#I know there's supposed to be food on the table

[plainclothesdisaster]

Danny opens the door to his apartment to find one Jason Todd on his doormat, knuckles raised as if about to knock, tupperware in hand. Surprise surprise.

“Uh,” Jason lowers his hand. Maybe Danny should have let him actually knock- better to keep up appearances, like he couldn’t sense Jason anytime they’re within a three block radius of each other. But he’s tired- so goddamn tired- of this whole charade.

“What’s on the menu today?” He levels Jason with a look.

“Soup. Lentils. It’s, uh, high protein. Very healthy.”

Danny shouldn’t find Jason’s floundering so cute, knowing what he knows. But seeing as he didn’t ask for this (in fact, he explicitly asked for /not/ this), he thinks he’s allowed a little fun.

“Healthy, huh?”

Jason nods, and presents the container for him to take. Instead Danny swings the door wider.

“You might as well come in.”

//

Jason sits at the modest kitchen table as Danny sets a mug of warmed soup in front of him, then takes his own seat, another mug in hand.

He hasn’t actually been inside Danny’s apartment before, he’d always just left the meals outside his door. Bruce had been coy about sharing details on his top Watchtower engineer, but the breadcrumbs from the case files told enough of the story: Danny was just a kid barely out of college with a large dose of trauma and way too much responsibility. Bruce had also been clear on one thing: Danny didn’t want help.

That just meant Jason would have to get creative with how he helped him.

But now that he’s actually here, face to face with his most recent pet project, he’s not quite sure what to do. Danny just watches him, completely unmoving, except for his eyes that watch as Jason lifts an awkward spoonful of soup.

“So did Bruce put you up to this?”

Jason sputters over his spoon. “Bruce? Don’t know who you’re talking about. I just saw a neighbor in need, and I cook a lot anyway, so-“

“Sure. And you just happen to deliver only on days I’m not scheduled to be off planet? You’re not slick.”

Jason swallows. He sure does know Danny’s schedule and he sure doesn’t have a good excuse. Danny sighs.

“It’s okay. The food’s good. I’m just trying to figure out, well, why?”

“It was um, implied that Batman’s favorite Watchtower tech could use a home cooked meal or two.”

“He never knows when to leave it alone, huh.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Then why you? Unless—ah. He must have made the connection to your whole… situation.”

“My what?”

“Okay. Um. So, you do know you died, right?”

Jason chokes on soup. Again.

“Is that a yes…?”

“Yeah,” he croaks, “Yeah I just— How the hell do you know?”

“Ah. Well. That’s a bit of a long story.”

Danny gives him a strained smile and Jason takes a measured breath, not trying very hard to mask his disappointment. He wants to ask for more- desperately- but he shouldn’t. He’s supposed to be helping Danny, not the other way around.

Then Danny takes a spoonful of soup. He leans back in his chair the moment he tastes it. “Goddammit that’s good.”

Jason flushes with pride before Danny pins him with a look that chills him to his toes. His heart races, and he feels for a moment like he’s a bug under a microscope, and he’s not so sure he hates it.

Yet it’s Danny’s crooked smile that follows that makes his heart race even faster.

“Okay. How much time do you have?”

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-“

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[paradoxcase]

Right, so, after reading some error logs, obtaining a copy of the objects.package that shipped with the Sims 2 rerelease, and talking about this with Lazy Duchess, I have a conspiracy theory about why the rerelease is so damn broken

So first, I looked at an error log that was happening in the Enthusiasm Tracker. It was coming from the function that signs sims up for a magazine subscription after they choose that option on the phone. It's a very short function, all it does is 1) check to see if the family has a magazine subscription token, 2) create one if it does not already exist, and 3) set a property on the token regardless of whether 2 was necessary or not. All three of these actions make use of the Manage Inventory primitive, which controls not just sim inventories, but also tokens like this, memories, and gossip. I compared all like five lines of this function to the one in my objects.package, that I have from the Ultimate Collection, and they were exactly the same. But for some reason, in the rerelease, this throws an error. There is no explanation at the level of this function. I kind of scratched my head and thought, maybe they changed how the magazine subscription token works in this version, and forgot to update this function? Or something?

Next, there was an Too Many Iterations error log that had a very obvious cause: for some reason, the active family had over 500 tokens in its inventory. The family inventory isn't listed in the error log, so have no idea what those tokens were, or how there came to be 500+ of them. BUT. The aforementioned magazine subscription token is a token that goes in the family inventory. Maybe these two problems are somehow related. Are those 500 tokens all magazine subscription tokens, or something?

And then there is the infamous error that the game now throws when a sim goes to get abducted. I didn't see an error log for this one, but I was making a post on MTS listing all of the known issues with the rerelease, and someone mentioned there that the issue is not so much with the abduction as it is with other sims reacting to the abduction, and if there are no sims on the lot to react to the abduction, the error does not occur. Someone else then mentioned that the Abduction Reaction Fix mod that I made actually fixes this error. I made that mod, I know exactly what it does. What does it do?

Well, you see, objects in the game all have what is called a tree table, which is a table of interactions and the functions that need to be called when those interactions are triggered. One of the interactions on the telescope is the interaction to run to the telescope after someone has been abducted. But, in the Free Time expansion, a lot of new interactions were added to the telescope, and for some reason, EA decided to renumber all of the functions when they did that. They forgot to update the tree table, which references functions by their numbers, and as a result, the function that was called when sims were supposed to do the run-to-telescope interaction was actually the function that gives sims credit for discovering a new planet. In my mod, I fixed this, so that when sims are supposed to run to the telescope, the proper run-to-the-telescope function is called instead.

So, the error happens when my mod is not installed (when the planet discovery function is being called erroneously) and not when it is (when the run-to-the-telescope function is called instead). So the error must be coming from the planet discovery function. What is in the planet discovery function? It is almost identical to the magazine subscription function. It checks for the planet discovery token, adds it if it isn't there, and then modifies a property on it, using Manage Inventory. So this is exact same bug. And other people are reporting that some sims cannot gain memories - another game function that is handled by Manage Inventory. There is also an error that happens after a sim cooks food - one thing that happens at that point is that tokens and memories are added to the sim's inventory marking that they have successfully (or unsuccessfully) learned to cook that food.

So at this point, my theory is that EA somehow broke the Manage Inventory primitive. It's used all over the code, to do all sorts of stuff, if you break something that ubiquitous and fundamental, of course it's going to cause a whole lot of seemingly completely unrelated errors. Manage Inventory is now going hog-wild, throwing errors, adding hundreds of extraneous tokens to inventories, refusing to give sims memories, and who knows what else. I can feel it, this is the answer

[weirdblkgrl]

MODERN AU! SEVIKA HEADCANONS

cw: none i think. just fluff

an: please forgive me if this is trash, this is my first post. also this is barely proofread sorry :p. also here's my modern!sevika moodboard

modern!sevika who’s love language is physical touch. she’s not great with her words like… at all. she loves to wrap her strong arms around your waist and bury her face in her neck while you’re cooking or cling onto you while she's sleeping. she won’t tell you she loves you, but she’ll tell you in other ways.

soft giggles escape your lips. “what are you doing?” you question, as sevika holds you down on the couch. she peppers slow, soft, wet kisses in a trail from your cheek, to your jaw, and down your neck. “what, i’m not allowed to kiss my girl anymore?” she replies, a cheeky smile on her face.

modern!sevika who loves to watch cheesy rom-coms with her girl. whether it’s a k-drama or an old movie, she’s pretty much down to watch anything. not only does she watch it, but she’s invested in it. she’s definitely slammed her cup on the coffee table too hard, and a bit too many times. she can’t help it, how else is she supposed to react to such a riveting plot?

sevika watches the tv screen intently, eyebrows furrowed. “wait. the head nurse is her mom? and her mom killed his mom?! what the hell?!” you can’t help but laugh and feel amused seeing her so into the show.

(any its okay not to be okay fans? :p)

modern!sevika who is actually super sweet, but only extends that curtesy to her girlfriend. i mean, let’s be real, she has the meanest rbf you have ever seen and she’s the most romantic person, to say the least. but if there’s anything she knows how to do, is take care of what’s hers.

you can’t help but plop onto your bed and let out an exasperated sigh after the day you’ve had. long meetings, a heap ton of work, and constantly complaining bosses has finally taken its toll on you. you curl up on your bed, stray tears falling from your watery eyes and soft sniffles escaping you. you were so lost in your thoughts, that you didn’t even notice sevika had arrived home. it wasn’t until you felt a dip in the bed behind you, that your cries had paused.

“what’s wrong?” you hear behind you, in a low gravelly voice as the smell of cinnamon and sandalwood settle in the air. “just…work.” you respond weakly. she hums as she wraps a strong arm around you and pulls you closer. she leaves a gentle kiss on your shoulder. "need something?"

she’ll do whatever you need her to do. she’ll go out and get food, or cook your favorite meal. she cuddle you on the couch, and let you put whatever you want on the tv. all that matters is that her girl feels better, and when she finally gets a smile out of you, she can’t help but emulate it, tooth gap and all.

modern!sevika who can speak fluent hindi. she doesn’t speak it often, but she might mumble something under breath subconsciously since it was her first language. she finds it absolutely adorable when you try to repeat after her and totally butcher the pronunciation. she appreciates the effort. you’ve also picked up a couple phrases she says often, responding in english to whatever it is she said.

not only do you try to speak her language, but she’ll try to speak any other language you do, too. despite her confident demeanor though, she gets shy, so she'll just respond in english as well.

“tengo hambre,” you groan. she scoffs, though it’s more like a laugh. “go make yourself something to eat then.” a childish pout quickly forms on your face as give her a mean side eye. sevika rolls her eyes, knowing you’re too lazy to go cook yourself a proper meal. she’ll give in, not wanting you to be hungry. “next time you’re doing this yourself,” she’ll grumble.

(obviously if not spanish whatever other language you speak)

modern!sevika who's undeniably and astonishingly good with people. it makes sense, since she is a corporate manager for a large finance company. when your friends first meet her, everyone was, understandably, intimidated. but they were surprised to find she’s actually… charming. it's easy to have a conversation with her, but only if she wants to have one. she'll make it known if she doesn't.

a small smile finds its way onto your face as you leave your friend's event. "what?" sevika asks, confused, but amused nonetheless. "nothing... just... that went better than expected." she raises an eyebrow. "what? what'd you think was gonna happen?" she asks, skeptically. "to be honest, i'm not sure, but i didn't know you were so... personable." you give her a suspicious look, "have you been hiding this skill from me?" she rolls her eyes. "dont be an idiot. how'd you think i got you head over heels for me?" she says, as she smiles cockily.

ahh she's my fave i hope you liked it :D

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (the honest)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: what may come

- Next part: a lion and a wolf

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis @urdxrling @meowmeowmothermeower

The grand halls of Casterly Rock bustled with quiet efficiency as servants moved swiftly, setting the final touches for the upcoming wedding. The air was thick with the scent of fresh-cut roses, imported from the Reach, their crimson petals arranged meticulously along the golden-lined tables in the Great Hall. Candles were being placed in towering candelabras, their flames soon to illuminate the grandest feast the Westerlands had seen in years.

Jaime walked through the preparations with Bronn at his side, the sellsword looking entirely unimpressed by the extravagance.

"Remind me again why I have to be here?" Bronn drawled, arms crossed as his gaze flicked from the pristine gilded goblets being arranged to the heavy velvet banners that draped the walls. "I’m not the one getting married to a Stark.”

Jaime scoffed, running his fingers over the golden lion crest embedded into the nearest banquet table. "Because if I have to suffer through this, I see no reason why you shouldn’t."

Bronn smirked. "You’re in a right foul mood for a groom. Aren’t grooms supposed to be excited? Joyous? Dreaming about the wedding night and all that?"

Jaime shot him a glare. "Would you keep your voice down?"

Bronn chuckled, adjusting the belt at his waist. "Come now, Kingslayer. Are you telling me you’re not looking forward to it? Your blushing bride, draped in silk, waiting for you in—"

"If you wish to keep that tongue, I suggest you bite it," Jaime interrupted, his patience wearing thin.

Bronn raised his hands in mock surrender. "Touchy, touchy. Fine, let’s talk about something else—like how much bloody coin they’re spending on this farce."

Jaime’s eyes flicked toward the towering cake being constructed in one corner of the hall, layers of honeyed sponge and sugared fruit arranged so decadently it looked like something out of a song. Tywin had spared no expense, and it was clear that this wedding wasn’t just about sealing a political alliance—it was about displaying Lannister power to the entire realm.

"It’s excessive," Jaime admitted, his voice low. "Even for my father."

Bronn snorted. "Now that is saying something."

Jaime sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It’s all for show. The banners, the food, the music, the guests. Tywin doesn’t just want a wedding. He wants a spectacle. A reminder to every lord and lady in Westeros that a Lannister does not bow, does not break. That even the Starks, once his greatest enemies, are now bound to him."

Bronn exhaled, glancing around before lowering his voice. "And does the Stark girl know she’s just another jewel in his golden crown?"

Jaime clenched his jaw, his gaze drifting toward the high table where he and you would sit the next night. "She knows," he said quietly.

Bronn studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "You’ve got it bad."

Jaime turned toward him, brows furrowed. "What?"

Bronn smirked. "The way you talk about her. The way you keep looking for her in every room. You’re starting to care, Jaime."

Jaime scoffed. "I don’t—"

"Oh, save it," Bronn cut him off, waving a hand. "You might not admit it, but I see it plain as day. If this was just duty to you, you wouldn’t be brooding about it. But no, you’re actually thinking about how she feels. And that, my friend, is dangerous."

Jaime exhaled slowly, his hands tightening into fists. "It doesn’t matter how I feel. This is happening, whether either of us wants it or not."

Bronn studied him, then chuckled. "You know what I think? I think you’re more worried about what happens after the wedding than the wedding itself."

Jaime turned away, his golden hand pressing against the edge of the banquet table. He didn’t answer.

Because Bronn was right.

It wasn’t the vows, the feast, or even the spectacle that troubled him.

It was the uncertainty of what came next.

Would you ever accept this union? Would you ever forgive him for all that had been taken from you? For all the pain his family had caused yours?

And, more unsettling than all of that, why did he care so much about the answer?

Bronn clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him from his thoughts. "Well, good luck with that. I’ll be drinking through the whole thing, if you need me."

Jaime rolled his eyes. "Of course you will."

As the final preparations continued, Jaime lingered for a moment longer, staring at the grand hall before him.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

For better or worse.

The corridors of Casterly Rock were eerily quiet as Jaime made his way toward your chambers. The great fortress, usually filled with the sounds of servants and courtiers, felt heavier tonight, as if it, too, was bracing for what was to come. He had spent the day overseeing the final preparations for the wedding, had endured Bronn’s mocking, Tywin’s scrutiny, and the suffocating weight of expectation.

Yet, despite it all, he found himself here.

He had told himself it was only to ensure that you were prepared for tomorrow, that he was fulfilling his duty as your betrothed. But deep down, he knew better. He had been thinking about you all day, about the way you had been so quiet since their arrival, the way your sharp retorts had lessened, the way you had withdrawn more and more into yourself.

He knocked lightly before stepping inside, finding you standing near the window, your arms wrapped around yourself as you gazed out over the darkened sea. You didn’t turn at his entrance, but he could see the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers dug into the fabric of your sleeves.

“You’ll be my wife tomorrow,” Jaime said lightly, trying to inject a bit of humor into his tone as he closed the door behind him. “Are you ready to wear Lannister colors at last?”

You exhaled, but it wasn’t a laugh. It was something closer to resignation.

Jaime frowned, stepping closer. “Y/N?”

Still, you didn’t look at him. “It feels real now,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jaime stopped just behind you, close enough to see the way your hair moved slightly with each breath you took. “It was always real,” he said quietly.

Finally, you turned to face him, and what he saw in your eyes struck something deep within him. Fear. You were afraid. Not of him, not in the way others feared him—but of tomorrow, of what it truly meant to be bound to his house, to his family, to him.

Jaime’s hand twitched at his side before he reached out, hesitantly brushing his fingers against your arm. You didn’t pull away.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice softer than he intended. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Don’t I?”

Jaime swallowed, his grip on your arm tightening just slightly. “I won’t hurt you.”

Your eyes flickered with something unreadable, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to lean into his touch—just slightly, just enough for Jaime to feel the warmth of you against his fingertips. It was the closest you had ever allowed him to be.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Jaime’s golden hand rested at his side, useless, while his other hand remained against your arm. “Neither do I.”

Your lips parted slightly, surprised by his honesty, by the rare vulnerability he was offering you. The walls between you cracked, if only for a moment.

Jaime took a deep breath. “I know you didn’t choose this,” he said slowly. “And I know that you still hate me for it.”

You said nothing, but the silence was enough.

He forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But if there’s one thing I can promise you, it’s that I’ll never force anything upon you. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jaime exhaled, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

The space between you felt charged, different than before. The firelight flickered in your eyes, reflecting something fragile, something uncertain. And then, slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his.

Jaime’s breath hitched. This was more than he had ever hoped for. The warmth of your touch, however hesitant, sent something shattering through him.

And then it happened.

Something inside him snapped.

He shouldn’t tell you. He knew he shouldn’t. But as he looked at you—your fear, your uncertainty, the fragile way you had let your guard down just for him—he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his fingers tightening around yours.

You looked up at him, searching his face. “What is it?”

Jaime inhaled sharply. “Your brother.”

Your expression shifted instantly, your body tensing. “What about him?”

Jaime clenched his jaw. “He’s riding into a trap.”

The words hung between you, heavy and undeniable.

Your breath caught, your fingers going rigid in his grasp. “What?”

Jaime exhaled shakily, bracing himself for what was to come. “Roose. My father. They’ve already made their move. The North is going to fall, Y/N. Robb will—” He stopped himself, but you heard the unspoken words.

Your face drained of color, and suddenly, you ripped your hand from his grasp. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, you’re lying.”

Jaime’s chest tightened, his throat dry. “I wish I were.”

Your hands clenched into fists, your breath coming faster, ragged. “Why are you telling me this now? Why—why didn’t you say anything before?”

Jaime swallowed hard. “Because I didn’t know how.”

Your expression twisted with anguish, betrayal, fury. “How long have you known?”

Jaime hesitated, but you saw the truth in his eyes before he even spoke.

“Since the night we arrived.”

Your lips parted in shock. “Since—we’ve been here for days!”

Jaime stepped forward, but you recoiled.

“Y/N—”

“No!” Your voice cracked, your hands trembling. “You—you knew. And you said nothing.”

Jaime’s own chest ached at the look on your face. “I wanted to tell you. I did. But—”

“But what?” You spat, your voice shaking. “It would mean betraying your father? It would mean choosing between being a good son or doing what’s right?”

Jaime couldn’t answer. Because you were right.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “He’s going to die,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “And you let it happen.”

Jaime’s throat tightened painfully. “I didn’t want this.”

Your eyes burned into his. “But you let it happen.”

Jaime had faced battle, had stood before kings, had endured the weight of his family’s expectations for his entire life.

But nothing had ever hurt quite like this.

He opened his mouth, desperate to say something, anything—but you turned away from him, your shoulders shaking as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

Jaime stepped forward again, hesitated—then sighed.

“Y/N,” he murmured.

“Get out.”

Jaime closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. Then, with a heavy heart, he turned and left.

The door shut behind him, but your quiet, broken sobs echoed in his mind long after he was gone.

The night air was thick with something unnamed, the silence of Casterly Rock disturbed only by the distant crash of waves against the cliffs below. Within the courtyard, the pale silver form of Winter lay stretched across the cold stone floor of the makeshift kennel they had forced upon him. His blue eyes were open, glimmering faintly in the moonlight, his ears twitching at every distant sound.

Jaime had fought to let him roam free, but Kevan had been firm. A wolf does not belong within the Rock. They had caged him, kept him away from you. And now, he was restless.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, his thick tail twitching against the stone. He could feel it—something was wrong. His instincts clawed at him, his senses razor-sharp, his unease growing by the second.

And then, it happened.

A sudden clamor of hurried footsteps echoed from the northern walls. Raised voices, the loud ring of steel, and then—shouts.

She is running.

Winter surged up, his massive form slamming against the bars, snarling as the sounds of pursuit filled the air. His hackles rose, lips peeling back over gleaming teeth as he let out a deep, reverberating snarl.

Beyond the courtyard, torches flared to life as guards swarmed the outer halls of the castle.

“She’s escaping!”

“Find her! Now!”

Winter’s claws scraped against the stone as he pushed against the confines of his cage, his entire body tense with rage. He knew whose scent they were following. He knew who they were chasing.

And there was nothing he could do.

Outside the castle walls, your breath burned in your lungs as you sprinted through the winding paths leading toward the cliffs. The cold night air whipped against your face, your heart pounding violently against your ribs. Your boots kicked up loose gravel as you ran, the distant lights of Lannisport glittering below like a cruel promise of freedom.

But you weren’t free. Not yet.

Shouts rang out behind you, the clatter of armor growing closer.

“There! She’s heading for the lower paths!”

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to move faster. You had spent hours planning this, studying the guards’ rotations, waiting for the right moment. You knew the layout of Casterly Rock by now—knew which paths were less guarded, which tunnels could lead you down toward the port where you might be able to stow away.

But they were faster than you had expected.

You veered left, pushing through a narrow passage between jagged rocks, ignoring the sting of stone scraping against your arms. Your muscles screamed in protest, but you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

Then—

A shadow moved ahead of you.

Too fast.

Bronn.

You barely had time to react before his arm shot out, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around. You fought, kicking, twisting, but he was stronger, his grip like iron.

"Seven hells, girl," he grunted, wrestling against you. "You really thought you’d make it far, didn’t you?"

You hissed, slamming your elbow into his ribs. He grunted but didn’t let go. “Let me go!”

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid,” he said, voice strained as he struggled to keep hold of you. “You’ve got a wedding tomorrow. Thought you might want to be well-rested for it.”

You thrashed against him, your breathing ragged, your body twisting with everything you had. “You bastard!”

Bronn sighed. “Look, I get it. Really, I do. But you running through the night like this? That’s just stupid.”

You growled, trying to reach for the small dagger tucked into your belt, but Bronn was quicker. He grabbed your wrist, twisting just enough to make you drop it.

“You little hellcat,” he muttered, exasperated. “If you weren’t worth so much, I’d almost be impressed.”

More guards arrived, torches lighting up the narrow path.

One of them stepped forward, panting slightly. “Shall we take her to Lord Kevan?”

Bronn shook his head. “No. Send for Jaime.”

The guard hesitated. “Lord Jaime?”

Bronn’s grip on you didn’t loosen, but his voice was firm. “Now.”

The guards exchanged glances before nodding, one of them turning to rush back toward the keep.

You were still breathing hard, your pulse a frantic drum against your throat. The realization sank in, bitter and cold.

You had failed.

Bronn sighed again, looking down at you. “You really thought you were gonna get away from here, didn’t you?”

You refused to answer, glaring at him with all the fury you could muster.

Bronn smirked. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And so you stood there, surrounded by armed men, waiting for Jaime to arrive.

Jaime was pulled from restless sleep by the heavy pounding on his chamber doors. His mind was sluggish for only a moment before years of battle instincts kicked in, and he was out of bed in an instant. He barely had time to fasten his cloak over his nightshirt before the doors swung open, revealing one of the Lannister guards, breathless and wide-eyed.

“My lord, it’s Lady Y/N—she tried to escape.”

Jaime’s blood turned cold. “Where?”

“The cliffs below the keep. Ser Bronn caught her.”

Jaime didn’t wait for another word. He shoved past the guard and strode through the halls, his steps quickening as he made his way outside. The castle was alive with commotion now—guards murmuring, servants watching from the safety of doorways, their gazes flitting toward the path leading down to the lower courtyard.

When Jaime finally reached the scene, his chest tightened at the sight before him.

You stood there, struggling in Bronn’s grip, your hair wild from the night air, your cloak half undone as if you had barely fastened it in your rush to escape. Your face was flushed, streaked with dirt and sweat, and your eyes—your furious, broken eyes—met his the moment he stepped forward.

"Let her go," Jaime ordered, his voice sharp as steel.

Bronn hesitated for only a moment before sighing and loosening his grip. You stumbled slightly but regained your footing quickly, breathing hard, your fists clenched at your sides.

Jaime took a cautious step forward. “Are you hurt?”

Your head snapped up, fury blazing through your grief. “Don’t you dare ask me that.”

Jaime exhaled through his nose, running his left hand through his hair. “Y/N, what were you thinking?”

“I have to go,” you said quickly, desperately, taking a step forward as if you expected him to let you pass. “I have to warn Robb—he doesn’t know, Jaime. He doesn’t know what’s coming.”

Pain twisted in his chest at the sound of his name from your lips, laced with such raw emotion. But he shook his head. “I can’t let you go.”

You froze, your breath hitching. “You can’t or you won’t?”

Jaime clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “It’s the same thing.”

You shoke your head violently. “No. No, it isn’t. You promised me, Jaime. You swore you would protect him.” Your voice cracked on the last word, your body trembling from exhaustion, from anger, from grief.

“I know,” Jaime murmured, and gods, he meant it. He knew what this meant to you. He knew what he was taking from you.

“Then let me go,” you pleaded, your voice breaking entirely now. “Please, Jaime. Please.”

Jaime swallowed hard, looking at you—truly looking at you. Your eyes were brimming with tears, your shoulders shaking, your chest rising and falling with frantic, uneven breaths. He had seen you defiant. He had seen you furious. He had even seen you vulnerable. But this—this was something else.

This was heartbreak.

This was loss before it had even arrived.

Jaime took a step closer, reaching out without thinking, his fingers brushing against your arm. “If I let you go,” he said softly, “you will die.”

You let out a choked, broken sound, your whole body recoiling. “Then let me.”

Jaime’s breath caught, something deep and unmovable twisting inside him. He stepped forward fully now, reaching for you, grasping your arm before you could slip away.

You struggled. Gods, you fought—thrashing against him, your fists beating weakly against his chest, your voice a raw sob of protest. “You lied to me, Jaime! You lied! You said—you said you would—” Your words crumbled into incoherence, grief consuming them before they could be fully formed.

Jaime held on, his grip firm but gentle, letting you rail against him, letting you sob into his chest, letting you fall apart in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his chin resting against your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

But no apology would be enough. No words would take this away.

The guards shifted uncomfortably, some averting their gazes. Even Bronn—who had seen death and war and betrayal a hundred times over—seemed momentarily out of place, his usual sharp tongue silenced by the rawness of what lay before him.

And still, Jaime held you, feeling every tremor in your body, every shattered breath.

In this moment, he wished he had never been born a Lannister.

He wished he could undo something.

But he couldn’t.

And so, he simply held on.

The walk back to your chambers was silent.

Jaime kept his grip on you firm but not forceful, his fingers wrapped around your wrist as he guided you through the cold, empty halls of Casterly Rock. Your body had stopped trembling, the sobs had quieted, but the silence was worse.

You had given up.

You didn’t try to break free. You didn’t fight him. You just walked beside him, unseeing, unfeeling, your gaze fixed on some distant point only you could see.

Jaime hated it.

He had seen you burn with fury, had watched you stand against men twice your size with nothing but your will and your tongue to protect you. He had watched you defy kings and lords alike, had heard the bite in your voice when you swore to see your family safe.

But now?

Now you were hollow.

And it was his fault.

As they turned a corner, Kevan Lannister emerged from an adjoining hall, his expression carefully neutral as his gaze flickered from Jaime to you, then back again. He exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“So, she tried to run,” he said simply.

Jaime’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly, a silent warning for Kevan to hold his tongue. “It’s been handled.”

Kevan studied you for a long moment. “Has it?”

Jaime’s jaw clenched. “She won’t try again.”

Kevan hummed in acknowledgment, but his gaze lingered on you. “She’s a Stark,” he murmured. “And a wolf will always try to escape its cage.”

Jaime stiffened. He knew it was true, but hearing it aloud made something twist inside him.

Kevan sighed, stepping aside. “Your father will hear of this.”

Jaime averted his gaze, leading you past his uncle without another word.

When you finally reached your chambers, Jaime pushed open the doors, guiding you inside before closing them behind him.

The room was as it had been—grand, lavish, a place fit for the Lady of Casterly Rock. But to you, it might as well have been a prison cell.

You moved like a ghost, stepping further inside without a word, your arms wrapping around yourself. You didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t speak.

Jaime lingered by the door, watching you, struggling with what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

You laughed softly, but it was empty, bitter. “You keep saying that.”

Jaime sighed, stepping closer. “Because I mean it.”

You turned then, your eyes red-rimmed, your expression unreadable. “Then do something about it.”

Jaime when numb.

He wanted to. Gods, he wanted to.

But he couldn’t.

And you knew that.

Your eyes flickered with something—anger, despair, something raw and unguarded. Then, just as quickly, you turned away again.

Jaime felt something snap inside him again.

Before he could stop himself, before he could think, he closed the distance between you in three quick strides, his hand reaching for your arm.

You turned, startled, lips parting just as his mouth crashed against yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t planned. It was a desperate, reckless thing—filled with all the words he couldn’t say, all the things he wished he could change.

For a moment, you didn’t respond. You were frozen, caught between the weight of everything that had just happened and the shocking warmth of his lips against yours.

Then, slowly, your hands came up, pressing against his chest.

Jaime’s grip on you tightened.

He didn’t know what he was doing.

All he knew was that he needed to reach you.

To feel something other than the hollow ache in his chest.

To give you something—anything—to hold onto.

And for the briefest moment, you let him.

Your lips moved against his, hesitant, unsure. Your fingers curled slightly against his tunic, not pushing him away, but not pulling him closer either.

It was enough.

It was everything.

Then, as quickly as it started, you broke away.

Jaime’s breath was heavy, his forehead nearly resting against yours, his hands still holding you as if letting go would shatter whatever fragile thing had just passed between you.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “I can’t.”

Jaime swallowed, his heart hammering.

Neither could he.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to.

Slowly, reluctantly, he released you, stepping back just enough to give you space.

You looked at him, truly looked at him, and for a moment, there was something in your eyes that he couldn’t name.

Then, softly, you whispered, “Goodnight, Jaime.”

Jaime closed his eyes for a brief moment before nodding.

And then, without another word, he left.

The door shut behind him, but his heart remained in that room with you.

The halls of Casterly Rock felt suffocating. The air, thick with the scent of burning wax and old stone, seemed to press down on Jaime’s shoulders as he walked aimlessly through the dimly lit corridors. He had no destination, no purpose—only the weight of your words still lingering in his chest.

I can’t.

He ran a hand through his hair as he descended a flight of stairs that led out into the open-air courtyard. The night air was cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that still clung to him from your touch.

Jaime clenched his jaw, trying to push the memory of the kiss from his mind. It had been a mistake. A moment of weakness. A desperate attempt to reach something that was never his to begin with.

But gods, he couldn’t shake the way you had felt against him.

He wandered past the stone pathways leading toward the gardens, his footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet night. He had hoped the solitude would clear his head, but the turmoil within him only deepened.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the silence.

“Well, well. That’s one way to spend the rest of night before your wedding.”

Jaime sighed heavily, turning to find Bronn leaning lazily against a low wall, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

The sellsword pushed off the stone, sauntering toward Jaime with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep, or what's left of it? Big day tomorrow, after all.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Not in the mood, Bronn.”

Bronn raised an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

Jaime exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the night sky. “I just needed some air.”

Bronn snorted. “Air, is it? That what we’re calling it now?”

Jaime shot him a glare. “Don’t start.”

Bronn grinned, stepping closer. “Oh, I am starting. Because you look like a man who just had his guts ripped out and is trying very hard to pretend he didn’t feel a thing.”

Jaime clenched his jaw, saying nothing.

Bronn studied him for a moment before his smirk deepened. “You told her, didn’t you?”

Jaime’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Told her what?”

Bronn rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t play stupid with me. You told her about the boy, didn’t you? About what your father and Bolton have planned.”

Jaime exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to the stone beneath his feet. “I didn’t mean to.”

Bronn let out a low whistle. “Hells. You really have it bad.”

Jaime snapped his head up. “Shut up, Bronn.”

Bronn only grinned wider. “You know, for all the time I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this—what’s the word? Lost.”

Jaime’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I am not lost.”

Bronn shrugged. “Then what are you?”

Jaime opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Bronn chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought.”

Jaime exhaled sharply, turning away, staring out toward the distant sea. “She was going to run.”

Bronn leaned against the wall again. “I figured that when she tried to stab me.”

“She begged me to let her go.”

Bronn’s smirk faded slightly. “I was there. I heared. And you didn’t.”

Jaime let out a humorless chuckle. “Of course I didn’t.”

Bronn tilted his head. “And that’s what’s eating at you, isn’t it? Because for the first time in your life, you actually want to do the right thing, but you don’t know how.”

Jaime’s jaw clenched.

Bronn sighed, straightening up. “Look, I’m not one for sentiment, but I’ll tell you this—if you’re waiting for the perfect moment to choose between your father and her, it’s never going to come.”

Jaime glanced at him warily. “And what do you suggest?”

Bronn grinned. “I suggest you figure out exactly what you’re willing to lose, and then make your choice before it’s made for you.”

Jaime scoffed, shaking his head. “You sound like a bloody maester.”

Bronn clapped a hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “Yeah, well, even a sellsword knows when a man’s about to walk straight into a battlefield with no armor.”

Jaime shoke his head, but Bronn was already turning away.

“Get some rest, Kingslayer,” Bronn called over his shoulder. “You’ve got a wedding to survive.”

Jaime stood there for a long time after Bronn had gone, the weight of his words sinking deep into his bones.

Figure out what you’re willing to lose.

Jaime already knew the answer.

The problem was, he didn’t know if he had the strength to do anything about it.

[siri-ike]

The spray was never supposed to last long. So when Tim came home and heard Dick say he'd sat there with "Bruce" for three full hours, he was concerned, to say the least. He can't still be in his fantasy. He can't still be this docile. Real Bruce wouldn't even be this docile, let alone "elementary school arson record" Bruce. But he just sat there. Staring at anyone who came into view.

His grip was tight, much tighter than he could pull off when he was high. And no way would Nightwing ever ask him to stop. He'd hold him forever if not for all their pesky human needs like eating and sleeping. Speaking of sleep, shouldn't he be getting tired? "Hey, Bruce?" Dick whispered so as not to disturb too much. "Are you tired? Do you want to go to bed?"

Bruce shook his head. "I fell asleep, during Gray Ghost." His voice was calm and low (for a child), and he didn't even try to un-bury himself from his dad's hold.

This is big. He slept and didn't lose his memory. Dick waved Tim over.

"What?" Tim spoke at a normal volume.

"He didn't forget dinner." Dick kept whispering, but his excitement shined through. "He woke up at 4:43 pm yesterday, we had dinner at 9, afterward, he got to watch some Gray Ghost tapes and fell asleep. At 4:43 am he woke up again because Phantom was destabilizing as usual, but when Zatanna asked him what happened, he told her about dinner. He Remembered Dinner." Dick really emphasized the last part.

"That's great," Tim brought his tone down to match Dicks. "So then he's stable?"

"Stable? Dude, no. He's aging backwards."

"Oh, right. I forget people are supposed to get older." Tim said, fully serious. "I'll run some tests, and we should keep monitoring him."

"How about we run tests, and you go to your room and take some melatonin." Dick suggested. Let's see if he knows how aging works in the morning afternoon.

One hour later, at 9, Bruce was willing to eat. Dick hadn't left his side and could attest that he was calm non combative and ate like he hadn't seen food in a month. "Please don't be Stockholm syndrome, please don't be Stockholm syndrome," He repeated in his head. "It's too fast to be Stockholm, I can't let him leave. He thought he was dead a few hours ago. Wait, did he ever say he didn't?"

"Hey B? I, uh, Bruce?" He addresses the boy across the dining table.

"Yes, Father?"

Crap, crap, crap. Other age appropriate swears. Dick doesn't look anything like Thomas. If anything, he looks like Martha. No, wait, he looks like his own parents. Unless.

"Bruce, what is my name?" Nightwing fiddled with the mask in his hands.

Bruce just sat there, confused. Like he didn't expect him to have a name at all. "You're... you're, uh," He looked shamefully down at his food. "I don't know." His voice quivered.

"It's ok, Bruce. My name's Richard Grayson, Dick for short." He reassured. "Just one more question, alright?" He gave Bruce time to consider and nod. Nightwing put his arms down on the table and looked Bruce in the eyes. "Are you alive?"

"No~" his guilty expression instantly turned to utter glee.

Nightwing thought for a moment. "Are you dead?"

"No." He giggled.

"Then what are you?" So much for "one more question."

"I am not bound by life or death."

Dick didn't recognize the language, but it sounded otherworldly, almost like a mix of TRAP music and demonic incantations with a hint of backwards English. He also needed a minute.

"Alfred?" Dick asked head in his hands, slumped over in a chair in a corner of the kitchen. "I'm starting to think my son might be the devil."

"Master Dick, all parents think their children are devils from time to time. I certainly thought it with each of you, and look how you turned out... raising more hellspawn." He joked, kind of.

Dick couldn't help but chuckle a bit. "I think we need to move up our meeting with Harley." He sat up, hands on his knees as if to brace himself. "Bring her here, rather than go to her."

"Isn't she in Arkham right now?"

Nightwing pulls out his phone. "I'll figure something out." He scrolls through his contacts and finds two Jim Gordans. He picks the one with the incognito picture.

"Commissioner Jim Gordon." Jim answers.

"Hi, this is Nightwing. Remember that boy, a month ago, who claimed to be a clone of Batman?"

"Yes, he showed up right before all of you dropped out of the world. Did he survive?"

"Yeah, he's... something. Look, I need Harley Quinn."

"Harley Quinn, the clown or Harley Quinn, the doctor?"

"The doctor."

"You know there are plenty of psychologists in Gotham."

"And none can handle these sorts of things without losing their minds, too."

-Silence-

"Alright, I'll see what I can do."

*click*

"Why do you need a doctor?" Bruce had innocently popped in, probably to talk to Alfred.

"Hey, buddy." It was impressive, really. Not many people can sneak up on him, especially not so casually. "Harley's a friend of ours. She's just going to talk to you. Think you could do that for me?" Dick has raised more than enough titans to know you can't force kids that age to do anything.

"M-hm." Bruce turned toward Alfred. "I had water and sleep and darkness, but my head still hurts. Can I have something?"

"Oh, dear." Alfred put his hand on Bruce's forehead. "Well, your temperature is normal. Where does it hurt?"

"Here, and here." He he presses on his forehead, then to the sides of his head just above the ears.

"I'm gonna give you one more Ibuprofen, and we'll do some tests after that." Alfred put the medicine box back on its top cabinet shelf. "How does that sound?"

"Good," Bruce placed the pill in the back of his throat with his hands like he was auditioning for a horror movie, then he downed the water like a normal person. He was about to head out but stopped. "Alfred? Can I have candy?" He pointed at the fancy glass bowl full of chocolate covered salt caramels.

"Last I checked, sugar does not remedy headaches... you can have one." Alfred didn't even look at the puppy eyes. He is not willing to put up a fight for something so small.

Bruce delightfully lifted the lid and, careful not to touch more than one, picked out a treat. He likes the ones with blue marzipan.

Nightwing watched him leave the room without a care in the world. "I think you just got played."

"The headache is real. And I believe more than just swelling. He may no longer be throwing up and seizing. But he's been asleep for almost a month, only waking up for an hour or less, always at the same time. Then there's the more recent confusion in identity. Those are not psychological symptoms. They are neurological." Alfred gave his most serious "listen very closely, I'm not even going to buffer this with sarcasm" face.

"I'll schedule a brain scan."

Clone Danny long post

The footprints lead Alfred out of the room and to the right but quickly dried up on the short hair carpet.

Alfred checked every room to the right of Danny's. He had to have left the family wing. 40 minutes of searching later, Alfred was about to go down yet another hallway when he heard faint music and metal clanging. He walked closer to the sound until he could make out some words.

🎶I- can hear the sound of violins🎶

🎶long before- it begins🎶

The gym. Someone is at the gym. He told Dick to relax. This is the opposite of relaxing. He stops for a moment outside the door to gather himself. People listen to empathy more than anger. When Alfred pushed the door open and looked down at the workout area, he didn't see a disobedient clown. No. Instead, he was forcibly dragged back to 1989, staring at a 13 year old Bruce doing chest presses. He always looked the most at ease when he was at the gym. The rest of the time, he would be looking for his parents' killer or discovering seacret organizations. Alfred used to cherish the time Bruce spent at the gym because he knew it was the closest he could get to calm. Shortly, Danny put down his 3 kg weights and addressed Alfred.

"Morning, Alfred. Breakfast already? Thought I had more time." He sounded like Bruce, more than just his voice. Danny had his own way of talking, but this was all Bruce.

"Young Master," best not to object to his perceived reality, whatever that may be. "It's almost seven in the afternoon, not morning." The sun would have spoiled that for him anyway. "And dinner will be ready in two hours."

"Oh, ok. I'll be there at nine then." Danny simply went over to the next station in his routine. Right as he sat down on the floor, something seemed to dawn on him. "Alfred? Did something happen to me?" He asked innocently.

Alfred remained frozen, staring at the young boy. "What would give you that idea?"

"I woke up in a different room than usual, I had to switch down all my weights, and the files in my father's office have been moved. And then you came in looking like you've seen a ghost." Ever the detective.

"Nothing gets past you. I'm afraid you had a rather bad fever and spent a few days in bed. I would like to examine your health, but it can wait. Let's say, eight-thirty? Before dinner?"

"Kitchen at eight-thirty, got it."

Alfred left the room and braced himself on the door. He thinks he's Bruce. He probably thinks it's the 80s or 90s, too. It's a good thing most everyone is out hunting down clues and/or committing extreme acts of violence.

Danny had changed into an all black suit (bowtie and kerchief included) before coming to the kitchen at 8:27. Hmm, he does like to be punctual. His temperature and heart rate were normal, for once he didn't have bags under his eyes, which responded in time to light. But, he was definitely younger than he was when he arrived. Dick wasn't imagining that.

"Can you tell me your name, age, and today's date?"

"Bruce Thomas Wayne, 12, almost 13, today is November, uh," He struggled a bit. "17th? Maybe a bit later, 1988." He avoided eye contact. "Just so we're clear, I wouldn't have known today's date even if I hadn't been sick."

Alfred smiled a little, remembering how much he used to care about getting good scores on everything. "I'll be sure to include that in the report." He retorted sarcastically, earning a small grin back. "Now go wash up, dinners almost ready."

As per routine, Alfred started by bringing out the helthiest dishes. They all knew it was a trick to get them to eat vegetables, but no one was ever willing to wait. Danny was so hungry, even the brussel sprouts were appetizing. Now if Alfred could just stop staring at him and actually put the container on the table.

"Alfred?"

"W, what?"

"Are you OK?"

Danny had combed his hair when he'd asked him to wash up. This was Bruce. This was the boy Alfred raised. The one who had fallen asleep in his arms every night for months because he refused to be alone in the dark. The one who used to "forget" to tell Alfred about the handfuls of peanut butter in his pockets, ruining thousand dollars dress pants on six different occasions. The one who wanted to keep street cats knowing full well he was allergic.

"Do you need a day off? Or maybe a week?"

"What? No. I'm alright master Bruce. Just, uhm, glad to see you have your appetite back. That's all." Keep it together now. He set down a steaming glass dish full of baked carrots, sweet potatoes, bell peppers, onions, brussel sprouts, broccoli, cauliflower, and mushrooms.

Danny took as big a serving as he could fit (vegetables can only go in the top right on his plate), making sure not to let the butter run too much. The next dish was steamed turnip. Crap. Another vegetable. Can't mix them. Can't put it somewhere else. The only option is to finish the baked vegetables fast.

By the time he finished his quarter of a turnip, six more dishes had already shown up. How many people does Alfred think live here?

At 21:11 Dick walked into the dining room. Dressed in a plain shirt and pants. The two boys looked like they were going to entirely different events.

"Hello." Danny invited. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"This gentleman is detective Richard Grayson." Alfred interjected. "Master Dick, would you care to join us for dinner?"

"Oh, where are my manners? Here, have a seat. There's plenty of food."

The dinner after that was awkward, but nice. It's good to have some company once in a while. Ever since his parents died, it's just been him and Alfred.

He did wake up late in the afternoon, so it shouldn't be such a surprise that he got to stay up and watch his gray ghost VHS tapes way later than his usual bedtime. Only interrupted occasionally by Alfred, making sure he's keeping all that food down. He had to have been really sick. He doesn't even remember throwing up recently.

He must have dosed off at some point because he was awoken abruptly at some horrid hour of the night by an ear pierceing scream. He hurried to its sorce in the family wing where he saw what looked like another Bruce, except this one had white hair and wore a black onesie. He appeared to be melting into a glowing green sludge. Bruce knelt down and grabbed the boy, who stopped screaming. Opting to bury his face in Bruce's chest instead.

Alfred came just as the gruesome scene was over. 4:50 am, same place, same time, every night. Alfred had hoped something had improved when the screaming stopped early. But rather than the typical gorey mess, there was Danny, inconsolable and covered in slime.

"Wh, wh, ah?" Who was that? What was that?? Why was that???

"Master da- Bruce." At lightning speed, Alfred was on his knees and holding Danny. "Come on, you don't have to be here." He tried to lift him up, but Danny resisted.

"...Why do you have the carpet cleaner?" He accused. "Did you know this would happen?"

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 11 - More Then Friends

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: mentions of blood, its all fluff.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

Price, Ghost and Gaz left first. Leaving before the sun was up in a somewhat hectic rush. Their plan was to get over the border then commandeer a car or something. Price said it could be a few days before you hear from them but they will send word. 

Soap sulked down the stairs an hour or so later, when the sun was just peaking through the clouds. You can’t wait to leave here and never come back. The whole blood soaked place can burn to the ground for all you care.

“They left already.” You say as he comes to sit on the sofa next to you.

“I know. Si- Ghost came to say bye.” He shuffles on the couch rubbing his burnt arm. You’ll need to change the dressing before you leave. “We should get going soon. We need to get a car. It’s easier to do while it’s still dark out.” 

You follow Soap’s orders in silence, the lack of sleep is finally catching up with you. You change the dressing as Soap grits his teeth complaining about itching. You have no idea if it’s healing or if its still supposed to look the way it does. It’s only been a day or so anyway. 

When you’re done Soap steals some supplies- mostly food -from the safehouse and you set out to look for a vehicle. It doesn’t take you long to find a rather old looking car, you keep an eye out while Soap hotwires it like he’s done this a thousand times. Before you know it you’re on the road driving back to Sakhra.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks after at least an hour of silence, you were starting to doze off. His question jolts you awake and you look over at him. 

“Why did you kiss me?” You ask. He smiles.

“I just had to, you’re stunning lass.” He says, it makes you blush. You turn to look out the window of the car. 

“Don’t falter me, a few days ago you would have put a bullet in my head.” 

“Yeah, we’re not merciless killers though.” You scoff, they’re soldiers, they're trained killers. You sit there in silence. 

“You’re a good kisser.” He says suddenly. 

“What- I mean. It was just a kiss.” You say feeling embarrassed, he just laughs. That annoys you, he’s being so chill about it, what if Price found out? What if he finds out then decides you’re a liability?

“You all seem close.” You say trying to move the subject on from you and Johnny. 

“Closer than you think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“We’re a close unit. Worked together for years. When you spend so much time together, you develop a strong relationship.” He says switching between watching the road and your expression. You have an eyebrow raised, you expected him to continue. 

“Brothers in arms right?” You say, you’ve heard that before from soldiers.

“More than that.” You shake your head scoffing. He’s playing with you, trying to wind you up. What's closer than brothers? 

“You fucking each other or somthing.” You joke back. He doesn’t say anything, you turn back to look at him frowning. He’s just smiling, the cheekiest grin you think you’ve ever seen. “Really? You’re messing with me.” He just laughs, it doesn’t help you decide if he’s joking or not.

You let out a sigh looking out at the winding road. You’re not far now.

____

When you make it back to the ULF base the place is almost empty. You both head straight to the doctor who fixes your stitches and tends to Soap’s arm as well as giving him a pot of burn cream and instructions. 

When you’re done you both go to see Farah. Alex is with her, they both look tired. The table is filled with maps dotted with big red X’s. You look round as Soap catches them up on what happened. You wonder if Price has sent word yet, you hope they’re okay.

“-We take out Konni, before they make it any further south.” Farah says, you look over at them, catching the end of the conversation. 

“We don’t know if Konni are moving or not. Price will be able to give us some idea.” Soap says.

“We could be waiting days for that.” Alex says crossing his arms, he doesn’t have a sling anymore, maybe his arm was just sprained.

“They attacked their own bases?” You ask pointing at the map. 

“They want to shift the blame to us.” Farah says.

“The fact they used American weapons on civilians has got the US all wound up.” Alex says.

“They’re spreading us thin, I’ve already lost 20 men. We can’t fight them on the front without leaving ourselves open to attacks.” Farah sighs.

“You have weapons from the US, why not fight back?” You ask. There’s silence, people look around at you like you’ve just asked them to do something impossible. 

“If we fire on them we lose our advantage.” She says.

“Which is?” Soap asks.

“If the Americans come, they won’t be after us.” She says. You look down at the map, the new line Al Qatala have formed. There’s no news if Konni or Al Qatala forces have made a move from the border, it seems like they’re waiting for the ULF to make a move first. 

It’s too many targets for Farah to handle alone. 

“What about hitting them at the source? Take out the rest of their weapons.” You say pointing at the farm you know they’ve been storing munitions and rockets.

“They were fired from Russia.” Alex said.

“No, they were fired from inside the country. I bet if it's going to be anywhere it’s there.” You tap the map. Farah and Alex look at eachother. 

“A full scale raid is not possible.” She says, stepping back from the table.

“We could go in quiet.” Soap says. “Just the 4 of us.” 

“The place will be heavily guarded. They could have also moved them elsewhere.” Farah says.

“Even if we don’t find the missiles we will deal a pretty big blow to their resources.” Soap says. “You need all the help you can get.” 

“Okay. Tonight, you should get some rest.” Farah says. Soap smiles at her and Alex. He grabs your arm gently pulling you out of the room. You’re heading down to the sleeping quarters before Soap grabs your arm pulling you into a store room. 

“Hey!” You call, you almost trip over something as his hands grab your shoulders and he pushes you up against the wall. Before you have a chance to say anything his lips lock onto yours. His kiss is needy, his tongue pressing into your mouth. You hum, closing your eyes and letting your hands drop to his waist. 

“Johnny.” You breathe as he pulls his lips off you, his mouth moving to your neck. His hands 

“What?” He asks, he’s not stopping though, running his tongue up your neck.

“What if Price found out?” 

“What do you mean?” He says. “Want him to join, I reckon he’ll be down for that.” He chuckles, now you’re convinced he's winding you up. You push your hands up his shirt and he grip your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, you’re sure he’ll be leaving marks. You run your fingers up his chest, feeling each muscle and scar. He’s hairy, you don’t care, now you’re getting needy, his lips running over you sucking on the sensitive spots on your neck. 

He looks up down at you, his hands come to hold your face. “I’m so glad I got you first. I thought I was going to have to fight off Gaz, or Price.” You frown at him but before you can press him further he kisses you. You drop your hands from his chest, gripping his waist and pulling him closer to you. 

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. You freeze, you didn’t think anyone knew you were in here.

“Soap? There’s word from Price.” it’s Alex’s voice. Johnny smiles down at you.

“We’ll finish this later.” He says quietly before reaching over to open the door. You feel yourself blushing as Alex raises an eye at you both. Johnny slaps him on the shoulder and they walk away.

next Banners by plum98

[lara4eclipze]

» Gameboy

sypnosis: if crying was fun, ill be having the time of my life — if loving you was a jump, yeah, i probably died a hundred-ten times

warnings: angst, fluff, implied relationship, jelousy, comfort and etc

talks: I'm in an angst mood so.... smut and fluff reqs might take longer

taglist: @ohmyhaely @nyssalvr @vrtualstar @c-yerim @jellaaa @nakylvr @chuugetmesohigh

lara had taken you as her plus one in a hybe artists party — the night was truly a dream, music blasted all throughout the venue as lara was hand in hand with you

yet lara was close to her friends to be specific yunjin — hugging, pet names even small playful jokes, you drowned out your simmering jealousy with a smile and hugs

you thought to yourself that they were just close — maybe you are just less social, perhaps lara was just missing her friend — you are practically arm candy at this point anyways you shouldn't overthink it

yet as you stand at the corner of the venue you could argue is the best spot all you can see is her and lara, her and lara having fun — when you're the one she's supposed to be having fun with, you're the one she should be with

lara barely recognized your presence the rest of the night — she paraded around with yunjin clinging to her arm, laughing about a joke that was too cheesy for you to remember, what you do remember is a feeling that you didn't belong there, you didn't like the place nor the people

music blasted through the speakers, as everyone did cheers to katseye — as you ran up to congratulate your girlfriend, a hand pushed you away a guard to be specific "hybe idols only sorry" the guard stated, "I'm lara's plus one you can..." you looked again at the desi girl — there she was again ms,huh hugging lara and screaming loudly over the music, "nevermind, thank you" you cut off the rest of the sentence walking off

you sat at the table once occupied with the katseye girls now only you and a couple of unfinished plates of food — you didn't care about anything anymore, you wanted to come home — hug lara and ask for reassurance, that you were still who she wanted

of course, you fought yourself to stop overthinking don't mind it, yet the feelings overwhelmed you — you couldn't speak to anyone cause you were practically no one in this room, and you couldn't stand to look at the red-head at all

"hey you alright?" you heard the filipina ask you — snapping you out of your thoughts — you couldn't make out her features well because of the colorful lights blaring all around yet you knew she was worried

"yeah..just drained" you lied, the older girl knew you, you lived for parties like these — that the main reason you met lara, "come with me let's get some drinks" sophia eases and with enough convincing you agreed

you two walk to the bar, sophia orders a mango sunset for both of you — a mocktail cause shockingly the leader didn't like alcohol much

the feeling of loneliness left for a moment — as you and sophia talked, "hey i know lara can be so much sometimes — but she's never been better... you've changed her you know?" sophia says before bidding a short goodbye walking back to the middle of the room to interact with some illit members

you let the words sink in for a bit — has lara changed? has she changed for the better?, sophias words really strung a chord in your heart

until you felt warm tears paint your face — the trickled down like shiny diamonds embezzling your face, you really couldn't handle not being with lara neither

you've changed her the same way she changed you, you wipe away the tears yet they wouldn't stop falling, embarrassingly fast

"my love? where have you-" lara mutters before taking a look at your face "my god are you crying?!, are you alright my love I'm sorry i was just so caught up earlier" lara sputters an apology even though she didn't know what she exactly did to extract such emotions from you

you shush the girl only clinging to her — hiding your face at her neck as you inhale the familiar scent of home — safety and love

"i love you" you both say — lara nuzzles into your hair, smelling that coconut and vanilla shampoo she first offered you

lara would never know what hurts you — cause you didnt even know what did hurt you, its all a part of growing together — improving and nurturing each other even if that meant hurting

[mythicalninjas]

Hi, can you do one with everyone (or just Raph if you prefer) when the girlfriend finds out she's pregnant, but then an accident happens and she loses her memory, forgetting to talk about the news and so the turtles only find out when Donnie does some tests in it?

I. LOVE. this prompt! I'll pick Raph this time, if you don't mind ❤

Rate/Warnings: NSFW, hit-and-run/run over, mention of vomit. SFW ending.

It's your fourth popcorn snack, and you're ready to eat more than usual as if you've been overtaken by a craving that's been going on for a while.

This has been happening increasingly for the past three weeks, and you've already lost count of the number of bags of popcorn you've eaten. However, having an excessive craving for popcorn despite your fondness for it is unusual.

During these same weeks, your breasts began to hurt. You thought you were going through another menstrual cycle, but the bleeding hadn't started yet. According to the menstrual calendar, your period should have started two weeks ago. Is this supposed to happen? You didn't feel anything wrong in your lower abdomen; no cramping, no hot fluid oozing out of your body. Just a strong craving for popcorn and sore breasts. You sighed, drewing the fresh air to your nostrils, and a delicious smell caught your attention.

Perhaps a neighbor was cooking dinner.

Instinctively, you moved your eyes to the window and saw a man in his kitchen in another building next to yours. He's cooking something, and you can't define what it is. But the aroma he is creating is divine.

Wait a minute.

How can you smell his food from across the street? You have lived here for years, and there have been rare moments when you have smelled your neighbor's cooking, but never across the street.

Something seems wrong.

Pacing back and forth, you rub your hands, your eyes fixed on the carpeted floor in your bedroom. How could this happen? Oh yes, you know damn well how, but even so. Could a mutant knock up a human? Aren't their genes incompatible?

Well, you both had sex and ended up with a life in your belly.

The first round is over. Now you have to face the next one which is tell him the great news. Oh, God. You have no idea how or when to tell him about it.

You shook your hands as a sign of concern and grabbed your phone and dialed Donnie's number. "Come on. Pick up!".

His voice on the other end of the line gives you a sigh of relief after long seconds of agony. "Hey, Y/N. What's up?".

"Donnie, are you and the others in the Lair?".

"Yeah, but we're about to go out on patrol. Is everything okay?" He asked, suspicious. He knew that you knew about their business hours and that you shouldn't call, unless it's an emergency.

"No! I mean y-yes. Maybe. I don't know." You stammer.

Donnie sounds even more concerned. "What's going on, Y/N?".

You pause, trying to decide if it's a good idea to announce your pregnancy over the phone. Raphael is the father, he needs to know first hand. "Do you have a little more time? It's urgent."

"Oh, wait. I'll be right back." Donnie's voice echoed off the line, as if he was talking to someone next to him. You couldn't hear exactly what he was saying.

As you waited, your fingers tapped anxiously on the wooden table. A soft murmur left your lips, praying that Donnie would be back as soon as possible.

"What do you mean?" Raph's voice echoed in the back, almost inaudible. A bead of sweat slid down your face.

"Y/N." Donnie called back, but you couldn't answer. "Y/N?".

You woke up from your thoughts. "Huh? Yes?".

Raphael was still talking in the background. "I know, Raph." Donnie replied to his old brother as he tried to give you the final answer. "Hey, Y/N. Raph won't stay chill till you get here. Me, Leo and Mikey are going out for patrol, but Raph choose to stay for you."

A gentle smile painted your worried face. The big red teddy bear may be known as rude, rough and tough, but he has such a soft heart underneath tons of muscles. He was there when you were going through difficult times, gave you his shoulder to cry on, hugged you with his massive and heavy arms, and said tender words to make you feel calm and loved.

The terrible feeling of nausea has returned.

"I…" there was a pause as you put your hand to your lower stomach, trying to control the urge to throw up. "Not now," you whispered. "You're not going to make me throw up now, little one.

"Y/N? Sorry I couldn't hear what you just said." Donnie's voice sounded more concerned than before. "Y/N, talk to me. You're clearly not well".

"Um, Donnie. I'll be there soon. Please tell Raph I'm coming." You end the call in the most embarrassing way possible, and ran to the bathroom to throw up.

☆☆☆☆☆

2:15 am.

The streets are deserted. There is no one around but you as you make your way through Manhattan to the usual rendezvous point that your mutant friends have deemed safe for you. Despite their crime-fighting efforts, including tonight, you remain uneasy about being so vulnerable in the middle of the night, especially during the week.

How would Raphael react? Most men have a negative reaction to their partner's announcement of pregnancy. Will it happen? Oh, Lord, you're afraid…

No, it's not going to happen. Raphael may be a hothead, but it doesn't mean he's going to freak out and take it out on you. Or will he?

As you pass a small 24-hour convenience store and walk a few feet ahead, you pause before crossing the street. Your attention was so focused on how to break the news to your red-clad friend that you overlooked an approaching vehicle.

There was no time to run.

☆☆☆☆☆

''She won't-''.

''Here, get this-''

''... almost-''.

Voices. Young men voices filled your ears, but couldn't undestand the entire sentences. The soreness all over your body is impossible to deal with. You want to scream but your voice don't come out.

''No. Ya won't-''

You felt a pair of big hands grabbing your upper body part, bringging you closer to something which appears to be a hard-board chest.

''Raph, you-''.

Raph...

☆☆☆☆☆

The loud voices stopped. For a moment, you thought you were dead.

And you could feel something heavy resting on your stomach.

Opening your eyes with difficulty and moaning in pain, your blurred vision scanned the small slightly darkened room, the only artificial light coming from a few computer screens.

Noticing a sturdy figure in your peripheral vision, you move your head with difficulty to take a closer look. The red bandana catches your attention. It's him. The red brute was holding your hand while the other was placed on your stomach, for some any particular reason.

You can't remember what happened. Absolutely nothing. But how?Where have you been? At home? Out on the New York streets?Something has happened. Something serious, but that's not all what is bothering you.

"Love?" his soft voice called out.

You let out a long grunt as use all your remaining strength to sit up.

"Wait." he said, stopping you. "Ya hav' to move slowly. Donnie said you can't strain yourself. Especially to not endangering our child."

Endangering? What the hell happened to you to-

Wait… Child? What son?

Oh.

OOH.

You widended your eyes. "Raph..." You tried to say. "What do you mean our..."

He only nodded, a smile drawing his lips.

"I... I..."

"Lov'" he started. "It's okay. I'm not mad. The good news is that you and my child are okay. It's all that matters".

Your watered. "I cannot remember anything..."

Raph cups your cheek with his massive hand, a warm aura making you relax. "Take your time, love. It's a miracle that ya survived after..."

"After... what?". You repeated, heart racing against your chest.

"You were ran over by a high-speed car, but it didn't totally catch you, fortunatelly. They fled without providing assistance but don't worry, Chief Vicent already identified tha' motherfucker", the red-clad turtle clenches his fists.

Curious, you asked: "So... who did save me?".

"The boys. By coincidence, Donnie had a lock on your cell phone signal while they were on patrol a block away from your location. He called the police as soon as they witnessed that guy on the run."

You couldn't believe at first.

"He said if you didn't wake up before dawn, we'd ask April and Casey to take you to the hospital. Damn, I was so scared." Raph leaned and to plant a soft kissed to your forehead. He was fighting against bad thoughts that were filling him, those what were making him terrified.

He moved down to your belly and kissed right where your baby is. "It was my fault." His sentence had you lifting your head in disbelief at what you were hearing. "It was my fault! I should have been there to save you!" the guilty in is voice was enough to weigh up the atmosphere in the room.

You frowned. "Love, look at me now."

"It wouldn't have happened if I'd met you on the way here", he put his face on your stomach. "I would have lost you this night-".

"Bite your tongue!" you cut him off and started to caress his cheek, turning his attention at you. "I- We are here and okay, and that is all matters; as you said. Please, don't blame yourself for something nobody expected. It's over."

His green eyes shone at your words. You could see that all the pessimism, which once dominated him, falling off of him.

"We're okay and we love you. You have no idea how much we love you."

Poor boy, he couldn't hold back his tears. You always saw him with a serious and closed face, very grumpy. Your past self already imagined that he'd let his emotions out someday, but not like this. Raph lies on your belly again and his little cry fills you with pride. It makes you think that he really cares and that he's going to be a great protective father.

What a day and night you have had. It will take a while to you be fully heal, but that doesn't matter.

You were surrounded by love.

☆☆☆☆☆

Reblog to support and let more people read my content 🫶

[smilesession]

I’ve been using rateyourmusic for a decade, as a person who experiences the behavioral and cognitive framework generally understood as OCD, autism, and schizotypal and so easily immersed into the ordering and categorization system it offers. i got a lot of pleasure from the system it offers to a nearly addictive level, spending high school ignoring my classes to scroll around on RYM if I had access to a computer, sometimes skipping college classes to click around on RYM, could dump hours upon hours into making custom charts and compiling lists. I’ve lost days of my life mechanically copying RYM charts into offsite playlists or even writing them down, because the system of order and category provided such a strong incentive for my attention. but on the other end of a decade of that I’ve watched my personality and cognition more intensely mirror the format of the site, even if at first it felt like the other way around: that the site was mirroring my desires. at this point I think it’s the source of them and something sort of corruptive and corrosive. people aren’t meant to understand their leisure time through intense categorization and hierarchy. we shouldn’t be trying to find the niches microlabels possible to give everything its precise Order and then pretend that the neologism we’ve assigned to pieces of music (that much of the user base might have not even been alive at the time of their release, in many cases with these new genres) is somehow its Essence. the order isn’t its essence. I don’t think you’re conveying any meaningful, historical aesthetic information by randomly grouping a bunch of records as “Pigfuck” like we’re an aggregate volunteer force of Christgaus, let alone Hauntology per Fisher’s analysis per Derrida re: Burial. i don’t know how to put it but it feels like something important is getting lost in translation through the form and function of RYM. i don’t think I was supposed to develop as a consumer of music with the appetite prescribed by RYM instead of a participant. and if you’re not going to be a participant you should at least be bringing something new to the table as a writer / curator instead of being even lower on the food chain than the writers, being the person who turns what the old guard of critics said into an ordered product category. it all feels like the wrong way to be engaging with art

[repeatcubed]

Febuwhump Day 2 - Holding Back Tears

Trigger Warning: Panic attack

Parties weren’t Hero’s thing. Strangers, noise, food and drink that could be tampered with to no end. Composure.

But, that’s what it took to be a hero. At least, a hero in the Association. Publicity was important. They had to make appearances. If the public wasn’t on their side, then they weren’t doing their job.

“Here’s a list of people we need you to meet,” Their publicist declared, a small paper held in her outstretched hand. She didn’t even bother looking at them. “Try to stick around for at least two hours.”

“Part of my terms was no parties,” They murmured, but accepted the paper nonetheless. That sentence probably left their mouth a dozen times that day alone. Fourteen names were on the list. Fourteen?

“Yes, fourteen,” She sighed, finally tearing her eyes away from her tablet to glare at them. “And it doesn’t matter, this is important. You need these people’s support if you want to take down Villain. So, don’t mess it up.”

They could already feel the rising anxiety in their throat. It was choking, suffocating. Were they going to throw up?

A shaky breath left their lips. It was supposed to be steady, comforting. It was far from any of that. Before tears could gather in their eyes, they turned, pretending to memorize the names.

They could hear her sigh. Annoyed, as always. “You’re expected in three minutes. Try to have it together by then?” And with that, she left. They were alone for the moment.

Three minutes. They couldn’t let themself cry it out, there wasn’t enough time. So, bottle it up. That was their only real option.

Those minutes felt like seconds. Before they knew it, they sucked in a deep breath as that plastic smile took over their face, and stepped from the room.

The party was relatively quiet, that much they could appreciate. Soft music flowed from speakers, and most of the noise came from endless chatter among the partakers. It had been nearly an hour, and they were barely able to make it through three conversations. One of them was entirely unnecessary, but they had a hard time turning people away.

Frequent trips to the buffet table was their savior. With no one looking directly at them, they could let their breath shake and stutter, let themselves be vulnerable, if only for a moment.

Hero’s hands trembled as they clung to a small plastic cup, desperately trying not to spill anything as they filled a glass of punch.

They could do this.

“Fancy seeing you here.” The sudden voice to their left made them jump, managing to spill almost the entirety of the punch onto their hand. “Careful!” A laugh, and they turned to see who it was.

Villain.

Their entire body froze, panic evident in their eyes. But, Villain didn’t seem to notice, or care. They simply grabbed their own cup, filling it with the same punch Hero had just spilled.

“Thought you didn’t do parties?”

“I do-” They swallowed, their surprise fading and replacing itself with the panic once more. A shaky breath, stepping to the side as Villain reached for one of the small cakes. “What are you doing?”

Villain raised a brow, eyeing their plate full of sweets. “Getting a snack?” They hummed chin tipping up as they inspected Hero’s face. “What are you doing?” They repeated the question, their voice a hum. Playful, taunting. Knowing.

“I was just- I needed a-”

“A break?” Villain sat their cup down, raising a hand to nudge Hero’s chin side to side, inspecting their face. “You really don’t like these things, do you.”

Hero grabbed their wrist, unfortunately harder than intended, to push their hand down. It was getting worse. They couldn’t find their voice, their eyes burned. Were they breathing? They couldn’t tell. Their free hand rose, resting on their chest to feel the rapid bum, bum, bum of their heart. How fast could it go before it gave out?

“Woah, okay, okay.” Villain didn’t try to pull away, instead grabbing Hero’s other hand, starting to walk off. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Wait, I-” They gasped, stumbling as they followed. The room was starting to spin. “I have to stay, I need to-”

“You can come back in a moment.” Villain weaved through the crowd effortlessly, it was like they weren’t even there. They seemed to know the house, stepping through halls like they owned the place until they stopped at a door. A bedroom.

It was fairly small, decorated sparingly. A queen bed, two end tables, and a dresser were the only furniture. Hero barely processed what was going on as they were pushed onto the mattress. Villain sauntered off to shut the door, locking it for good measure, before they too sank onto the fluffy mattress, arms wrapping around Hero.

Hero wanted to push them away, to fight them, threaten to arrest them. But, they couldn’t. It had been so long since the had been held like that, since someone at least pretended to care.

The dam cracked, tears began to spill, though they did their best to muffle any sobs. Surely Villain could tell, their shirt was already staining with tears as the Hero buried their face into their chest.

“Just let it out. I’ve got you.”

[mommyslittlebird]

Fairytale

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

Request: i had a thought of where wanda / step mom wanda comforts reader after a bad day and a lot angst and fluff too

CW: Stepmom/Stepdaughter, themes of depression, spoilers for the Disney movie Tangled (??)

Word Count: 2k (whoops this was supposed to be a drabble. Whatever.)

A/N: Thank you for the request! This takes place when R was 18 before she left for school, so a prequel to the main story of Her Special Girl.

A/N: Fuck my original A/N here that said this one isn't good. This one is cute and I like it.

It was pouring when you finally got home from work. You walked into the house in your uniform, soaked from the rain.

You saw Wanda in the kitchen, fixing dinner. She’s a wonderful cook, but in your current state the food made your stomach turn. You felt nauseous. You hadn’t eaten all day at work, but you still couldn’t imagine eating anything.

Your dad was at the table reading a newspaper. He didn’t acknowledge you’d come home.

“Hey, little love!” Wanda chimed excitedly, but her face falls when her eyes meet yours. You looked terrible, eyes sunken in, dark with exhaustion. You couldn’t even bring yourself to give her a smile. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You didn’t respond, trying to escape to the privacy of your bedroom before the emotions of the day spilled out of you. You dashed up the stairs.

Your dad set down his newspaper with a frustrated thud. He moved to get up and reprimand you for ignoring your stepmother, but Wanda stopped him.

“Vis, you just make sure my pasta doesn’t burn. I’ll take care of it.”

————

She found you in your room, curled up in the center of the bed. You were still wearing your wet and dirty work clothes, but you’d thrown on one of Wanda’s hoodie. It practically swallowed you with how big it was. The sight melted Wanda’s heart.

“Sweetheart?” She called into the room. You turned over in bed, hiding your face in the hoodie. She came to sit next to on the bed, rubbing gentle circles on the back you’d turned on her. She could feel then that you were crying. You were silent, but she could feel the erratic way you were breathing as your chest heaved. “What’s wrong, baby? It’s okay. Mama’s here. Mama’s got you honey. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know,” you cried weakly. “I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s just… everyday is like this. I just wake up with this feeling of despair, and then I go to work and everything is so loud and there’s too many smells and I have to pretend to be happy while I make everyone’s coffee, but I’m just so so tired. I feel like my mind and body are screaming and crying for someone to help me, but this is just my life and no one is coming to save me.”

Wanda pulled you into her lap, not caring that you were still soaking wet. She shushed your cries and rocked you back and forth, letting you ramble and sob into her arms. She tucked your wet hair under her chin, pulling you to her chest so you could feel the gentle beating of her heart. “Shhshsh, let it all out honey. You’re home now. Mama’s got you.”

“All I can do is escape to this white knight fairytale where things are different, and I have friends again, and I don’t have to go on like this. But I’m just being repeatedly ripped out of that fairytale and pulled back into this awful reality I have no choice but to live in. I’m a high school drop out, all my friends left me, I hate my job but I’m just going to hate any job that takes up so much of my time. I can pretend all I want that things are or will be different but this is real life and I’m miserable! I’m miserable and I’m going to be like this until I die!” You sobbed, breathlessly heaving into Wanda’s chest.

Wanda felt her heart shatter into a million pieces. She wished she could be your white knight, take you somewhere far away where you didn’t have to worry about all of the awful things happening in your life. She couldn’t imagine what your situation must feel like right now, hopelessly trying to claw your way out of a well you’re stuck at the bottom of. There were things she was working with you on. You were going to get your GED at the end of the year, but it was still going to be another year before you could even start applying to colleges. The road was going to be long, but she was confident you’d pull through.

That wasn’t what you needed right now, though. You didn’t need to hear her say that just maybe, in a whole two years, you might be able to get your life back on track. You needed something now. You needed something to get you through the night.

“How about this,” she proposed, holding your teary face in her hands. “You take a nice warm shower and get all nice and clean while I go downstairs and finish dinner for your dad and the boys. And then I’ll come back up here with some mac and cheese and some chicken nuggets and we have a special girls’ night?”

You sniffled hesitantly, unsure if you could handle it all: the shower, the food, the company. But in the end, you nodded. Your only other option was to sit in here, alone, withering away in your cold work uniform.

“That’s my sweet girl,” she cooed, pinching you lightly on the cheek. “I’ll pick out some pjs for you and get your water running. One step at a time, angel. I know it’s hard, but you can do this.” She gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, and walked off to start your shower.

It felt insurmountable, but you got up, washed yourself off in the shower, and dried off before putting on the pajamas Wanda set out for you. On top, there was a fresh one of her sweatshirts for you to wear. You threw it on, inhaling her sweet scent with your arms up to your nose. You made your way back into your bedroom.

Within five minutes of you getting back, Wanda came knocking on your door with some mac and cheese and microwave chicken nuggets. Your stomach turned at the sight of the food. Even your safest meal felt nauseating.

“I know you don’t wanna eat, love, but you’ve gotta try and eat at least a little bit for me, okay? We’ll start with two nuggets and half of the mac and cheese,” she says.

You nodded, reluctantly taking the plate and working on your mac and cheese.

“Now, I think it’s time for a movie and some cuddles, don’t you think?” Wanda asked, already setting up the pillows and blankets on the bed. “What would you like to watch?”

You shrugged, unable to think of anything helpful while fighting your stomach for cooperation. “You pick.”

Wanda gave you a soft smile of understanding. She understood the inability to make a decision, and she was more than happy to make one in your stead. She ended up putting Tangled on the small tv in your room.

She sat against your headboard, legs spread and tapped the space in between, welcoming you to sit. When you did, she threw your favorite blanket over your shoulders and set your favorite stuffed animal, Thomas, in your lap. You rested your chin on his head.

“Do you want me to braid your hair like Rapunzel’s?” She asked once you’d gotten to the hair brushing scene.

You buried your face into Thomas. “I-I didn’t wash it in the shower,” you admitted shamefully. It needed to be washed after being in the rain, but you were out of energy.

“That’s okay,” she assured without judgement, starting a French braid on your dirty, wet hair. “We’ll put some dry shampoo in it in the morning.” She braided your hair with you curled up between her legs, tying it off with a little pink ribbon.

“If I were Rapunzel, I’d let you climb up my hair,” you said when she finished, leaning back against her chest.

She wrapped her arms around your waist, giggling at your silly antidote and kissing the back of your head. “You would?”

You nodded against her shoulder. “Yeah. Not dad though.”

Wanda smiled and giggled again. “You just want your tower to be me and you? No one else?”

You shook your head. “Just me and mama, in our tower together.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Just you and mama in a tower, huh? I can definitely get behind that. What would we do in our tower all day?”

You shrugged. “You could braid my hair, and we could sings songs, read books together, paint the walls, snuggle in our bed. We could do whatever we wanted really.”

She smiled, noting that you had said ‘our bed’, implying your dream castle only had one bed for the two of you to share. “So they would be no one to stop me from doing this?” She turned your head with her hand and placed a gentle kiss to your lips.

You looked at her for just a moment before chasing her lips again. And again. And again.

She giggled. “Okay, honey. That’s enough.” She certainly didn’t mind the kisses, but she knew you’d spend the whole movie kissing her if she let you. And she still had plans.

You curled back up in her lap. Right. You were letting yourself get lost in fairytale again. You weren’t in a tower in the forest with no one else. You were in real life, with your father and step-brothers in the rooms surrounding you. Wanda wasn’t your handsome rogue, she was your stepmother. This wasn’t a quirky pairing between a theft and a princess. This was a disgustingly taboo relationship that would ostracize you from everyone in your life if they found out.

Wanda wrapped her arms back around you, pulling you close. “Hey, princess,” she said, kissing your temple. She sensed your discomfort and could immediately tell what you were thinking. She wanted to stay with you in this fairytale for just a little longer. It couldn’t be forever, of course, but you could play pretend, for now. “We don’t have to leave our tower just yet. We have until morning, just the two of us.”

“M-morning?” You asked. Wanda always had to leave early in the night. She had to go back her room so your dad wouldn’t get suspicious.

She stroked your hair, slicking back the frizzy hairs that escaped your braid. “I told your dad that you’re not feeling well and I was gonna stay in here tonight.” She pointed to the packed air mattress on the floor. She had no plans of sleeping on it, of course, but she needed to make the lie believable.

You looked at her with wide teary eyes, unable to believe she’d do such kind thing for you, even when the risk of it was so high. She just returned the look with a soft smile and redirected your attention to the movie.

The movie was nearing the end, specifically when they finally get to see the lanterns and light on of their own. Wanda leaned forward and kissed your neck, using her hand to direct your head up to the ceiling. She turned on the fairy lights that lined the ceiling. They’d been there since you were a teenager, but you never turned them on. Most days you forgot they were there. She turned them to a setting with a gentle twinkle.

You were so overcome with love, you flipped yourself around in her lap so you were straddling her legs and wrapping your arms loosely around her neck. You felt like your entire body was buzzing with electricity when she pulled you down by the back of your neck into a kiss. A real kiss this time, not just the pecks she was giving you earlier. You whimpered against her lips.

“Shh, angel,” she whispered against you, advising you to quiet down before she had to stop. You slipped your hands under the hem of her shirt, tugging on it in a silent request. “Sweetheart, we can’t…” she said sadly but firmly. There was no way she could fuck you while everyone else was still home, no matter how badly she wanted to.

“I know,” you assured. “I don’t want to. Just let me feel you. Please.”

She looked in your pleading eyes, now twinkling in the fairy lights. She sighed. She couldn’t deny you anything. She slipped the shirt off over her head, leaving her bare under you.

You smiled, lying down on top of her and rubbing your face against her soft exposed skin. She smiled down at you, affectionately wrapping her arms around you to rub your back.

“I love you, mama,” you said, nuzzling your face into her chest with the first genuine smile you’ve had all day.

“I love you too, baby,” she said, squeezing you into her and kissing the top of your head. She couldn’t fix everything for you, but, when you needed it most, she could give you your fairytale.

[365emotionlessfaces]

@schemmentits

The Aspiring Teachers Program

Part 8 WC:~1.9k

When lunchtime came, Melissa was glad to see she had made it to the break room before you. She took the opportunity to warm up your food for you, knowing she’d get to see your smile again. After the morning she had with her little eagles, she would be considering retiring to the Bahamas, except you were here.

She had just sat down with her own plate of food when you came through the door. Melissa could tell the exact moment you smelled the food on the table, as you broke out into a huge grin and made a beeline for the table. She ignored the butterflies in her stomach. That happened all the time with you, so she was getting good at ignoring them. Melissa let you take a few bites before she asked about your plans for the Franklin Institute. She dug into her ziti, as both you and Barb took your turns excitedly chatting about your plans for the night. Of course, Melissa took her turn, telling her friends the parts she was looking forward to most.

Just as Melissa finished, Jacob came running in the door, clinging to a piece of paper like it had just saved him from drowning in the Delaware. Janine piped up from the couch. Melissa hadn’t even seen her come in.

“What’s that?”

When he revealed that he was holding an invitation to the Aspiring Teachers Program, Melissa felt her entire body tense up. It had been years since she had attended, but Barb was the only other teacher Melissa had heard talk about the Program throughout that entire time. Apparently, Barb hadn’t heard about it much either because she seemed surprised that the Program was still running.

“I did that once. Worst week of my life,” Melissa thought back to her week in the Program. She thought about that week more than she liked to. Was this a sign she shouldn’t let go of Parent Trap? As Melissa was replaying that night in her mind, the night she broke two hearts, she heard you say that you had been in the Program, and that it had actually done what it was supposed to and inspired her to teach. ‘Lucky for her,’ Melissa thought, genuinely happy that you had a good experience.

Jacob mentioned that it was in Boston this year, and then revealed that he hadn’t read the entire paper by exclaiming confidently, “I’ve never been to Boston in the fall.” Melissa smirked as you corrected him about what time of year it took place in. When he had actually read the paper, he said something about a great opportunity for diversity, and Melissa just rolled her eyes.

Janine piped up again, looking directly at you, “Wait, isn’t that where you met that-”

Poor girl didn’t even get to finish her sentence before you interrupted. “Wonderful teacher who inspired me to follow my dream of inspiring children to learn? Yep, that’s the place!”

Yeah, because that wasn’t suspicious. Melissa gave you an inquisitive look, and she noticed that Barb was giving you a similar one. She also noticed that you didn’t notice either of them because you were too busy having a conversation with Janine through your eyes.

She and Barb decided not to press the issue, so the room turned to discussions of the rest of the day, field trip included. The rest of lunch flew by, and before Melissa knew it, it was time to teach once again.

“This was the best tasting ziti I’ve had in my entire life! You just keep getting better!” Melissa loved when you complimented her food. It made her weak in the knees. Good thing she was still sitting down.

“You say that every time. I think you lying,” Melissa turned to see Mr. Johnson, who had just finished pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Nope, Mr. J, she just keeps outdoing herself,” you replied to the janitor. Melissa found it extremely difficult to ignore the butterflies anymore, and she couldn’t help the blush rising to her face.

Melissa fought the urge to just tell you how she felt right then and there. Instead, she just smiled and managed to say, “Thanks, hon.”

“Of course! I wouldn’t lie about something so important.” Melissa’s smile broke into an all out cheesy grin. Whether or not you were joking, the idea that anything Melissa did was important to you made her feel all bubbly inside, and she just couldn’t help the big ol’ grin on her face. She watched as you finished cleaning up your spot at the table, and said goodbye to everyone. The redhead’s smile lasted long after she had returned to her classroom for the day.

Melissa didn’t see you again until everyone was boarding the buses. She was so busy getting a headcount that she had forgotten to try and get the seat next to you. By the time she was sure she had all of her little eagles accounted for, you were already sitting with a student. Melissa thought she might be able to sit at least in your vicinity, but one glance showed no available seats except the very front row.

Melissa watched as you talked animatedly with Janine and the students beside you, and took her seat. She attempted to read some of the book she had stashed in her purse, but it proved to be a fruitless labor. The children surrounding her interrupted every other sentence. After a whole three minutes of that, Melissa put the book away and decided to just entertain the children.

The Institute was as fun as Melissa remembered. She’s always down to learn something new about her hometown, okay, just not from some clown who’s not even from Philly. The girl was from New York, for Christ’s sake! Melissa was so frustrated by the fact that this girl from New York was the volunteer guide-‘they’re gettin’ what they paid for, if ya ask me’- that she was focusing like a hawk, paying attention to every word that came out of the girl’s mouth, waiting for her to slip up so she could prove she’s a big phony.

Despite Melissa being so zeroed in with the guide all day, she made sure she was never far enough away from you that she couldn’t see you. She looked over to where you had already laid down your blankets and saw a few children trying to lay practically right on top of you. They were surrounding you, each one trying to get closer than the last it seemed. Sleeping bag in hand, Melissa made her way to you, and when she got close enough, she heard a child whine, “But I wanna sleep next to her!”

She took her opportunity. “Jokes on youse guys. I get that spot,” she said, shooing the children so they would make room. She tossed her sleeping bag on the floor and glanced at you. You had turned to hug a kid who was crying because he couldn’t sleep right beside you. Melissa couldn’t help smiling at how sweet you always were with the kids.

She laid down, laying on her side to face you, and propped her head up in her hand. After you had mirrored her, facing her and propping your own head up, Melissa had to tell you all about the New York girl trying to teach her something about Philly, to which you just smiled at her, before sharing your own excitement from the day. She loved how your eyes shined when you talked about things that excited you, and she couldn’t help but give you a big smile of her own as she listened to you talk.

She was ready to kill the alien that tore her away from you.

A kid had screamed loudly, claiming an alien was here, and the rest of the kids went berserk. Melissa had never seen a group of children disperse so quickly, especially not a group of this size, so she shot up and immediately began trying to reign some of the little humans in. It took almost a half hour, but with all of the teachers from Abbott working together, they got the kids resettled. Melissa thought things were returning to normal, when Gregory came rushing up to you, admitting that he couldn’t find one of his students.

This wasn’t Melissa or Barb’s first rodeo- although it was the first time Barb had been compared to an alien- so they took charge of the situation. They split everyone into pairs, except for Ava who went off to get her eleven hours of sleep, and sent them to different floors to cover the entire Institute. Barb and Melissa went downstairs to search, leaving the younger teachers to search the upper floors.

Barb seemed to think it was the proper time to bug Melissa with more questions about her love life. “You know you can’t have them both, right?” The woman had started.

“What’re ya talkin’ about?” Melissa already knew what Barb meant, but she’d be damned if she gave in to Barb so easily.

“You know exactly what I am talking about. That girl upstairs and the girl from Chicago,” Barb pushed.

“She's not from- Look, I know,” Melissa sighed. “I thought I was ready to- I thought I could move on, but then Jacob this mornin’ with the paper from the Program. What if it was a sign that I shouldn’t let her go?”

“Melissa Ann Schemmenti, you are my dearest friend, and because of that I cannot lie to you. Let. Her. Go. You didn’t even tell the young girl your name, and I’ve only ever heard you refer to her as Parent Trap. Do you even remember her name? How would you know if you found her? You think she carries around your stuffed toy everywhere she goes, on the off chance that she’ll see you, recognize you after all these years, and leap into your arms to ride off into the sunset together?”

“Well, when you say it like that…” Melissa couldn’t look the other woman in the eye. She knew that holding out hope that the young girl would waltz right back into her life one day was fruitless. Some fever dream, but God did she want it so bad.

Then there was you. The woman who took Melissa’s life and flipped it on its head. The woman who had been right by her side for the last two years. The woman who made Melissa smile so much that she might start losing her rough and tough reputation.

Melissa knew what she had to do. She and Barb finished checking all the rooms, and once they confirmed Jamir wasn’t on the first floor, they made their way back to their fellow teachers. As they walked down the hall towards the group, Melissa quietly admitted to Barb some of the thoughts going on in her head, and the plan to tell you how she felt about you.

As they approached, Melissa’s eyes were glued to you until she felt Barb’s hand suddenly grab her wrist. She looked up to see Barb more shocked than Melissa had ever seen the woman. It was like Jesus had appeared in the hall of the Franklin Institute. When Melissa followed her friend’s line of sight, her uninhibited hand flew to clutch Barb’s upper arm.

“Is that-” Barb asked as quietly as she could.

“Ronny,” Melissa whispered, not necessarily in response, more so in shock, but she had answered Barb’s question, nonetheless.

Part Nine

[notsofrozt]

WIP

[lavender-milky-tea]

I am in rarepair hell

Reference pose by Ed van der Elsken : Couple Sleeping, 1953

[skoulsons]

Eye To Eye Is All We Can See

• gif by @azertyrobaz

Pairing: Ezra & Cee (Prospect 2018)

Word count: ~2900

Summary: Ezra says something stupid and Cee tries to convince him that he’s wrong

A/N: Nothing except I wrote this until sunrise , so I apologize if it is absolutely terrible, downright ooc, or horribly grammatically. I have not rewatched the movie quite yet 💀 Just a bit of fluff and a tiny hurt/comfort?? Don’t ship them!!

Tagging my favorite people who I get to talk about this movie with: @sotvtaughtmehowtofeel @not-so-mundane-after-all @orangechickenpillow @jessahmewren @alternatewriter @starchild0985

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you,” she said.

They’ve been together a few cycles, the Green Moon left far behind them.

The cycles have been nothing short of eventful in a small spacecraft and two strangers in a very complicated relationship. Cee has had to keep an extra keen eye on Ezra. Not because of distrust, but to make sure his arm is healing well. Or, as well as a cut-off limb could heal with limited medical supplies and a kid, though capable, having done the operation.

Also because Ezra keeps forgetting he’s lost an arm and continuously reaches out for support along the walls of the ship when he moved from their sleeping quarters to the cockpit and he has fallen every single time. He fell out of his bed the first night they were in it; Cee spent five minutes trying to pull him back into the bed and then another fifteen having a verbal battle with him to try and convince him to get back in bed.

There have been moments of frustration where things catch up with Cee, her irritations coming out verbally to Ezra. He never fights back. He always sits, patient and understanding as Cee rehashes the things she’s kept bottled up and taped down for years with all the strength of scotch tape that’s lost all its grip.

They were also navigating their route off the Green to somewhere safe and figuring out… what exactly they were. Strangers? Partners? Friends? Family? Ezra has treated Cee as a real person, a girl with agency and deserving of a fruitful life since the second he met her; it’d be difficult to walk away from someone who gave you something you missed out on all your life. In that same way, it’d be hard to walk away from a kid that saved your life—twice.

Cee also had nightmares about the Green. The Saters, the mercs, the music, even her own father. Ones of Ezra, too. Him dying, abandoning her. Him using her, just like Damon seemed to do. On the worst night, the night when Damon and Ezra’s lifeless eyes were all she could see and their cold, torn open skin were all she could feel, she woke up crying.

Ezra was at her side before she even woke, unsure what exactly to do. He waited, and when she finally did wake, with a tear-stained face and a burning throat, Ezra’s compassion was overwhelming. His eyes were gentle, concerned. He kept his only arm hovering over her shoulder, waiting for permission. She let him hold it, for both their sakes, wishing she’d hugged him instead. Wishing she met him on the floor, their legs a conglomeration of limbs as he held her tight against his side. Instead, he stayed beside her until she calmed, quiet and reserved affirmations in It’s okay, little bird and You’re safe, Cee. Damon's cold, almost robotic responses to her harsher dreams were always Quit your crying or It’s a dream, calm down, so when Ezra keeps a firm, reassuring hold on her shoulder, talks her through it, and wears a soft smile Cee thinks she got to see even before Kevva knew of it—one that is only heightened when the stars of the Black shine enough light in to highlight his strands, making him look less intimidating than he makes himself out to be—Cee relaxes. How a stranger, of all people, can sit beside her and walk her through something so small compared to what all the Black has to offer is beyond her. How Ezra, literally, stooped down to her level to comfort her.

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing that has happened the last seven cycles makes sense. The Green and the people, if they could even be called such a thing, that the pair encountered still seemed so far away from Cee. That they were things that seemed only to be written in fictional novels and included in stories of old.

Except for one thing. One thing that makes sense. One thing that Cee is becoming more clear on with each passing cycle. Perhaps the clearest thing to come out of their time together.

He cares.

She cares, too.

And now they were in the Black, and had been for six cycles. The vastness and eternity of the growing darkness offered a strange comfort to both of them. Despite their care for each other, freedom was out there. Freedom awaited the both of them out there. Separate freedom.

Cee was always confined to Damon. She was always just another pair of hands to mine or hold something Damon couldn’t. An extra pair of eyes to search for Aurelac or an extra pair of ears to listen for any harm or to protect him, completely selfishly. Damon never acted selflessly, not even for his own daughter.

She hadn’t much freedom apart from him. She was always tied to him and his work. She was never given opportunities away from him. No chances for her to explore on her own. To see what was so great about this life that Kevva gifted her. She never had the chance to meet other people and form lasting friendships. She wasn’t given time to… live.

The Black offered that to her—Opportunities. Planets to stop at, to lay low on. Places to settle down. A life to live.

Ezra had freedom ever since he was a kid. He was free, encouraged even, to explore. To get to know the world around him. The vastness of the growing creation. He had the freedom, the opportunities, to explore all of it. But as he grew, there was a hunger for earning. A hunger for points and mining. Anything that could offer him a more than satisfactory life. Aurelac, specifically. An attachment to the work, the hunt, also selfishly. He did what he had to to get what he wanted, similar to Damon. Only Ezra, despite being on his own for most of his adulthood and being separated from his family for longer, cared. He cared enough to listen and pay attention to a little girl he didn’t even know.

He cared enough to be fair. Even split.

Being free from his work wasn’t too far-fetched for Ezra, but it happening because of a child was definitely not his expectation.

Especially someone like Cee. She had a fire in her. She was capable, he knew first hand she was. She was strong, threatening when she needed to be. She was skilled, intelligent, able.

But she was just a kid. He saw how scared she was, even with Damon. But in their time on the Green, he’s gotten to know her. Cee was kind, careful. Ezra noticed the way the inflection in her voice changed when she got excited about Streamer Girl. She cared and she protected. Her heart was big, willing to risk her life to go back for him, even after he specifically told her to go.

Cee was good. All she did was help. Love. She wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t selfish. She wasn’t ruthless or hungry for points. She wasn’t bad.

Ezra believed himself to be. He killed. He was willing, ready, to kill. Someone who has that reputation isn’t good, especially when killing a little girl’s dad gets added to the list, despite what he thought of the man.

He doesn’t believe he’s worthy to be thanked. That anything he’s done, especially to her, is any reason for thanks.

“Oh, no, nothing to thank me for, birdie. I have left you barren and deem your gratitude inappropriate for such a time. Ever since you touched down on the Green Moon, your conditions have been less than unacceptable…”

“Ezra…”

“...and I have been present in all the things that have troubled you so greatly these last few cycles. You have been burdened with dragging my weakened bag of bones across the Green.” “Even as we venture into the Black, you have continually endured my long-winded communication and idle, though I believe fascinating, narrative.”

“Ezra-”

“I am a bit crestfallen that you’ve been subjected to a multitude of predicaments in the time we’ve been together and that I have imparted insignificant salutary to your current expedition.”

“Ezra.”

“The Saters, the mercenaries… I’ve only brought you hindrance after hindrance, little bird. Allow me to implement points in to your care so that you may persevere in your journey and-”

“Ezra!” she shouted, grabbing at his face. Her hands reached his neck first, fingers stretching to the back of his neck, tickling his hairline.

She doesn’t know what this is like. Damon was never really gentle with her. Not physically, at least. She thinks, maybe, he was gentle with her when she was born. Holding her in the crook of his arm, her small, fragile head resting in the safety of his hold. Her skin held against his, breathing in tune with his, eyes fluttering open to catch her first glimpse of the world; her father, a tight-lipped smile strung across his face as tears well in his eyes, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth over the blanket she’s wrapped tightly in, occasionally bringing his thumb up to her red cheeks, a quiet hi to greet her.

Something she thinks Ezra could’ve done.

Something she suspects Damon didn’t do.

Something she knows Ezra would’ve done.

Cee pulled her hands away from his neck and brought them to his face instead, her palms too small to hold him the way she wanted to. She tried, letting them rest against his cheeks and feeling the scratch of his beard beneath her fingers. She kept her fingers outstretched, her pointer and middle threading lightly through the hair above his ears as her last two sit beneath his ear. She kept her thumbs in place on both his cheeks.

If there’s something to say, Cee can't say it.

She’s used to apologizing. She’s used to apologizing over taking up too much space. She’s used to apologizing over getting excited over Streamer Girl. She’s used to apologizing for eating too much of their rations, even when it was the amount she and Damon agreed on. She’s used to apologizing over resting, even when there was nothing to do. She’s used to apologizing over… being around him. Her breath was enough to apologize for.

But this wasn’t for apologizing. Ezra said something stupid and she needs to convince him that he’s wrong.

But the words can’t come to her. They don't. A contrast to how Ezra seemingly has an eleven page research paper of words on hand at all times, no matter the situation, Cee comes up short on correcting him. On affirming him that he’s wrong. On reassuring him that he has helped her.

He’s a grown man. A grown man who killed her father doesn’t need affirmation. Doesn’t need reassurance. And he surely does not need his face held because some kid thought he said something stupid.

Definitely not.

She holds his face firmly, the skin of his cheeks forming at her hold. “Don’t… say that, please. You’ve…” she pauses, inhaling and exhaling through her nose, forcing herself to catch his eyes and to make sure he hears her. “You’ve done a lot. You have. I know it’s… it’s only been a few cycles, but…”

You saved me. You protected me. You kept me. You came after me. You encouraged me. You made me feel safe. You tried to sacrifice yourself for me. You killed for me, more than once.

You loved me. You love me.

Her mind races with all of it, every word holding an unimaginable weight she had never experienced prior. Every word holding truth and passion behind them. Honesty covered every single one, Cee knowing in her soul that that was the man Ezra is. Those things he has done for her, how he’s treated her—that is who he is.

She watches him, wondering if, somehow, the look in her eyes could say the words for her. And if the glimmer in his eye is any indication, she thinks the burning it has left in her heart has found its way to his, too.

She could never say any of that about Damon. He wasn’t an encouragement and any dreams she had and wanted to pursue were shut down by him. She didn’t feel safe with him—not the kind of safe where she’d hide behind him if they were approached. There wasn’t any confidence that he’d care to protect her with his life. And if it came down to the Saters, Damon wouldn’t have kept her.

Ezra was different. Ezra was new, fresh. Real. He showed her more in seven cycles than Damon showed her in sixteen years.

That, to Cee, was enough.

She was wanted now. She could tell. Ezra’s attempt at telling her he was no good for her and saying he offered her nothing was the furthest thing from the truth.

Cee has sought connections all her life and was always denied or taken too soon to form a new one. It was always just Damon. Ezra went through so many partners in his life that he became numb to anyone who would stick around permanently. Numb to anyone who would ever be with him—his other half. And when a child entered his life and created and filled the hole in his heart that wasn’t there before, it became something supernatural. A longing he had immediately, and also a resisting. He was dangerous and he managed to put Cee in some of the most risky situations in under a day.

But Cee didn’t focus on that. She saw through that. She saw his passion and interest in the things he talked about. While it has only been with her, she’s seen the way he cares. The way he went to walk her through the operation on his arm. How he smiled at her and had an immediate pet name off hand to call her by, which, surprisingly, has stuck around—not that she would ask for him to stop using it. How he indulged her interest in Streamer Girl, saying he must now read it after hearing her praise it so well. She’s seen his gentleness in how he’s treated her, spoken to her, but also his violence in how he’d protected her from the mercenaries.

He’s done more than enough, as much as he may try and convince her, or himself, that he has not.

She smiles at him, her hands still on the sides of his face. Before she has a moment to really think, she brought her hands around his neck more, tilting his head down and his forehead towards her. She goes to the side a bit, kissing the skin right at the hairline of his blonde section of hair. She takes a moment to breathe in while her lips are still pressed to his forehead and her fingers lay by his ears, gently holding his head in place.

If she can’t find words, she hopes this works in their place.

She pulls away from him, keeping her hands still on his face as she settles their glances back. Ezra smiles as he shyly drops his head, breathing out a light laugh. Cee smiles, too. A wide, happy smile. One almost unfit after all she’s been dealt.

Cee drops her left hand to his shoulder and takes her right hand away from his face and brings it to the blonde section of his hair. “So…” she starts, rubbing some strands back and forth between her thumb and pointer finger, “how did this even happen?”

Ezra lifts his head, trying to move his head out of Cee’s grasp, but she just laughs, continuing to rub the strands together. He stops moving his head and looks back at her, a more serious expression on his face. “Quite the story there, little bird.”

She makes a face. “...And? We’re not in a rush.”

“That we aren’t, birdie. That we aren’t. Still, it’s a bit of a lengthy tale that I don’t believe to be worthwhile taking up any cherished time we have on our trek-”

“Ezra.”

“Yes?”

“Are you avoiding my question because it’s an embarrassing story?”

Ezra looks offended and starts backing up his claim with no’s and some long and winding explanation as to how, after inhaling alarming amounts of Dust in the Green, he was brought to Central to be fixed up. A few cycles in, Ezra, prematurely, got out of bed and tripped over himself, hitting the small guard rail on the other side of the bed, knocking himself unconscious. The incident gave him nine extra cycles at medical bay and, within a few weeks, after his wound had healed, his hair was growing back blonde.

They laugh together in the ship, the joyous noise echoing off the walls as they continue to pile on jokes and more stories as the conversation flows. By the end of it, Cee’s face is red and Ezra is breathing heavily, both of them slumped against separate walls, holding their stomachs.

It’s true, there are opportunities out there in the Black. Places to settle down and figure things out. And with each new passing cycle, their decision becomes more clear: they’re figuring it out together.

~~~~~~~~~

post-fic note: I can’t remember exactly, but Ezra’s hair growing back blonde after an incident I think comes from another prospect fic out there, I think we violent ones, but I’m 100% sure if it was that one or another one. All that to say it is not an original idea and I don’t take credit for using it for Ezra’s character. I liked the idea of it when I first read it and wanted to use it similarly

[thelooniemoonie]

Man. I'm only now realizing I havent...updated any of my art stuff in a while huh?