paper to him, which he takes cautiously. He almost starts crying on the spot, and the boys must sense this too because they seem to start panicking a little too and ask him if he doesn’t like it. Their hands twist anxiously as they await his verdict.

“Thank you, It’s… really nice,” Bruce tells them after a few seconds.

They whoop and high five each other, then the smaller one latches onto Bruce in a hug. Bruce stiffens up, his breath caught in his throat, his body expecting an attack. It’s… nice. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with that. The boy looks up at him.

“Can I tell you a secret, Mr. Batman?” He whispers, “I was really, really, REALLY scared when Danny told me to run. But then you came and rescued us like BAM, and I knew we’d be ok.” He buries his head back into Bruce’s cape. “Thank you,” his words were muffled by the fabric, “thank you for saving us.”

————

Years later, Batman stares at the framed drawing on his desk, his hands stained with so much red he doesn’t know if they’ll ever be clean again. It’s not his blood, but how he wishes it was. Jason, his baby, his little boy, was gone.

“I’m sorry,” he says but no tears come, even though he feels hollowed out. Or maybe because he feels hollowed out.

“I’m sorry I failed you.”

[magic-is-something-we-create]

The Millennium Saga Book Four: Fate Weavers - a formal WIP intro

This is book four of The Millennium Saga! Intros for the first three can be found here: Firebreathers [X], Echoseers [X], and Goddess-Touched [X]

“It’s only happening to one piece of him at a time,” she says. “You take the left. I’ll take the right.” A bleary blink, as her words sink in. A flicker of hope—one I have to nurture, because I can’t handle the idea of losing it—and I join her in reaching for him, even as his extremities spasm and dematerialize in random, quick bursts. And together, we lift him up. Her sea-slick, shivering hand clasps my shoulder as I clasp hers, each with one of my brother’s arms thrown over our necks. Her grip is tight, even as her breaths are shallow, and mine still pants little clouds into the night air as we limp towards the shore. As we drag him—no. As we drag ourselves, because even accounting for the periodically-disappearing limbs, he’s easily twenty pounds lighter than he should be, his cheeks hollow and stomach concave and wrists sharp when they’re material. As we drag ourselves along, step by painful step, the rest of the world starts gradually coming back into focus.

Genre: High fantasy/Steampunk Target Audience: New Adult/Adult POV: First person present, Multi-POV Themes: Anti-Imperialism, trauma and recovery, hope and hopelessness, the stigma surrounding mental illness, the differences between vengeance, atonement, and justice, the separation between faith, religion, and deities, death and life and which one defines humanity more, and the struggle to rebuild after disaster.

Draft one in extremely early stages as of October 27th, 2024.

A Flex is a life altering thing, on the off chance of survival.

A second Flex is almost unheard of.

An interrupted song; a plea from Death Herself; a single voice calling for understanding and forgiveness, lost amid the tide. And the savior, bedridden, while everyone who has just become survivor races to pick up the pieces of what he’s done.

And in the potential end that all diplomacy fails, that the land-walking people of the world must retreat inland and up-tree, there still need to be options.

To Andy, those options center airships. To Nimbus, they center hovertech. To Annie, it’s peace with The Shadow. To Isa, the wounded. To Ember, their family, safe, alive—a goal that feels further from reach every moment.

And to Lakia, those options center vengeance.

The ocean has yet to quiet. The Fourth Eternal has yet to show her face.

And time is running out for the world.

The taglist for The Millennium Saga will now be maintained below the cut on this post! If you'd like to join it, let me know in which ever way is most comfortable for you!

In addition to that, you'll also find another version of the banner below, because while this one was my favorite of the versions I tried, I am quite proud of the glass and ironwork on the other one.

Taglist:

@ladywithalamp ; @lavenderrosewrites ; @47crayons ; @writeblrfantasy ; @ashen-crest 

@dragon-swords-prophecies ; @faithfire ; @lexiklecksi ; @writingrosesonneptune ; @trixierosewrites

Alternate banner:

[andromeda-ophiuchus]

Veiled Vengeance

When Latoya crossed paths with Gotham's most eligible bachelor, Bruce Wayne, she never imagined their love would intertwine her with the shadowy world of Gotham. As secrets unravel and tragedy strikes, Latoya is forced to confront her own ideals of justice, pushing her down a dangerous path. Torn between love, family, and vengeance, she must decide whether to fight alongside the man she loves or against the system he protects. or How 23 years with Bruce Wayne really messes with your mind, ideals, and life

here is the link to AO3

WORD COUNT: 3,262

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x F!OC

The chandeliers glowed like constellations above the grand ballroom of Wayne Manor, their golden light reflecting off the polished marble floors. The scent of champagne and expensive perfume lingered in the air, mingling with the murmur of Gotham’s elite, their laughter and clinking glasses filling the vast space. It was a symphony of excess—one Bruce Wayne had long since grown tired of.

Standing near the bar, a tumbler of untouched whiskey in his hand, Bruce surveyed the room with the detached gaze of someone watching a play he had seen too many times before. The same men in tailored suits boasting about their latest acquisitions, the same women draped in glittering gowns, exchanging pleasantries laced with venom. He found it exhausting. Hollow. A stage where everyone wore a mask—even him.

His patience was wearing thin when his gaze caught on someone different.

A young woman moved through the crowd with an effortless grace that didn’t quite match the servitude of her role. She balanced a tray of drinks with practiced ease, her posture perfect, her expression unreadable. Her brown skin gleamed under the warm glow of the chandeliers, and her deep brown eyes, sharp and assessing, held an intensity that set her apart from the other servers. Long, neat dreadlocks were pulled back from her face, emphasizing the quiet confidence in her movements. She wasn’t impressed by the wealth surrounding her. If anything, she looked as though she were walking through a lion’s den, completely aware of every predator lurking within.

Bruce had spent years honing his ability to read people. This woman—she was neither intimidated nor starstruck by the glittering display around her. That alone intrigued him.

Across the room, Latoya Campbell felt the weight of someone’s gaze. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling; men at events like this often let their eyes linger too long, mistaking her presence as an invitation. But she had learned how to ignore them, how to make herself invisible when necessary. She had grown up in Gotham’s underbelly—she knew what kind of men surrounded her here.

Still, something about this particular gaze made her pulse tick faster.

When she finally glanced up, her breath hitched for just a moment. Bruce Wayne.

He wasn’t just watching her—he was studying her. That unreadable expression, that unwavering focus. It was different from the other men at the gala. It wasn’t lazy arrogance or entitled interest. But it still unsettled her.

A lesser woman might have flushed under that gaze, but Latoya merely lifted her chin and forced herself to focus. She had a job to do, and she wasn’t about to let Gotham’s most eligible bachelor throw her off balance.

“You move like someone who knows exactly what she’s doing,” a deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

Latoya turned, and there he was. Up close, Bruce Wayne was even more striking—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes. He had the presence of a man who was used to being the most powerful person in any room, but there was something else beneath the surface, something heavier. She ignored it.

“I’d hope so, Mr. Wayne,” she replied coolly. “I’ve been doing this long enough.”

His lips twitched, as if amused. “That’s a shame. You seem a little too sharp to be waiting tables.”

Latoya’s fingers curled slightly around the tray. She had heard variations of this before—from men who thought they were charming, men who believed a girl like her should be flattered by their attention. She wasn’t.

“Pays the bills,” she said simply, shifting her weight in preparation to move on.

Before Bruce could respond, a sharp voice cut in. “Excuse me, waiter, I need another glass of wine.”

Latoya turned to see a woman in a designer gown, holding out an empty crystal flute with a practiced air of entitlement. She didn’t even look at Latoya, her manicured fingers twitching impatiently.

Latoya had barely reached for the glass when the woman took an awkward step, her heel catching on the hem of her dress. The movement sent her wobbling, and in the process, she knocked into Latoya’s tray. A glass of champagne toppled forward—straight onto Bruce Wayne’s pristine suit.

Gasps rippled through the nearby guests.

Latoya’s stomach clenched. She had dealt with difficult situations before, but spilling champagne on one of Gotham’s most powerful men wasn’t something she could brush off.

The woman who caused the spill looked scandalized. “You idiot!” she snapped, her embarrassment twisting into anger. “Do you have any idea how much that suit costs?”

Latoya braced herself for Bruce’s reaction. She expected irritation at best, a condescending remark at worst. What she didn’t expect was the easy chuckle that left his lips.

“It’s just champagne,” he said, dabbing his lapel with a napkin. “No harm done.”

Latoya blinked, momentarily thrown by his indifference. Most men here would have turned the moment into a spectacle, using it as an opportunity to demean her. But Bruce had barely reacted.

“You handled that well,” he remarked, looking at her again with that same quiet intensity.

Latoya arched a brow. “I’m used to it.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly. “Then I imagine you have some interesting stories about nights like this.”

Latoya hesitated. The idea of swapping stories with Bruce Wayne felt absurd. But there was something disarming about the way he said it, as if he actually cared to hear what she had to say.

Still, she kept her tone guarded. “Plenty. But I doubt they’d interest you.”

Bruce smiled. “Try me.”

The night wound down, the music growing softer as the crowd began to thin. Latoya finished stacking empty glasses at the catering station when she felt it again—that quiet presence, that gaze that was neither predatory nor dismissive.

Bruce Wayne was still here.

She should have ignored him. Should have kept her head down and gone about her business. But instead, she found herself crossing the room, approaching him with an ease that surprised her.

“Mr. Wayne,” she said, tilting her head. “Still here?”

He smirked. “I could say the same about you.”

“Work isn’t done yet.”

Bruce nodded, as if that answer made perfect sense. “So, about those stories…”

Latoya exhaled, shaking her head with amusement. “Fine. You want a story?” She leaned slightly against the bar, feigning nonchalance. “Last year, I worked an event for a foreign diplomat. His security was strict, which meant we had to follow every protocol to the letter. But one of the guests—a man with more money than common sense—decided he didn’t like the wine selection. He thought bribing me would get him a special bottle.”

Bruce raised a brow. “And did it?”

Latoya scoffed. “I don’t take bribes. So I told him I’d check with my manager.” She smirked. “Instead, I told security he was acting suspiciously. They dragged him out in front of everyone.”

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Latoya studied him for a moment before giving a small, genuine smile. For the first time all evening, she wasn’t looking at Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy. She was looking at someone who—despite everything—felt a little more real than the rest of them.

She wasn’t sure what to make of that yet.

But she had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time they spoke.

The soft chime of the diner’s bell rang as the door swung open, ushering in a cold breeze from Gotham’s dimly lit streets. Latoya barely looked up from where she was stacking menus behind the counter. Late-night shifts at Penny’s Diner were quiet, save for the occasional police officer grabbing coffee or a trucker stopping in for a meal. She liked it that way—less noise, fewer entitled rich folks.

So when she glanced up and saw Bruce Wayne stepping through the door, she nearly dropped the menus.

He was out of place here. The low hum of an old radio, the cracked linoleum floors, the smell of grease and burnt coffee—it was the opposite of the glittering ballroom from the gala. Yet there he was, wearing a casual dark coat over his broad frame, looking around as if he had been here before.

Her fingers tightened on the menus as she exhaled, steadying herself. This was too much of a coincidence. Gotham’s richest man didn’t just stumble into diners like this. He had come here for a reason.

For her.

“Table for one?” she asked, schooling her expression into something unreadable.

Bruce smiled slightly. “Seems that way.”

He sat comfortably, glancing at the menu even though she doubted he had any real intention of ordering.

"You know, there are about fifty high-end cafés between here and Wayne Tower."

"And yet, here I am."

She narrowed her eyes. “Right. And you just so happened to end up at Penny’s Diner out of the other cafes?”

His smirk deepened. “Maybe I was in the neighborhood.”

Latoya let out a quiet scoff. “Uh-huh.”

Bruce chuckled, but she didn’t return his smile. He was persistent, she’d give him that. He waited as she took an order, slid a plate across the counter, and filled another cup. Only then did she sigh and finally meet his eyes.

A beat of silence stretched between them before Bruce leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright, you got me. I wanted to see you again.”

Latoya’s lips pressed together. She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or irritated. “You could’ve just said that instead of pretending to enjoy bad coffee.”

Bruce chuckled. “Fair point.”

She studied him for a moment before sighing and pulling out her notepad. “Fine. Since you’re here, what do you want?”

Bruce pretended to think. “What do you recommend?”

Latoya arched her brow. “Leaving.”

He laughed, and to her surprise, it was a genuine, warm sound. Something about it made her chest tighten. She had met all kinds of men—arrogant, entitled, manipulative. Bruce was different. He was still a billionaire, still part of the world that looked down on people like her, but… there was something else there. Something real.

“You’re not making this easy, are you?” he asked, still smiling.

“I don’t make anything easy,” she replied, but there was the smallest hint of amusement in her tone.

The scent of stale coffee and the hum of the diner faded into the background as Latoya stared at Bruce, his presence tugging at something buried deep within her. Her grip tightened around the notepad, and for a fleeting moment, she was no longer in Penny’s Diner—she was eight years old again, sitting at a wobbly kitchen table under the dim flicker of a dying lightbulb. That was the night she first learned that kindness didn’t put food on the table.

Flashback: Crime Alley

Her parents had been good people. Hardworking, honest—too honest. They had come to Gotham hoping for something better, only to end up scraping by in a rundown apartment in what is now known as Crime Alley. Her father, Lawrence, worked three jobs, while her mother, Elise, took shifts wherever she could—cleaning houses, waiting tables, anything to keep the lights on.

But no matter how hard they worked, it was never enough.

She remembered one night in particular. The fridge had been nearly empty, and Lawrence had come home later than usual, his knuckles bruised. Elise had wanted to take him to the clinic, but they couldn’t afford the bill. Instead, they sat at the table in the dim light, pretending everything was fine.

Latoya had watched them, her small hands curled into fists under the table. She hated it—the struggle, the helplessness. She had promised herself that night that she would never be weak. Never be in a position where someone else could decide if she ate or not.

And she had kept that promise.

Back to the Present

Bruce was still watching her, waiting for a response.

Latoya exhaled and tucked the notepad back into her apron. “Fine. I’ll get you some coffee. But don’t expect me to refill it.”

Bruce grinned. “I’ll take what I can get.”

As she walked away, she realized something unsettling.

She didn’t mind that he had come looking for her.

Bruce didn’t stop at one visit. Over the following weeks, he returned to Penny’s Diner often—sometimes late at night, sometimes in the quiet mornings before the city had fully woken. At first, Latoya treated his presence with the same wary skepticism as before, but slowly, the edges softened.

Their conversations became longer. What started as casual banter turned into something deeper. Bruce asked about her past, her ambitions, the things she cared about. He listened in a way that felt intentional, as if he genuinely wanted to know her, not just impress her.

One evening, as he walked her home from her shift, she caught herself saying something she hadn’t meant to share.

"You know, I used to sit on the rooftops as a kid, watching the lights come on across the city. My mom hated it—said I was asking for trouble. But up there, everything felt... smaller. Like Gotham wasn’t so heavy."

Bruce glanced at her. "You still do it?"

She hesitated. "No. Feels different now. Less like freedom, more like keeping watch."

She regretted the words immediately. It was too much, too personal. But Bruce didn’t press, didn’t smirk like he had figured her out. He just nodded, as if he understood. And for some reason, that made her feel more exposed than if he had asked a dozen questions.

Their dates were never extravagant. Bruce seemed to know that expensive restaurants and luxury gifts wouldn’t impress her. Instead, they met at quiet spots—late-night diners, bookstores with hidden corners, and even the park when the city felt too suffocating. They shared stories, childhood memories, regrets, and dreams neither had dared to say aloud before.

One night, as they sat in his car overlooking the city, Bruce asked, “If you could do anything, no limitations, what would it be?”

Latoya thought for a moment before answering, “Help people. Kids like me who never got a fair shot.”

Bruce turned his gaze to her, something unreadable in his expression. “You already do.”

She scoffed lightly. “Serving coffee and carrying trays isn’t exactly changing the world.”

“You see people. You care. That’s more than most.”

For the first time, she didn’t have a retort.

She just looked at him and realized she was falling for Bruce Wayne.

The streets of Gotham were alive with their usual nocturnal energy—distant sirens wailing, muffled music spilling from clubs, the low hum of conversation from people lingering outside high-end restaurants. Latoya had long since learned to navigate the city’s dual nature, where wealth and crime existed side by side, often indistinguishable from one another.

She had finished her shift at the Wayne gala nearly an hour ago, but instead of heading straight home, she found herself walking through the city, letting the cool night air ground her. The encounter with Bruce Wayne still lingered in her mind, which irritated her more than she cared to admit.

Men like him didn’t occupy her thoughts. They existed in a world separate from hers, no matter how much they pretended otherwise.

Yet, for all his wealth and reputation, he hadn’t acted like the other men at that gala. No lingering looks meant to make her uncomfortable. No condescending remarks meant to remind her of her place. And then there was the way he had laughed off the champagne spill—easy, unbothered, like it hadn’t mattered at all.

It made no sense.

Lost in thought, she barely registered the group of men loitering near the alleyway up ahead until she was almost too close to adjust her path. Their laughter was low and sharp-edged, the kind that made her instincts bristle. Three of them, maybe four. All dressed too casually for this part of the city, their postures loose, waiting for something—perhaps someone.

Latoya exhaled through her nose, keeping her stride even. She wasn’t new to this. She knew how to handle herself. If they were looking for trouble, they wouldn’t find an easy target in her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” one of them called as she passed. “You look a little lost.”

Latoya didn’t even glance in their direction. She knew better than to engage. Attention encouraged ego, and ego was dangerous when mixed with the wrong kind of man.

But just as she thought she had cleared them, another voice—lower, more deliberate—cut through the night.

“Not even a smile? That’s cold.”

She tensed, her fingers twitching at her sides. Still, she kept walking.

“Latoya.”

She froze.

That wasn’t possible. None of them should have known her name.

She turned just enough to get a better look at the speaker. He was lean, sharp-featured, with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Recognition struck like a hammer.

“Kane.”

The last time she had seen him, she had been a teenager, barely scraping by in Gotham’s underbelly. Back then, Kane had been just another street hustler, someone who knew how to work the system well enough to avoid serious trouble.

Now, he looked… sharper. More dangerous. The casual arrogance remained, but there was something else in his stance—confidence backed by power.

“I was starting to think you forgot about us,” he said, taking a slow step forward. His companions shifted, subtly closing in.

Latoya kept her face unreadable. "Just trying to make a living."

Kane exhaled smoke slowly. "Ran into Roscoe the other day. Remember him? Tried to go straight, got himself a real job. Funny thing, though—he’s back in Gotham now. Working for me."

She didn’t let her expression slip, but her pulse quickened. The message was clear: No one leaves.

Latoya’s stomach tightened, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she shoved her hands in her pockets and smirked. “Guess some people just can’t stay away.”

Kane chuckled, but his eyes stayed cold. “Guess not.”

A prickle of unease crept up her spine, but she forced herself to stay still, to keep her breathing steady. “What do you want?” 

Kane tilted his head. “Just catching up. Seeing how an old friend is doing.” His gaze flicked over her, assessing. “You clean up nice. Catering now, huh? Funny, didn’t picture you as the type to serve drinks to men who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.” 

Latoya clenched her jaw but refused to rise to the bait. “Didn’t picture you as the type to still be running with gutter trash, but here we are.” 

The men around him bristled, but Kane merely laughed. “Still got that mouth on you.” His amusement faded slightly, his expression turning speculative. “You always did know how to survive. I respect that.” 

She didn’t respond, her muscles coiled tight. She needed to end this conversation before it veered into something more dangerous. 

Kane watched her for a long moment before exhaling through his nose. “Alright. I won’t keep you. But if you ever get tired of playing the good girl, you know where to find me.”

She turned and walked off, but the tension coiled in her stomach didn’t ease. She kept her steps even, but her eyes scanned the reflections in shop windows, the movement in her peripheral vision. She wasn’t being followed—yet. But she knew better than to assume she was in the clear.

Her fingers twitched toward her phone. She could call Bruce. But then what? Ask for help? No. She wasn’t that person. Not yet.

Instead, she slipped into a crowded bus station and took the long way home, making sure no one followed.

[ohnococo]

Between Water and Wind | Satoru Gojo x F!Reader

“He’s not good for you, baby.” You don’t say anything to that, there’s no reason to. He knows you don’t need to be told that, he knows the same things everyone knows. That Sukuna cheats on you, that he barely tries to hide it, that he’d lose his mind if he knew that you did the same.

Sukuna isn't good for you, you know this, Gojo knows this. You can't leave him though, so instead you'll seek comfort in Gojo's arms in secret, even as he asks you to want better for yourself.

Warnings: angst, unhealthy relationship, cheating (both getting cheated on and cheating), Toxic!BF Sukuna, vaginal sex, crying, revenge sex, pining gojo

WC: 1.2k

Satoru Gojo can never stop running his mouth. You’ve loved it in the past, laughing at his antics, giving him the same back, but it’s the last thing you want right now.

“He’s not good for you, baby.”

You don’t say anything to that, there’s no reason to. He knows you don’t need to be told that, he knows the same things everyone knows. That Sukuna cheats on you, that he barely tries to hide it, that he’d lose his mind if he knew that you did the same. It’s different for you, though. You would have never done it if he hadn’t cheated on you first, and you didn’t do it. Not the first time he cheated at least, nor the second, but the third was the last straw for you. You’ve stopped counting at this point, because you know for every one you find out about - by going through his phone, or being told by a friend, or just knowing he’s lying about where he is and what he’s doing - that there must be more. Now you just take the heartbreak, knowing you’ll go where you always end up when he does it again:

In Satoru’s room, fucking all your worries away, if only for a moment.

“I am.” He looks up at you, pleading, before your pussy squeezing at his cock has him burying his face in your chest again, moans barely muffled for a moment before he’s back to begging you for more with those icy eyes. “I’ll be so good to you. So, so good.”

Sometimes he saves this for afterwards, when he’s made you cum until you’re almost convinced fucking him behind Sukuna’s back is an appropriate form of vengeance, even if he doesn’t know about it because he can’t. When he’s tracing patterns over your bare skin, almost pouting as he tells you all the reasons why you have to leave Sukuna. It makes it easier to snap out of that warm afterglow. The pit in your stomach that forms at the thought of trying to be without Sukuna helps push away that budding affection you try to ignore for Satoru.

Because it’s not easy. It’s far, far too complicated, and Satoru just can’t understand it. For him it’s obvious: Sukuna is a bad man. Sukuna hurts the people he cares about. Sukuna doesn’t even care that he’s doing it. So he hates him.

Unfortunately, the math doesn’t quite work out the same for you. You’d never felt as awful as Sukuna made you feel, but you’d also never felt as good, because when he loves he does it with his whole body. His whole soul. Like there’s no option other than being bound together forever because it would always be you. You didn’t think you could live a life where you didn’t get to bask under his glow when he happened to see fit.

Satoru almost makes you think you could, though. Especially like this, with his cock buried deep, because he’s got to fill you with as much of his love as you’ll let him, and this is the only time you let him. In secret, in the centre of his bed and on his lap, rocking your hips against him while he holds you close and pleads his case. He’s pleading your case too, really.

“He’s never gonna change… I’d never do that to you.”

You thought he understood what this was. That you couldn’t leave Sukuna. That you couldn’t even stand up to him. It was why you were sneaking around behind his back, seeking a hollow replica of strength to make up for how weak you were to him just as much as you were seeking comfort for what he kept doing to you.

The fact that Satoru let you seduce him time and again, knowing he was already yours from the day you met, wasn’t a revelation you could take. Not while he was thrusting up into you like that, wet mouth kissing and sucking on your breasts as he pleads and pleads until he’s breathless. He tells you every single time that he’s waiting for that moment, and would keep waiting for that moment, but you can’t let it come no matter how often he picks up the pieces Sukuna’s actions leave you in.

It makes you weaker, it makes you cry, and your tears are hot as they roll down your cheeks. You tilt your head back as you moan, hoping Satoru won’t notice and will assume your gentle trembling is just the orgasm that was steadily approaching as he fucks you tenderly. His perception is keen, though. Especially when it comes to this.

“See? He makes you cry.” He kisses at your tears as they reach your jawline, unable to unwrap his arms from you to wipe them away as he had so many times before. “You can’t love someone who makes you cry.”

He knows that’s not true. Unfortunately, so do you.

“I’ll never make you cry, I promise.”

He was already breaking that promise, but you can’t tell him that. You were hurting enough for the both of you, enough for Sukuna too because you know why he’s the way he is, even if Satoru won’t hear it. He won’t hear a lot of the things you tell him, or the things you tell yourself. He’s only listening for certain words from you: that you’ll leave Sukuna, that you want him instead, that you love...

You can’t even think it, much less say it, and you can’t hear anymore of his pleas while you were so close - so you tangle your hand in his soft hair and pull him into your crushing kiss. Deep enough to make his talking stop, deep enough to make your tears flow faster. It doesn’t matter right now though, with Satoru throbbing inside of you. He lets go of you for the first time since you’d entered his home, only to bring his hand between your bodies to slide skillful fingers at your bundle of nerves, and you’re breathing each other in as you let sounds instead of words convey your feelings.

It borders on too much, like it always does, body clenching, milking him dry, til you’re shaking and panting and able to push all of your worries aside for one brief moment with Satoru Gojo.

But all of the things that don’t matter right now will in due time. The confidence Satoru has in thinking he could pry Sukuna from under your skin if he tries hard enough. The glimpse of your heart that you give him even when you’ll have to hide it away again because it’s not his. The lies you tell Sukuna when you leave to see him, much more believable than the lies he tells you - if only because he wouldn’t even dream that you would do to him even half of what he’s done to you. And he’s right, in a way. He would lie, cheat, ruin you heart and soul, but he would never ever go and fall in love with anyone but you.

All of these things will catch up to you eventually, because Satoru Gojo can never stop running his mouth.

You know this, and it makes you scared for Satoru. It makes you scared for yourself.

[xxswagcorexx]

ouaghhh,,.., holy shit do you have any high school alternate universe swagdoons,… 🥲

hi anon :D i am going to be real i don't read many high school aus but here's some that i enjoyed!

do you want somebody like i want somebody by treacherouna

Reddoons was never really someone for romance. Every time he thought about it, he didn't really see the appeal — and it's not like people haven't tried to get him to understand either, he's plenty attractive and he knows it, but he always thought that he'd much prefer them as friends than as romantic partners. Ash was just the new person in his class this year, with nothing standout about him, but from the moment Red first saw him he knew he was a goner.

prodigious birth of love it is to me / that i must love a loathed enemy by cheese_n_crack

The obligatory Theatre Kids AU, because Lifesteal needs more cliché fics. Or, Ash hates the new kid. Things go wrong very quickly.

TUSSLE! by starbamnk

“AUGH, RED-” “How d’you like that, bitch!” Red cheered as he struggled to find his voice again, fighting against Red's grip. “Red,” Ash managed, halfway between laughing and coughing, his face flushed from his lack of air. “Fuckin’ a- OW- asshole, you're choking me-!” “WHATTTTT-” - Spep misinterprets a situation, and Ash thinks it might just be the end of the world.

also here's some extras that are. Really stretching high school aus and swagdoons

digital in reciprocation by Anonymous (swagdoons only appear on like. 1 ch but they're super fun sooooo)

In Branzy's mind, there's that image again: Rasplin, engulfed in flames, still as if watching, and the burn scar in the linoleum floor he skirted around for days. Parrot's fist, about to make contact with his face. The red ink on the double doors. But Clown just laughs, in that same hollow way he had talked about vengeance and justice. "Oh Branzy, you don't have a choice in this!"

carry me to tomorrow by Anonymous (well they're not in high school but they are teenagers in this fic so.)

Ash chooses to trust himself to the unwavering night.

[frozenwolftemplar]

Flash Fiction Friday 2/7

Really, really liked the prompt this week! Such a fun one and perfect for Tangled: the Series! Thanks be to @flashfictionfridayofficial for putting this together!💙

Title: Vigilance

Fandom: Tangled: the Series

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Word Count: 991 (just under the wire!)

"…Taking the reliquary in her gauntleted hand, the Lady Mizara threw it with all her might down upon the stone table, causing it to smash into a hundred thousand pieces with a shriek that echoed back to the Days of Mages. A smoke smelling of incense billowed up, thick and purple as the night of a monarch's death, twisting and curling into the shape of a skeletal wraith. Wailing a vengeance of the ages, it reached its spindly fingers towards Mizara, but she did not flinch, standing steady as she held the creature's hollow gaze. As the legend foretold, the table's magic held, and as the wraith's vaporous hand extend beyond its borders, a light burst forth from the slate, so blinding Mizara threw up an arm to shield her face. When she lowered it, all trace of the demon and reliquary was gone, save for a piece, smaller than your thumbnail, of Zhan Tiri's horn. She touched a finger to it, intending to bring it to the Queen as proof of the demon's exorcism from the kingdom. At once it turned to ash and though the air was as still as a tomb, it blew away."

“Whoa…” Eyes wide, Cass let the image Xavier’s words conjured, of the dauntless lady knight staring unafraid at the unholy demon she had been tasked with banishing as it met its well-deserved demise, wash over her. Stars leapt into her eyes. She already knew she wanted to be like her dad when she grew up, but Lady Mizara, slayer of demons and protector against Dark Magicks, was a close second. "Then what? Is that the end?"

"Stories never truly have ends, Cassandra." The old blacksmith smiled enigmatically at Cassandra over his shoulder before turning back to the sword glowing a bright orangey-red in the mouth of his forge. “Some say that truly was the end of Zhan Tiri, for him nor his disciples were ever heard from again. Others, though, believe that he is still out there, the ashes of his essence taking life in the form of storms and plagues and jealous cinders in your eye. They say that even now he is working in ways that are invisible to mortal eyes to weaken Corona so one day he may strike again. Which is why, young Cassandra-“ his tone suddenly became serious as he looked away from the sword, now yellow as the sun, once again. “You must be vigilant for any signs of his darkness, for he knows how to find fertile grounds for his evil, in places one would never think to guard.”

Cass shivered despite the heat blazing from Xavier's forge, fisting a hand around the hilt of the dagger tucked in her belt, as though to ready herself should the legendary demon come leaping out from underneath the bench she was sitting on. Her dad had told her Xavier’s tales were just that: tales, with as much truth to them as Captain William’s story about the time he went fishing and hooked an honest-to-goodness mermaid (which also weren’t real, according to her dad), and he was surely right (he always was). But the way Xavier told them, the daring knights and wicked monsters and kings and queens by turns wise and foolish that danced off his tongue, they sure felt real.

Like if she shut her eyes and listened past the sounds of the city outside Xavier’s door, they’d come alive and Lady Mizara herself would come striding into the forge, cape flapping behind her, and say that she needed a squire for her next demon-slaying adventure and yes, this girl- here she’d point her finger at Cassandra and cock a complacent grin- this girl would be perfect, and in the name of king and country Cass would jump off her bench and Mizara would say-

“Cass, time to go.”

Cass snapped open her eyes and whipped towards the voice, cheeks turning as red as the warming sword when she saw not Lady Mizara in the doorway but her dad. ”Yes Dad.” Hopping off the bench, Cass waved good-bye to Xavier and fell into step with her dad as he turned towards High Street and home.

”Have fun, sweetie?”

”Uh-huh.” Cass nodded, curls bouncing.

”Didn’t bother Xavier too much?”

”No. He told me a story. ‘Bout the old days and Zhan Tiri.”

”Ah.” Her dad nodded, then looked at Cass critically. “…You know those are just stories, right?”

”Yes dad.” Cass answered without a trace of doubt as she rolled her eyes. “I know.”

Because here in the bustling city, her dad the Captain standing tall beside her, and feet trip-trapping over cobbled streets, the stories became just that again: stories. She would keep vigilant, as Xavier said, but for highwaymen and smugglers and bandits who were idiots and tried to make off with some farmer’s branded cows, not ancient demons seeking to sow hate and strife.

Only a fool would guard against something that wasn't real.

*****

"I'm a friend." The ghostly girl smiled sweetly up at Cass, as though those three simple words encompassed the entirety of her identity, then turned. "Now come." She beckoned Cass to follow her further into the woods. "I have something to show you."

From where she stood in the glade the cursed door in this cursed seashell-house had led her to, Cass frowned after her, not lowering the sword she'd reflexively brandished at the phantasm, eyes narrowed suspiciously. There was something…off about all this: the vaguely familiar wood, the light that had blinded her when she first opened the door, the girl, incorporeal, blue, and dressed like nobility from a few hundred years back, and refusing to give her name, just-

A friend.

She mentally scoffed. Yeah, right. She had bigger problems, like finding Rapunzel and a way out of this madhouse. Still…

The sword tip lowered consideringly.

…No harm in hearing this kid out.

She sheathed her sword and followed.

[morgana-ren]

What would gortash and Durge be like in bed?? I always like to imagine a on the path to redemption Durge, who is perhaps slightly more submissive now than they were. Allowing Gortash to absolutely be the rough dominating tyrant he is. No touching, no whimpering, no begging no nothing without his permission. Sit there in some tacky gold chains and warm his cock. If he ever so much as feels that cunt of yours twitch he's denying you for the rest of the night.

Be a good girl, get on your knees under his desk and Open that mouth. let him rest his cock on your tongue while he does some paperwork. Ah ah, no noise, no swallowing, he needs to concentrate.

I think before the mindflayer parasite there whole dynamic was alot more blood and teeth, both fighting for control, but now he gets to have them how ever he wants with all the control. Finds their attempt at being good a little pathetic but their memory loss makes them oh so vulnerable and gives him the perfect opportunity to sink those manipulative claws deep.

They wouldn't drop to their knees for him then, but they will now. He'll make sure of it.

Oh, before the parasite? It would have been a show.

Two powerhouses; the deserved chosen and avatars of Gods-- Rival Gods. Sex is power, and it is a struggle-- it is a fucking fight at the best of times, and the bedroom was an arena between two titans vying for complete and total dominance. Neither would kneel or bend for the other. They would take and claw and battle for the right-- and it's always a stalemate that ends with blood on the bedsheets and one swearing vengeance for underhanded trickery to their cackling counterpart.

Banites do not kneel before Bhaalists; Bhaalists do not bend for Banites. Both command an unyielding air of dominance. Around and around and around it goes. You only get what you can make them give you, and boy, is it convoluted when two mortal bodies want nothing but to sink fang, claw, and cock into each other but the Gods looming behind them demand acquiescence.

Oh, it was great fun for Gortash. There's something simply charming about having a bedfellow comprised of stone and steel and iron will that would not bow before his command. A never-ending game where the prize is always just out of reach-- just beyond the slip of his fingers. He found his consolation prize on the occasions he was able to force her on hand and knee and swaddle himself deep in the confines of her tight, wet body, the furious fires of her rage only serving to warm him with every merciless cant of his hips.

--Yet, there is something so overwhelmingly blissful about the victory of finally cradling her newfound vulnerability in the palm of his metal-laden fingers.

Fire and fury and death incarnate though she may be, she is as a lost little lamb on exile from her flock. Her shepherd has abandoned her, and so she wanders back listlessly to the last place she felt known-- straight into his grasp.

She is a weapon, honed to a fine edge, and there will be matters to attend to later, but for now, he intends to savor his victory.

She remembers little of herself, and knows even less, but he is more than happy to fill in the blanks of her memory-- rewritten to his whims, of course. Poor dear, so lost and alone, it must have been terrible. Those urges that claw and shred at your insides, being shorn of your sanity little by little as it skelters lost behind you, blown about by tumultuous winds of your profane blood.

He will keep her safe and secure, his hand to Bane-- but she must do as he says. Doesn't she trust him? Isn't he the only one she trusts? The only constant she remembers even as her memory was cruelly lobotomized and hollowed away? Surely there is some part of her that knows she can trust him. Is that not why she found him again?

She may not remember, but her body certainly does. She no longer fights the cries caught in her throat, nor does she stiffen the exquisite arch of her back. She takes him without guilt-- without fear of reprisal-- and it is something marvelous to behold.

She is unchiseled marble; an eager, emphatic little thing he shall turn into his own personal work of art through tender hand and discipline. Her mind is a blank book and he shall fill in the pages as he sees fit. As he has cared for her, she too shall care for him to his precise needs. He will make sure of that.

There is something utterly intoxicating about taming a pure predator. She will take him into her mouth but she wouldn't dare bite down to gnash at his flesh. She will not snarl or snap as he wraps a hand around her exposed throat and squeezes. She will not retaliate with claw when he strikes her and warns her to watch her tongue. She only nods, raw need and desire exposed like a tender nerve now that her scales have been shed away.

The golden collar is a gift. A reward for being such a good girl. After all, she always was, wasn't she? She has picked up excellently right where they left off, and she is so proud as he clasps it around her neck. Never mind the chain, my love, it is there to ensure you are safe; that you do not stray too far from where he might protect you.

She takes to her lessons like an obedient pup, and she doesn't seem to notice as the chain becomes shorter and shorter still.

He could not have imagined the resplendence of the sight of her eagerly on her knees, looking up at him with doe eyes and a wet, slack lip, and surely Bane must be pleased as he feels glory lapped upon him as a wave washes over sand. Bhaal's only beloved daughter turned into a concubine of Bane. He uses her in every blasphemous way that his mind can conceive of-- and he is a man of remarkable mental capability.

He has become adept at penning a missive as he cradles her in his lap, and she remains hushed with a perfect, practiced silence as she rides him slow and deep. He cannot have distractions, after all, and if she slips and becomes a little too emphatic, he corrects the behavior swiftly. He is so terribly proud of her ability to take him well into the hollow of her throat, suckling and laving through his throbs. He is expressionless and cold and she has learned to tell from body language alone when to slow her wicked tongue and when to drive herself to gagging.

He had always craved to have her in unconventional ways-- ways she would not entertain when she was of sound mind, how degrading-- and when he now demands she bend for him and beg him to take her there, she does. Her squeals and cries through bitten lip are wondrous, but the way she begins to steadily grind back against him, coaxing his fingers to fist in her hair or encircle her throat, begging him harder and deeper and to make a mess of her is his crowning glory. He practically ruts her ass into dust, driving her into the mattress in his unrelenting lustful haze until the noise surely reaches Waterdeep.

This proud creature brought to ruin just to serve him.

His, his, only his. Any way he needs her, any way he wants her.

There are still bits and pieces of her inside her rattled mind. Dusty remnants of a malevolent, domineering life once lived. The way her tongue swipes across her teeth to lick the crimson from ivory after he 'corrects' her. The flash of fire in her eyes when he commands her about, ripping her back by the hair until she cries in ecstasy from his treatment. The snarl of indignance as he tugs at her chain, demanding she crawl on hand and knee to placate him--

--and he would have it no other way.

A prize easily won is no true prize, and the beloved blood of Bhaal is his pride and joy. She is a lioness, and he would not see her forget it. He taunts and teases her to snapping only to put her back in her place at his feet once more. He stokes those fires deliberately, only to suffocate them with his presence to remind her that she breathes for him and him alone.

His perfect pleasure vessel-- and perhaps more. It's so terribly hard to think as she whines and croons beneath him, demanding more and more of him as he withholds deliberately. His spoiled, bratty little cockdrunk darling has forgone her throne of blood to sit her exalted behind somewhere far more convenient and pleasurable to him.

Still, she must be kept in line. She takes far too easily to demanding. A hissed word, a few bruises and a bit of blood leaves her glassy-eyed and pliable once more. Open legs, open mouth, open heart.

Oh, her daddy would be so utterly humiliated if he could see the things the Banite makes her scream for. Sometimes, Gortash hopes he can.

[dark-rider-pr]

Riders of Fallen Dawn: Day 176

(introduction to the world)

AO3 link here

Rating: T Words: 1,325 Warnings: minor amount of sweaaring

Sabine reflects on how she got into the position she was in now, in a community, helping to keep so many people alive. I'm posting the introduction chapter here but if you;d like all chapters from the Halloween prompt month also on here let me know!

The coughing was probably the worst part of being in the apocalypse. 

Sabine’s lungs were failing, not because of the virus she had yet to contract nor is it because of the nuclear winter that was to roll in from Europe, but because of asthma. Fucking asthma. 

The End of Days was supposed to be done by them, the Dark Riders. They were meant to destroy the world, their true forms free to dance in the ruins of cities, breathing in air that was tainted with Garnok’s magic. Now? Now, Sabine could barely breathe normal magic-less air as her lungs spasmed. 

She shook the inhaler for ten seconds, or close enough because who really counts that when you’re having a fit, and on an inhale, pressed the can down. Inhaling the steroids helped open the organs back up and, whilst she could do without the shakes afterwards, the coughing stopped.

Her body, her mortal shell, was dying and there probably weren't enough people left in the world for her or her siblings to do another reincarnation cycle. 

The virus, called Aideen’s Curse (or Jorvik Rabies by the rest of the world), targeted magic users. As such, the druids at the start of the ordeal targeted the Dark Riders, blaming them for the virus when in fact…it might have been their precious Soul Riders. 

It’s merely hearsay at this point but the correlation between the Soul Riders and the Reincarnate disappearing whilst patient zero, Evergray, returned back to Valedale Village. Garnok would just pollute the world, turning it into a chaos realm that might also be viewed as a zombie apocalypse but this? No, this wasn’t Garnok. Or Sands. Or Darko before he was lost to Pandoria. Or even the Dark Riders themselves. 

The backbone of Dark Core wouldn’t shoot themselves in the foot by making a virus that forced you to suppress your magic. 

Sabine tried to stand up but her legs quickly wobbled and she fell back down on the bed. She was weak and weakness meant death in their world.

To starve a fire, you must deprive it of oxygen. That was what her body was doing to her in vengeance for denying her magical existence. But if the Dark Riders wanted to find the Soul Riders, the Light Ceremony Book and then free both Erissa and Garnok…it’s just what they’ll have to live with. 

Wind rattled the repurposed shipping container she was living in at the Valley Community, the cut out windows shaking from the force of the blizzard. Insulation foam had been sprayed on the inside and wood had been applied to give some sort of protection from the cold. There was a cheap electronic heater near her bed to provide some warmth but all Sabine really wanted was to let her magic out. She missed the way the fire raged inside, how alive she felt. 

Though Khaan was her silent steed, the Dark Rider knew he missed the fire as well. He was a little slower than their usual breakneck pace but thankfully, he wasn’t lame. Nor was Acerbus and Mortifa for that matter. The self imposed curse that the Dark Riders had put on themselves had avoided their horses and for all the magic left in the world, they thanked it.

Sabine curled up on her side, pulling the blankets and duvet back over her body as she watched the storm, thinking and mulling over what she knew. 

Could she risk just a little bit of flame?

No, unless she wanted to become a beacon for the Hollow Wood horde to try and break into the Hidden Valley. Not even Katja, someone that came from the Valley, part of its magical ecosystem in a way, wanted to risk it.

Magic users, especially strong ones, if bitten, would turn into “horde leaders”. They would guide the mindless infected, letting them feed off their magic until there was nothing left, allowing for a new leader to step up and take the role of zombie martyr. The only horde leader to not be eaten by its own compatriots was Evergray but he was a special case: the only stage 6. Well, technically, he was in a league of his own.

There was a knock at the door before it was pulled open against the wind, two figures stepping in and stomping their shoes to get rid of snow before pulling down their scarves around their faces. Sabine didn’t need to see their faces to know it’s her siblings. 

“Hey,” she croaked out, coughing a couple of times as she sat up. 

“Dr. Eiren said she could hear you coughing from a mile away,” Jay teased, putting their GED jacked up on a coat rack on the wall. “Wanted to check on you herself but a riding party came back looking rough.”

Sabine sat up, tossing her hair out of her face in concern. 

“Was anyone bitten?” 

“That’s what she’s checking for right now,” Katja said as undid her braid, running her hair through her fingers. “Shift over, it’s cold.” 

“No wonder you keep coughing so bad,” tacked on Jay, shuddering.

Sabine shifted so her back was pressed up against the wall, her knees tucked to her chest as she held back another coughing fit. Both Jay and Katja had stripped their snow covered outer layers and squeezed to sit beside their sister, tugging blankets over their laps and shoulders. 

The funny thing about the end of the world was how close people had gotten. It had always been the Dark Riders against the world but there were always jabs, sharp eyes and claws waiting to find and manipulate weaknesses. If Sabine had become as sick as she was now a year ago, Katja and Jay would be jostling to become top General. But now, with all three battling chronic illnesses, they had become…well…siblings again. Sure, there was still the rough housing but they had one another’s backs. It was just like when they were children, before Garnok, their Ascension and subsequent exile. 

It did mean that the sting of Erissa’s disappearance had worsened. 

The trio sat in silence, watching the blizzard continue until there was a beep and a voice coming through Sabine’s walkie-talkie. 

“Great,” the Dark Rider huffed. 

“I’ll get it. I’m closer,” Katja cut in, sliding off the bed to grab the device and toss it. 

Sabine caught it with one hand, pressing the necessary button. 

“What? Over.” 

The crackled voice of Justin echoed through the container and Jay rolled their eyes. Out of all the people in the community, Justin was one of the most irritating, mind numbing mortals they had to interact with…

Saying that though, his brief stint on the team meant he actually knew how to work with them.

“Loretta said she saw Ydris out by the manor. Lucid and alive. Sands wants you to head out once the blizzard is done. Over.”

“Yeah, and I’d like a fresh set of acrylics but that’s not gonna happen. We just finished a ride two days ago. Over.”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I don’t like it either. Over and out.” 

Katja tactfully took the walkie talkie out of Sabine’s hand before she threw it, putting it gently on the floor. 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to try and find him,” Jay asked, playing with the dead ends of their hair. 

“Preferably on his own, miles away from a horde. He’s…he…” Sabine groaned, her hands clawing at the air in frustration. “We’re out here killing ourselves to not become a target and yet, he struts about like there isn’t some magical zombie virus.” 

The silver haired rider tutted. 

“Shame we don’t have magic…I still want to make that traitor whimper.”

“Mm, ditto. Every time he calls me ‘little dove’ I have the intense urge to stab him. Repeatedly.” Jay gave a harsh chuckle. “On the brighter side, he’s not a horde leader.”