#Lost Ones Memories au

[howi99]

Lost Ones Memories chapter 1

"Even in death, their stories shall never fade.

For i am the anchor of their grief.

My body, their vessels.

My wrath, their judgement.

I am the remnant of what was, the savior who couldn't save anyone.

And thus, my mission is to remember.

To save the Lost One's Memories..."

_ _ _

Jeanne: *poking Nora's cheeks* Nooooraaaa~

Nora: *loudly snoring*

Jeanne: *frown* She's a real heavy sleeper...

Ren: That's because you don't use the right method.

Jeanne: *confused* The right- *sees Ren dumping a bucket of water on her head* - WOAH!

Nora: *waking up in a panic* R-REN, THE TENT IS LEAK- *sees the face of her best friend, smirking, with an empty bucket of water in his hands* O-oh, the alarm didn't wake me up, huh?

Ren: Jeanne's been trying to wake you up for the past 10 minutes. Lia's already at the cafeteria.

Nora: *looking at her leader* Why didn't you use the bucket?

Jeanne: *blink* I... I thought Lia was joking when she said to use that if the word "breakfast" didn't wake you up.

Pyrrha: *coming out of the washroom in uniform, almost slipping on the water* Uh... Why is there water everywhere?

Ren: *shrug* Emergency wake up bucket.

Nora: *getting out of bed, going straight for the shower* I won't be too long.

Jeanne: *throwing her a towel and her clothes* We'll grab you some pancakes, want anything else?

Nora: Eggs and bacon. Oh and don't forget to put maximum syrup on the pancakes! *Close the door*

Jeanne: *muffled* Aight, don't be late.

Pyrrha: *muffled* And don't forget to put your bed sheets in the dryer!

Nora: *undressing from her PJ, laughing* Don't worry moms! I'll do that the second i get out!

Pyrrha: *chuckle* Alright then!

J_PR: *leave their dorm*

Nora: *starting the shower* Gotta be quick for more food~ *goes to take her toothbrush but sees something on the back of her hand * Hm?

_ _ _

20 minutes later

Lia Ren: *eating with gusto*

Pyrrha: Weird, Nora is taking longer today.

Lie Ren: *shrug* She's probably singing in the shower.

Lia Ren: *gulping down the food* Ah~ *looking at Pyrrha* Or she's working on a prank on Ren for waking her up like that. *Grin, looking at her leader* So, surprised by the alarm?

Jeanne: *chuckle* Nah, I saw how my aunt used to wake Jaune up. *Looking at Ren* Speaking of, where's your team?

Ren: *smirk* Can't I want to be with my sisters once in a while?

Lia: *Poking him in the ribs* Hey now, that's not what you told me this morning~

Jeanne: ?

Ren: *sigh* Weiss and Ruby were having a... Discussion this morning.

Jeanne: *wince* And my brother?

Ren: Training with Professor Le Fey. Something about circuits and leyline?

Jeanne: *sweating* Oh uh that must be related to his semblance.

Ren: *perplexed* Is that so? Is it like you weird semblance too or-

Nora: *entering the cafeteria, going to sit next to Jeanne* Yo!

Jeanne: *smiling* Nora!

Nora: *looking at her leader* Say, Jeanne, did you draw on my hand when i was asleep?

Jeanne: *perplexed* Why would i?

Nora: *sigh* With that reaction, i guess not *show her right hand* I've got a weird symbol on my hand and i was wondering if one of you drew it, but i already know my siblings can't draw at all.

Lia: True that!

Ren: ... *Mumbling* I've been improving...

Jeanne: *looking at the Symbol without moving an inch*

Pyrrha: ... Jeanne?

Jeanne: *screaming internally*

Ren: Should... Should i go grab her brother?

Lia: Meh, she's a nervous wreck. Give her a minute or two.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

I cannot wait for this Stan to reconnect with his Ford.

I still haven't figured out HOW exactly they'll meet yet, but I do think that Ford would ATTACH himself to Stanley and talk his ears off forever when they eventually get comfortable :] and Stanley would listen because HOLY SHIT, THAT'S HIS BRO HE HASN'T SEEN FOR 40-ISH YEARS, HE MISSED HIS VOICE. Nonstop certified Yapper & Listener relationship <3

Stanley looks dead faced because of his ingrained poker face, but he's thouroughly enjoying it, even if sometimes he has no idea what the fuck Ford is saying. He never interrupts him though, since he knows people usually ignore or interrupt him mid-talk already. So sometimes Stan gets stuck in awkward situations where he has to leave or do stuff, but also doesn't have it in his heart to stop Ford and extract himself out of a (one-sided) conversation.

[lurkinginnernarrator]

au where SQQ does undergo the 'qi-deviation' and is 'changed' but in reality the twin of Shen Jiu, Shen Yuan made a comment one day about how all Shen Jiu did was bitch about his martial siblings. Never one to turn down a golden opportunity,

Shen Jiu: bet

And so the twins decided to switch lives!

The qi-deviation is just so they can explain away any differences of temperament and so sj can hightail away easier.

Shen Yuan: this is going to be so easy

(spoiler. it wasn't)

Between useless sect meetings that could've been not even an email but a text message, reading fifteen different preteens attempts to sneak in dick jokes into their poetry assignments, the head cook alerting him to the fact that they've somehow run out of rice??? They're the greatest cultivation sect??? How does that happen???

Anyway, two of his Hall masters eloping together and taking an extended honeymoon (he's happy for them, but. Who's going to teach those classes now??? Him. Apparently.), sect politics and his 'martial siblings' barely even attempting a farce of civility or courtesy AND his guqin strings needing to be replaced and restrung ?

Shen Yuan is sorry 🙏🙏please come back🙏🙏🙏

Cue the allotted period of switching ending and Shen Yuan dramatically throwing the fan on the ground as Shen Jiu rolls up and goes "thanks for the vacation didi"

[midoristeashop]

Mandatory Jamie fnaf moments + Jack doodle

(I saw the fnaf movie and it was very silly!!)

hey babes I realize that I haven’t posted in a hot minute but you can thank my cat I’ve been dissecting for three weeks + dumb sickness <3

I’m feeling better and space is clearing up so get ready for some funk

[chaos-and-sparkles]

Okay but can we PLEASE talk about how no hextech au Powder has a lock of her hair dyed pink, Vi's pink, a tribute to her sister to keep her close?? Because it made me physically sick and I haven't been okay since -

[starryredpandawrites]

Born From the Same Ink (Siblinks) Masterpost

Yanno, I've made enough content about Audrey and the Ink Demon being siblings that I decided it might be good to put everything in the same place. Might even call it something official like the "siblinks au" if that's not already taken lol

AO3 link: Read the full fanfic here

Bendy Bites: Also known as the random tidbits about the siblinks that I either can't figure out how to fit into the fic or am too impatient to wait to share. Also includes some fluffy headcanons I have for the siblinks that might not even be story related. Can also be found using the "Bendy Bites" tag.

Ink Demon carrying Audrey

Snack (a slightly different version of this is in the fic now)

Feral Audrey

Kitty (post-escape, Audrey and Bendy adopt a cat)

Sign language

Ghost in the apartment (Since writing this, I've had some new headcanons that changed Audrey's living situation but will keep those to myself unless/until they become relevant)

Unintended consequences

Hunting (how the Ink Demon deals with his bloodlust/kill drive in the real world)

Healing Kisses

Asks: I'm not putting every Bendy related ask here (even though I love them all), just ones that I ended up elaborating on and sharing possible story ideas in the process of answering them. You can see all of them by searching the tag, "answered ask" or "ask" on my blog.

Barrel scene (Bendy getting mad because he figured out Audrey hid from him in a barrel and he still couldn't find her)

Height differences and the resulting sibling shenanigans

Krampus Ink Demon

Slicer/Carly (thoughts on how Bendy would deal with her since I left her out of the fic)

Sammy's reaction Audrey and Bendy's bond

Sammy's and Bendy's reaction to Audrey changing the cycle with The Illusion of Living

What if Audrey was taken by the Keepers instead of Bendy? Also, Bendy's reaction to Malice taking Audrey from the manor

What if. . . Wilson succeeded and made Audrey into his "perfect creation"?

What would happen if Gent found Bendy and Audrey if the real world?

First Aid (Bendy's reaction to injuries in the real world vs the ink world)

Audrey smells like the Ink Demon

Audrey's "sisters" (elaborating on Joey's previous attempts to making Audrey)

Copycat ask (eheheh puns, ask based on the Kitty and Unintended consequences Bendy bites)

Can Audrey sense when Bendy's nearby? (based on events in chapter 16)

Miscellaneous:

Halloween with the siblinks

Sammy vent post (the man made me rewrite a whole chapter and section of my outline)

The Ink Demon wiping his tears with Audrey (I didn't write anything on this but thought it was funny)

Scene description: Audrey sketching with the Ink Demon

Fanart: (also known as the best section) I think I tagged everything under "batdr fanart" if you'd rather use that to peruse all the amazing art people have made of my fic. Huge thanks to @tiredtrashpandaart, @mulligansstuff, @magicicephoenix, and @akiraidraws for their wonderful, wonderful art!

Audrey and Bendy meeting and holding hands for the first time

The Ink Demon tapping his claws on Audrey's barrel/hiding place

The Ink Demon waving at Audrey after massacring lost ones in Artist's Rest

Bendy realizing Audrey hid in a barrel when he was trying to find her as the Ink Demon

Elevator scene

The Ink Demon reveals he's also Baby Benders to Audrey

Bendy clinging to Audrey's leg

The Ink Demon hugging Audrey

The Ink Demon hanging with/comforting Audrey plus offering her a tasty, tasty widow pod

Hotel pun

The Ink Demon listens for Audrey's heartbeat

The Ink Demon tackles Audrey

Audrey gets jumpscared and Bendy laughs at her

The Ink Demon saves Audrey from a Keeper

Fic highlights sketch page

Look at them!

Henry's sketches (fun fact, I was originally going to add a description of Henry drawing Boris to his sketching scene but cut it cuz I felt the scene was dragging on)

Sammy arguing with Audrey

Audrey sketching with the Ink Demon by Mulligan

Audrey sketching with the Ink Demon by Akirai (scroll down to see the art, it was added as a reblog)

Audrey tries to banish the Ink Demon

I'm not adding the sneak peeks or chapter announcements cuz all that can be enjoyed just by reading the fic itself (unless someone REALLY wants me to add them, in that case I guess I can add them on here later).

Lemme know if I missed anything or if any of the links are broken and, seriously, thank you so much for enjoying this story with me. It means the world that so many of you lovely people enjoy reading my work. Thanks for everything!!!! 🤍🖤🤍

Note to self: last edited on 11/17/24

[jakes3resin]

Modern Reincarnation AU Part 4 ✨️

Part 3

"John?"

Bucky storms past Jack into the townhouse. It's rude, but he'll apologize later. He doesn't know why he came here instead of his apartment. Old habits dying a hard drawn out death, maybe? He hadn't been thinking clearly. Hadn't been thinking at all really until he found himself waved through by his father's security detail.

"Oh, is that John?" He hears his father call out, dress shoes clicking against hardwood as he walks closer, but Bucky stomps up the stairs towards his room before he sees the man. His breaths come out in rushes as tears keep burning his eyes.

Shit, he thought he'd gotten those under control on the train.

Slamming his door, he slides down until he rests against the floor. He tosses his bag to the side wincing at the sound it makes. Hopefully his laptop survives. At some point he does actually have to do the work he went to the library to finish.

The library.

Buck and Curt.

They wouldn't, Bucky tells himself. They wouldn't. Curt was one of his best friends, and Buck loved him. They...

Fuck they were roommates! Why the hell were they talking about that shit in public? In the place Bucky considered his? Why even pretend? Why drag Bucky into this? Why?!

Bucky buries his face into his hands. His chest hitches as he tries not to sob. He doesn't want his father or Jack to worry about him. He doesn't want to talk this through.

He wants...

He wants Buck. He wants the other to pull him into his arms. To kiss him again as if today had never happened. There was something else about being with Buck, something he'd never felt with anyone else be they friend or lover. He made Bucky feel safe and wanted. Wanted not because of his family and connections but because he was himself.

Buck would know how to make him feel better.

He laughs quietly through his tears. Distantly, he can hear Jack briefing his father downstairs, the words faint but he hears his name and tears used together. His laughter is more sob than anything else. Of course, the one good thing he'd found would end up belonging to someone else. Story of his life.

✨️

There's too much work to do. At least that's the excuse Bucky gave himself for not confronting Buck and Curt immediately. There wasn't time for a confrontation and subsequent blowup of his life.

At least that's the lie he tells himself.

Bucky chews on the straw of his iced coffee as he skims yet another chapter. There's a pumpkin muffin in front of him that he swore would be his reward for getting through this fourty page reading. Midterms have come and gone, but Bucky still has deadlines to meet and research to complete. He can't sit in his room forever, as much as his father and Jack would sometimes prefer that. Better protection from whatever sent Bucky crying to his room as his father would argue. Better protection for his father's political career Jack would quip.

Speaking of protection, Bucky glanced to the side of the cafe towards his security detail. At least these guys attempted to blend in. His father must have briefed them on his track record with previous details. Bucky smirked around his straw. They'd be easy to lose come rush hour. A bit of fun even.

Bucky turned back to his reading, squinting down at the words.

"American airmen during World War II had a dismal life expectancy. It was not a matter of if an airman was going to be shot down but when. Once downed, airmen faced an uncertain 'reception committee,' as Second Lieutenant Kenneth C. Reimer noted in a drawing he made as a POW in Stalag Luft I in Barth, Germany... 'for every [ground combat] soldier killed in action, three or four others would be wounded; air combat was completely the opposite. For every man wounded, three were killed.'"

"Bucky?" A hand settles on his shoulder jolting him out of his reading.

Bucky kept his shoulders loose as he turns around. Buck stares down at him, a bright smile on his face that Bucky can't help but match despite his grief. It wasn't even something he could control. Buck smiled at him, so he smiled back. Bucky felt pitiful.

Buck's sky blue eyes are clear and happy as they dart across Bucky's face. There's no sign that he realizes Bucky overheard him yesterday.

Bucky lifts a hand to calm his detail, all alert now after Buck's friendly greeting. He sees the nearest agent settle back into their chair but knows none of them are relaxed. He darts a look up at Buck, peering at the other through his glasses to see if he'd noticed the disturbance.

Buck's gaze, as it always does, doesn't leave Bucky's face. Even when he rounds the table to sit down, his eyes are pinned on Bucky and nothing else.

"Sorry I couldn't meet up yesterday," Buck dumps his bag onto the chair next to him. Bucky's smile twitches. Buck sits down across from him. His legs tangle with Buck's own under the table, Buck's foot gently bumping his ankle.

"It's fine," Bucky chomps down on his straw. "How was your advisor meeting anyway?"

"It was good," Buck smiles at him, not even a hint of guilt on his face. "Real good."

Buck had told Bucky he was called to fill in a shift yesterday and that was why he supposedly hadn't been able to meet up. A lie Buck hadn't even bothered to remember. His advisor meetings were also always in the morning on Thursdays. Today was Tuesday.

Buck was still lying to him, and he wasn't even guilty about it.

✨️

"I went by your place yesterday. You weren't home." Buck swings their clasped hands through the air.

"Hmm?" Bucky glanced away from the traffic around them. His detail were staying a conspicuous ten feet back, but they were annoyingly keen when Buck offered to walk him back to his apartment.

Bucky would lose them another day.

Buck laughed, deep and airy. Bucky struggled not to lose himself in it. That was what made this so hard. Bucky still loved Buck, and Buck still acted like Bucky was his whole world and then some.

"Oh," Bucky finally processed what Buck had said. "No, I went to my dad's for the night."

"Really?" Buck squeezes his hand. Bucky hates how much comfort Buck's touch gives him.

Does Curt receive the same...? No Bucky doesn't let himself finish the thought.

"How was it?" Concern bleeds into Buck's voice. Bucky hates how genuine it sounds. He's starting to use that word more than any other. The longer he looks at Buck, the more he has to hate to save his heart.

"Fine," Bucky shrugged stepping further away as they came to a stoplight. "The usual."

"The Bucky I know wouldn't give such a short answer," Buck stepped closer eating up the space Bucky had put between them. "Not unless something happened yesterday. Come on, you okay?"

Bucky felt the words bubbling up his throat.

I saw you. I saw him. Why are you here staring at me like I'm the most important thing in the world when you have him? Why are you doing this to me? I love you. I love you so much it feels like my soul hurts. I hate you.

"Spent most of the night avoiding his staffers." Bucky lied. "Barely saw him, Jack either, yet he still asked me to move home at breakfast."

Buck nods, accepting his lies. Was that what they were now? Not a relationship, simply a lie? Bucky wasn't sure anymore. His heart thumped against his rib cage, anger and love in every other beat, but he wasn't sure which would win.

Buck had become his whole world in such a short amount of time. He thought the feeling was mutual, but yesterday showed just how stupid Bucky really was.

"How about this," Buck nudged his hip. "Why don't I stay over tonight? We'll binge a few movies, order something, and have night in. Then,"

Buck paused with a stupid grin that, despite himself, Bucky still found charming. Fuck, he was truly pathetic for this.

"I'll sweep you off your feet and take you to bed. How does that sound?"

"Won't Curt be expecting you?" The question pops out of him without meaning to. Gale furrows his brow, confusion growing in his eyes.

"Curt won't miss me tonight."

Sure, he won't, Bucky thinks bitterly.

✨️

"John," Jack's voice was a surprise. Especially considering it was his father's number calling him.

"You've gotten much better at your Jack impression," Bucky answers just to be annoying. "Does he know you impersonate him on official numbers?"

"You're not as funny as you believe."

"Ooh, you even have his disapproving tone down. I feel like he's in the room with us!" Bucky laughs. He peers around the corner. Buck's still where he left him, buried in his phone texting someone.

Bucky doesn't let himself think about who that person is.

"Your father wants to invite you to a dinner tomorrow. You can even bring that boy that walked you home. The one that hasn't left." Pages flip in the background as Jack talks. Probably governmental reports his father was supposed to read.

"You know you're not his chief of staff anymore?" Bucky leaned his hip against the counter. "You don't have to read reports or wrangle his kid to government dinners to help his image as a family man. You're his husband now, you're the family."

"You're my kid too by that logic, so wrangling you gets to stay on my resume." Bucky snorts out a laugh. "Besides, it's not a state dinner or anything. He just wants to see you."

Guilt gnaws at his heart. Buck pokes his head into the kitchen, phone no longer holding all of his attention.

"Fine," Bucky groans. "But if he brings up the apartment again, I'm walking out with my food on my plate even if it's the good plates."

"See you tomorrow at 7 then. Bring your boy." Jack hangs up without a goodbye.

✨️

It'll be me, and it'll be you, Buck.

Don't count on it.

Bucky jerks awake. His dream flashes through his head too fast for him to remember anything. Scenes superimpose over each other, words jumble together. At least this one wasn't a nightmare. Those always left him shakey and off balance all day.

His dreams have always been vivid, ever since he was a kid. The child psychologists he'd gone to had said it was normal and simply a sign of a well developed imagination.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair groaning when he glances towards his bedside clock. It's nearly an hour until he has to get up, but he knows that he won't be getting back to sleep before then.

Buck lays curled up next to him on the bed. Bucky reaches out to brush a hand through the other's hair. Buck twitches leaning into the feeling for half a second but doesn't stir beyond that.

Bucky sighs. Extricating himself from Buck's long limbs takes time. Somehow in the night, Buck had nearly fused them together as if even asleep the man refused to let him go. Arms layered over arms. Legs tangled together. It's an excellent distraction from his dreams but not from the problems of the waking world. If only he could forget those once he woke up like he did his dreams.

It's only when he's pouring water for his coffee that he realizes he recognizes the voice from his dream. A first for him.

It'd been Buck's.

✨️

(Not a confrontation I know, but it builds my AU lol)

[starry-bi-sky]

I had a thought, dear However scary About that night The bugs and the dirt Why were you digging? What did you bury Before those hands pulled me From the earth? I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask you, neither should you

-------- an extension of this excerpt because I've been thinking of Femme Danny and Jason all week. It's mildly suggestive, but that's really the only heads up needed. --------

Music blaring, bass heavy in her ears, Danny finds him in a ditch at the bottom of the bluff. She was leaving the observatory, and she nearly misses him as she turns out onto the last stretch of road leading back into the city.

She catches sight of him, just barely. A glimpse in the corner of her eye; something reflecting on the light. She thinks it's a deer at first, and instinctual terror that only the idiocy of a deer denting her car can give her, strikes her hard. There's no one behind her, so she slams the breaks.

Her car stops; there's no deer. She looks and looks, but there's no deer, no deer buddy — they always come in pairs. But something still catches her eye; light reflecting off leather, in the ditch below just a few feet in front of her.

"What the fuck is that?" Slips out of her mouth before she can really think it through, and she's pulling off to the shoulder, wheels crunching gravel, before she thinks that through either.

Danny's climbing out of her car within seconds, putting it in park and hitting her hazards as her door clicks open and she stands up on the ledge. The trees block the sky, and there is no moon beholden to brighten the land, only the dull light of the stars and the brights of her car.

There's a man in a ditch. And he's not moving. From the distance, Danny's not sure if he's breathing.

She breathes out for him; "Fuck." She's running around the front of her car, not thinking it through. Her feet crunch the gravel, bugs buzzing at her ears, and she's sliding down the small hill into the ditch to reach his side.

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead." Repeats in mantra under her breath, she can smell blood; heavy and iron, mixing with the dirt and the grass. Her hands find his side, Danny rolls him over onto his back. Her fingers find his pulse, and she breathes relief. He's alive.

—---------

Danny finds no less than two — no, three guns, four knives, and an actual, goddamn shiv on the half-dead ditch man. But not a single ID or wallet.

The man reeks of danger, even in his unconscious state it lingers on him like a rich cologne. It's the human instinct to be curious, and maybe it's the blood and dirt that tells her he's bad news. Common sense, naturally.

She doesn't know what to do with him. Danny wants to help him, but the ghostly part of her, the one that seeks safety above all else — for herself, for her loved ones. Because growing up in a house of weapons on the tables for sticky, pudgy fingers to play with, and food that needs killing twice, and labs full of half-broken beakers and radioactive substances spilling onto the floor robbed her of it entirely, — tells her to leave him.

He's dangerous. Her core hums cold, freezing the tips of her fingers, making her ears ring. She forgets to breathe, her hands going numb. Leave him for the coyotes to find; for the bugs to feast on; for the mud to swallow whole. Leave him for the land. Nobody carries this many weapons on them unless—

He groans. In only the light from her high beams, his cracked lips split and makes a noise of pain. His chest rises, shuddery and slow, and he doesn't wake. The man slips back down into unconsciousness. But he's alive.

He's alive.

Danny exhales. It's springtime, wreathed in life. It's cold; he's cold. But alive. She shakes the chill from her fingers, resolution warms her lungs.

Carrying him up to her car isn't easy — dressed like fucking Dean Winchester and wearing half as many layers, the man is probably two hundred pounds. But she's been working out and taking boxing classes since sophomore year of high school. She throws him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and hikes them both up the hill.

She drives them home. Don't ask her why she didn't take them to the hospital; she can't give an answer. Not one that makes sense. She knows enough first aid to fix almost anything he might have.

Danny blasts the heat and turns the music on low; switches to something softer, more comforting, in case he wakes up. She kicks the passenger seat back far enough so that if he does, he's reclined comfortably.

He doesn't wake up, she can't keep her eyes off him anyways.

—---------

Danny lays him on the couch in her house. He gets blood and mud on the fabric, and she'll need to get a new one because of it. But she takes off his boots, strips him of his shirt and jackets, and flies to the bathroom to get her first aid kit.

He doesn't wake up the entire time she's putting stitches in his side. Nothing is broken, but he's bruised and cut. Some get band-aids, others get bandages.

The man has half as many scars as Danny does. Stabs, cuts, a few burns here and there. Danny has those too, but she doubts the man has been impaled before like she has. The luck of ghosts that they can't die by mortal means. Or curse, depending on how you look at it.

(There's a thin scar on his throat, like someone tried to slice it open. She sees it while she's stitching up a laceration near his collarbone, and Danny can't stop herself from huffing.)

("We match." She murmurs, joking dry and ingenuine. She doubts anyone's survived a botched decapitation like she has. At least his scar is thin and hard to see. That wasn't a good night for her; she had to sew it closed herself, alone out of refusal to let her friends help.)

When she's done, she collapses into the recliner beside him, and falls asleep. She slips in and out of dreams all night.

—---------

When she wakes up, the man is staring at her, sitting up on the couch like an animal listening for the predator nearby. It's a good thing she hid his weapons in the floorboards when they arrived. She stares back at him, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

He's handsome. She thinks, and wakes up fully.

—---------

His name is Jason Todd, he doesn't remember who he is.

That's... a problem.

—---------

She makes them both food, and she'll never stop appreciating the fact that she no longer needs to fight her fridge before the food inside lets her eat. She hasn't lived with her parents in years, and yet the awe still hits her some days.

"I thought I told you to stay seated." She frowns when Jason Todd enters her kitchen, a hand hovering over his bandaged side. They're both tense; awkward and wrong-footed. Off-kilter. It's not a surprise to her. He's amnesiac, she's a stranger.

Jason Todd blinks at her, leaning against the doorframe. From her periphery, he shrugs, only to suck in his teeth in pained regret moments later. "I got bored." He tells her.

"Well, I don't have painkillers," Danny retorts, cheek comes easy to her. Too easy, sometimes. "if you tear your stitches then I'm giving you a rag to bite into while I redo them."

Well, if anything, it gets a snort from him.

—---------

"So, do I have a shirt, or did you just find a half-naked, half-dead man in the woods and decide to take him home?" Jason Todd asks her from the table a few minutes later. She can see, even standing a few feet away, the gooseflesh rising bumps against his skin.

Her cheeks color pink, and she moves to the hallway. "You have a shirt," she says, "you have two actually, and a jacket. I threw the shirts in the wash because they were filthy."

The jacket was leather, so during the night, when she woke up from her many bouts of restless sleep, she got up and cleaned it by hand. "I would've done the same with your jeans, but I can take a half-dead man home," she opens the dryer and pulls out the shirts, "but I draw the line at taking off his pants when he's unconscious."

It gets a short laugh out of him; harsh and brief, and it makes her relax, just a little. Laughter meant just enough comfort to not be tense... most of the time. She returns to his side and drapes the still-warm clothes onto the table.

"What if my legs were hurt?" He asks her, raising an eyebrow even as he reached for the first shirt.

"Then that is called an exception to the rule, ditch man."

—---------

He stays with her. He has nowhere to go — and trust her, they looked. Or they tried to. But he has no social media that shows up under the name ‘Jason Todd’. Oh, there are Jason Todds, but none that match the way he looks — none of them his age, none of them with black hair and blue eyes, no white streak in the curls at the front.  

Well, there was one possible candidate. A Jason Todd-Wayne, infamous adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. But he died the same year Danny did, and unlike her, he didn’t come back. 

“Great.” Jason Todd sighs heavy, “I match with a dead kid.”

“I’m honestly kind of impressed.” Danny tells him, frowning despite her laughing disbelief. She scrolls through every social media she can find, and he just doesn’t show up. There are no warrants out for his arrests, no celebrity interviews with him in it, no missing news reports matching his description. Nothing. “How do you not have any socials? You’re like a ghost.” And she knows a thing or two about ghosts.

It’s equally as suspicious as it is impressive. Who are you, Jason Todd? She wonders, looking over to him.  

He merely shrugs, careful of his injuries, and slumps into his chair. “Don’t ask me, I don’t remember.” 

She gives him the guest room, and they go out and buy him clothes with what budget she can afford. She drags him to a thrift store first, to every thrift store in the city, and they come back with a decent enough haul that he has clothes for at least two weeks. 

—---------

“Danny, what is that?” 

She takes a long sip of her drink, Jason lingering at her side like a shadow. “A smoothie, Tucker.” She says, deadpan like it's the most obvious thing in the world as she slides into their favorite booth with practiced ease. “You know this, I always get one on Fridays.” 

Jason follows her easily, slow and careful, mindful of his sides. He’s back to awkward, tense, acting like an outside looking in. Like he’s not quite sure what to do in the face of her friends. They’ve been together for a week now, and she asked him if he wanted to meet Sam and Tucker with her. 

(“You’ve been cooped up here all week.” She says when he asks her why, her hands shifting the purse at her shoulder. In shorts and a tank-top her scars lay on display for the world to see, and while she's long since shed the worst of her self-consciousness, it still creeps up on her. She can feel his eyes on them, even after a week. “Some fresh air and a change of scenery might do you some good. Maybe even jog that noggin of yours.”) 

Sam and Tucker stare at her, expressions unreading on their faces. Their eyes flick to Jason at her side, and then back to her. Danny takes another longer sip of her drink, and when she lets go with an obnoxious smack, she jerks her head to Jason. “Oh,” she says like an afterthought, an impish smile shadowing over her lips. “This is Jason, I found him in a ditch on Sunday.” 

"You what!?"

—---------

She doesn’t know how it happens. It sneaks up on her like sunlight creeping across the grass, melting away the morning dew and warming the dirt. She loves him. She loves him, she loves him, she loves him. It’s a terrible, choking thing. Wonderfully beautiful, melting her from the inside out. 

She loves him, she loves him, she loves him.

It’s greater than anything she’s felt before. Different from when she nearly dated Valerie in high school — but so, so similar to it at the same time. Warm in its certainty, in its similarity, burning in its difference. 

Danny doesn’t even realize it until half a year living with him, maybe just a little bit longer. But she realizes when she comes downstairs in the early dredges of the morning, sleep clinging to her lashes and sunlight unfurling through the windows, and finds him in the kitchen making food already. 

It’s not the first time she’s woken up to him doing this. But it’s, for some reason, only now that it hits her how fucking domestic it is. With music playing soft through the speaker of his used phone, barefoot in nothing but sweatpants, and humming along under his breath. He’s gotten so comfortable here; he laughs easier now, smiles easier. It was like watching a flower bloom in real time. 

And the sunlight cards through his hair like fingers, caressing over his face in that loving way it does when it wants someone to see the breathless beauty of their eyes. 

Something constricts in Danny’s chest, tight, fond, wanting. Mine, her mind whispers, faint and distant, and knocking the air from her lungs like a fucking train. Her fingers curl tight around the stairway rails, she has half a mind to crack it in two. 

Then he turns and sees her, he always notices her quickly, and Jason smiles at her. 

Somehow, Danny manages to smile back smiling with the ease of breathing, even when her mouth runs dry.

(If she kisses him, will she taste sugar? She hopes not — white sugar is unfilling, sweet but with nothing else to it. If she tastes Jason Todd, she hopes she tastes caramel.) 

—---------

“Want to go throw axes with me?” Danny asks, draping over the back of the couch and hanging her arms off Jason’s shoulders. Her hand finds his hair, and her fingers tangle with the dark curls. She can smell his shampoo when she hooks her chin on the top of his head.

Jason stills, a book in hand — he’s always got a book, and Danny’s never had much artistic talent but she always want s to find a pencil, maybe some charcoals, and sketch the sight down on paper. Memory isn’t enough, she needs it burned into something tangible. She wants to burn everything he does onto paper, wants to remember every little thing about him.

Then he hums, questioning and low, and Danny tries not to shiver with greed to hear it again. She hums back, her next inhale clearing her head. “Well, it’s not just me, but Sam and Tucker too. A new bar opened up downtown and we were gonna check it out, and we have enough time to add another person to the reservation.” 

A silence, thick and thoughtful. Jason tilts his head back to look up at her, and she removes her chin and hand to look down at him. Her hair curtains over them both, locking her into his eyes — impossibly blue, and beautifully so, with teal lining the iris. 

He wears his thoughts on his sleeve, his brows furrowed and mouth puckered in lighthearted thoughtfulness. Quit making me want to kiss you, Danny thinks, and forces her eyes to remain on his face. Idly, her hands trace over his shirt, rising slowly to drag the back of her nail over his collarbone. 

Jason shudders, sighs out slow, and smiles easily. “Sure, what time are we leaving?”   

—---------

Danny sighs as if she aches; she does. Her fingers find Jason Todd’s hair, soft and slipping between her fingers like silk. He’s so close to her face she can feel his breath on her lips, it’s driving her crazy with it. 

“My god.” She murmurs, her voice slipping out without her consent as her fingers drop from his hair to trace featherlight touches down his temples, down his jaw. His eyes haven’t left hers, half-lidded they are, and heavy, staring at her like he might just swallow her whole. 

Please do, she thinks, tilting her head to the side to slot their noses next to each other. His hands tighten at her waist, fingers digging through her hoodie into her skin. He hums, questioningly, low and rumbling like a thunderstorm on the horizon. As if he can’t trust his voice to say something instead. 

Danny chokes on nothing’s heat and runs her thumb over his bottom lip, the flesh catching briefly on her nail. She can’t think straight with him so close to her. Not when he’s so close she can smell his cologne, not when he’s so close she can lean down and sink her teeth into his throat and leave a bruise. She should, it might clear her head. 

Instead, she sighs again, her mouth so close to his that she brushes over his lips when she says; “You’re divine.” 

In the end, she doesn’t need to think about leaving bruises on his throat, because Jason closes that centimeters’ worth of distance between each other and kisses her like he needs air. 

—---------

“Do you have to go, love?” Arms snake around her waist, slipping easily over her dress, and Danny laughs, soft and easy, as Jason pulls her flush against his chest and drops his head into the crook over her shoulder. He dwarfs her in the mirror, capable of curling around her entirely, and she raises a gloved hand to rake her fingers through his soft hair.

Danny hums deeply, tilting to bare her throat as Jason starts pressing kisses to the skin. “Vlad will be upset if I don’t show up.” She wasn’t sure of the importance of this party, but Vlad had promised her a hefty bribe to show up, and call her greedy but damn if she wasn’t going to turn it down.  

Teeth bite gentle at the underside of her jaw, and Danny laughs out of surprise. Jason smiles, indenting it into her skin, and his hand finds the slit of her dress and covers the burn scar on the outside of her thigh. “What about running late?” He asks, something impish in his tone. “I’ve never seen you wear this one; you look good in red.” 

Danny laughs again, turns her head to catch his lips against hers, and kisses him long and sweet. “Yes, he’ll be mad if I’m late.” She says when she pulls back. 

He pouts, and really, how else is Danny supposed to react other than kiss him again? So she does, happily. “Wake me up when you get back,” Jason murmurs against her mouth, chasing after her, “I want to help you undress.” 

—---------

Some days, death creeps up on her, and the phantom pains of it render her coiled into a ball in her bed. She wakes up at three am burning, her starburst scars rooting down to her bones to remind her of the feeling of being torn apart by the atoms and stitched back together again. 

Danny can feel her heart beating in her ears, fast and panicked like she ran a marathon, filling her mouth with iron and the urge to cough out her lungs. There’s a scream stuck in the back of her throat like a spider sac, and she writhes with her head in her arms for what feels like an hour before she forces herself out of bed, mind half-muddled like a zombie. 

Jason is still asleep, Danny doesn’t have half the mind to be grateful, she shuffles herself down into the garage and grabs a compressed canister from the fridge, hidden in a false shelf. She might not keep ectoplasm in the kitchen, but she does in the garage. 

She returns on second nature to the bathroom. She locks the door, shuts the drain, and runs the water to boiling, and doesn’t stop the faucet until the water reaches the little drain in the wall beneath that prevents overflow. The compressed canister cracks open with a hiss, and Danny dumps what’s probably an ounce of ectoplasm into the steaming water.

The effect is instantaneous, the water swirling and turning bright with ectoplasm all the way down. It’s diluted, and Danny only remembers to take off her sleep shirt before she slips into the water. 

Relief sinks into her, and chases away the worst of the pain. She sighs, she can breathe again, and dunks her head beneath the water. 

Then doesn’t get out until she’s freezing again and nearly peeling with wrinkles. 

(She goes downstairs when she’s changed into dry clothes and her hair is damp, and then collapses into Jason’s lap. Her face finds the crook of his neck, and Danny slumps, arms wrapping around his neck.)

(Jason’s hands find her waist, and his thumbs rub circles into her side, slipping under her shirt to run over the raised skin of the burn there. “What’s wrong?” He asks, murmuring low and close to her ear.)

(“Phantom pains.” Danny mumbles.)

(“Where?”)

(“Everywhere.”) 

—---------

When Danny returns home after finding Jason again, she feels numb, she feels cold. Her engagement ring is heavy on her finger and she feels like an outsider looking in when she looks down at it. 

She can’t get the way he looked at her out of her mind. It’s seared into her brain. 

Her back hits the door, and slowly she slides down it, a sob building in her throat. Her lip curling, her heart aching, her heart breaking. Too many questions inside her head for her to try and sort through them, but one is prevalent; Jason Todd is a liar.  

Danny shrieks his name so loud that she breaks her ceiling lights, and takes out the power throughout the entire block. There are dogs howling, cars wailing outside. There’s broken glass beneath her, scattered across the ground, cutting into her palms, and she hurts so much she wants to take the biggest shard and shred herself into ribbons. 

—---------

The memory fades away back into its small star-shape, and floats back up to the ceiling of her lair’s observatory. Danny watches it go, something small and aching still in her chest. Two weeks since she moved into the Zone, and she hates that she still loves him. She loves that she still loves him. 

She hates that she still misses him. She still visits Sam and Tucker, but Amity Park is tainted with the memory of Jason Todd; she needs away from it for a little while. Maybe a long while. She’s not too sure right now, she just needs to stay away. Somewhere where she can’t run into him. 

Danny pulls down another star to watch another memory again. One where they're dancing.

[bonefall]

Thunder and Clear Sky are fighting and oh no! Clear Sky seems to be winning? But what’s this?? IT’S SLASH WITH THE STEEL CHAIR!

Funny enough I WAS actually planning a moment like that with the Wind Coalition. I might shuffle it now...

It was going to be one of the first times Bumble really showcases how good her ability to translate is. Thunder Storm was trying to painfully negotiate with Shadow's Group, or gets in some scuffle with Sky's Clan again (was still working out the details) and JUST as it seemed lost, Bumble shouted "HELP! MURDER!" in Parkmew, causing a cluster of WindCo cats to burst to the rescue

But maybe instead I can shuffle it so that there's a moment towards the very, very end of the diplomacy section where Clear Sky brings his WHOLE forces to destroy the tiny Clan, and THAT is when Thunder and Slash realize they've been pitted against each other.

Hmm... maybe I should back up and cause some sections in that diplomacy arc where Tall Shadow and The Wind Runner offer what Thunder needs in their talks, in exchange for being mercenaries against Slash's cats. Thunder accepts several times, since he was in Clear Sky's group where he "saw that it's true, theyre violent and aggressive..."

Show how it can benefit him to accept what the other groups believe about Slash and his cats, but also REJECT it by showing that in the end, it oppresses BOTH Thunder and Slash to be fighting each other and Thunder was completely wrong to accept their words at face value.

Thunder Storm isn't immune to being an enforcer of the systems he created a Clan to reject.

I think it would also be really good form to change Slash's name a little, because he's SO BAD in the original text, just to differentiate what I'm doing with him.

Hmm... since none of the other groups seem to have a Leader Power yet since they're so new, maybe SLASH and his group is the one with a little bit of magic? I could have Slash be able to die a couple of times.

I could have the white marks on his legs spread up every time he takes damage. Instead of straightforward "lives," however bad it was determines how vertical the slash is. So a REALLY bad death stands straight up, while every drain from weakness or starvation just loops around the leg.

Kinda like one of those heartbeat monitors.

Maybe the other groups call him Slash because of that, but it's not his real name...

[frobby]

one of my favorite senarios to imagine to put yukio in is sending him 10 years into the future (with the exwires usually) and everyone from their class are like chill adults including himself working their boring ass exorcist job and hes trying to assert dominance over them as the teacher™ but they're all like bro why so serious?

[yuesya]

I’m glad there’s SOMEONE in the Gojo Clan in the Cursed Twin au that is horrified by what they did to Shiki, AKA Shiki and Satoru’s mom.

What happened to her in this AU, if I may ask?

Muneyoshi tries to delude himself he did the right thing and before finding about the situation in one of your shorts, he is proud because Satoru is an outstanding genius and thinks they all did the right thing, but how did his wife - who actually loved Shiki and was horrified by this filicide - act towards Satoru throughout the years? Does she learn of Shiki before Muneyoshi does? Does she help Satoru hide Shiki from her husband in the early years? Did she eventually give up and also quietly followed the Gojo’s actions in raising Satoru as the genius Six Eyes? She dead?

I know this AU isn’t exactly the AU for fluff and unicorns, but is there absolutely no ray of sunlight in the shithole that was the Gojo Clan?

Gojo Hina knew her role:

To be the model wife of Gojo Muneyoshi, and the perfect mother to their future children. As far as marriages went, Muneyoshi wasn't the worst man she could've married. Sachie's husband was a high-ranked clan member with a penchant for drinking, and she's seen the bruises that Midori's husband left on the unfortunate girl's body. Even helped Midori apply herbal ointments, and bandage the worst of the injuries.

In comparison, even though Muneyoshi came off as cold and was a quietly reserved man, he was always unfailingly polite and treated her respectfully. He made an effort to portion out time for them to share their meals together, no matter how busy his schedule became.

Hina didn't love him, but she thinks that she could learn to, someday.

Would they finally become a true, loving family? ... It was something that Hina had never dared to hope for, even as a young girl. Her father's position in the main family ensured that Hina and her sisters would be bargained away in arranged marriages that would be advantageous for him. Hina's own mother walked the halls with empty steps and soulless eyes, and the girl dearly feared that would turn out to be her own future, one day.

Otherwise she would... she would...!

...

Fortunately, fate smiled upon her; Muneyoshi was a good man, and Hina was... content.

The first year of their marriage was a series of careful overtures, discrete glances, and all the things that one might expect to see in romantic stories of courtship, except their rushed political marriage had skipped over entirely.

The second year, Hina became pregnant.

Who would the little one look like? she marveled, one hand coming to a gentle rest atop her stomach. Would their child have Muneyoshi's dark ebon hair, glossy like the wings of ravens? Or would they have the lighter shade of Hina's own?

Would they be a boy, or a girl? The Gojo Clan insisted on being traditional, so instead of getting proper checkups and scans at a hospital, women were forced to rely on the clan's healers and midwives instead. Who were skilled in their own rights, to be fair, except it also meant that there was no way of knowing an unborn child's gender for sure.

In a soft voice, Muneyoshi asks her if she would like to name their child. For a moment, Hina's voice catches in her throat.

"'Satoru,' for a boy," she says. The character for enlightenment, and understanding, because Hina dearly hopes for her child to be able to look past the outdated ways of the clan and become someone capable and intelligent in their own right. Able to think for themselves, instead of mindlessly swallowing the views and beliefs of others. "And... 'Shiki,' for a girl."

Yes. The character for awareness and realization, to be discerning.

"Those are lovely names," Muneyoshi's voice is gentle. The way he looks at her is feather-soft, and it makes her cheeks warm with a faint blush.

Then, he tells her about his own childhood. How his father had always, always passed over him in favor of his more talented brothers, how the only time the man had even looked at him was on their wedding day, when their marriage finally brought the man the advantage that he needed to curtail his rival, Takatomi.

"When our child is born," he says, quiet and determined, "It doesn't matter if they're a boy or a girl. It doesn't matter how many more children we have in the future. I... want to nurture them. I won't be like my father. I'll give them all the attention they deserve. The proper resources that they need to grow into strong, capable individuals. I won't let anything obstruct them, or pull them down."

Hina falls in love just a bit more with her husband, at that declaration.

Yes, she's sure of it. Their child will be loved.

"Hear that, little one?" Hina says to her bloated stomach with a smile. "Your father and I are looking forward to meeting you."

There's a responding light kick beneath the palm of her hand. Hina's heart melts with the surge of warmth that rises in her chest, accompanying her child's movement.

Part of her is scared and nervous, because what if she's not a good mother? She doesn't know how to be a mother! And Hina is sure that her own mother is not a role model to emulate for motherhood. Should she just try to do the opposite?

But Muneyoshi will be with her, and his heart is in the right place. Both of them are determined to do right by their child, and Hina will-

Hina will-

"Twins! The girl's having twins, someone call-"

"That's a bad omen, isn't it? The main family isn't going to be very happy that-"

"Blood, she's losing blood, hand me the-"

"Oh my god. The boy. Look at the boy's eyes!"

"That's-?! Report this to the elders! It's the Six Eyes! Finally, another child has been born with the Six Eyes, how many generations has it been since-"

"Don't start celebrating too early, we still don't know if-"

"Wait, what about the girl? The... twin..."

...

Twins are cursed. Better to give birth to a stillborn than a pair of twins, or so the saying went. Because twins come from one entity in the mother's womb, and so they steal from each other. Fight with each other. Twins are cursed, because neither will ever realize their full potential, because they're incomplete on their own.

Hina. Doesn't. Care!

Her children are promptly taken away from her, as soon as they are born. Hina is left struggling weakly on the bloodied bed, to no avail, and the following days are nerve-wracking.

Your son is born with the Six Eyes.

It is confirmed. Your son possesses Limitless! Six Eyes, and Limitless! At long last, the Honored One is returned-

Part of Hina lights up with fierce joy and pride, upon hearing the news. Her son has inherited the prized cursed technique and ocular curse of the Gojo Clan! The first in hundreds of years!

Another part of her remains trembling with fearful trepidation. What about my daughter? What about Shiki?

...

Shiki is dead.

Muneyoshi killed her.

“... Muneyoshi, what did you do?! You monster, you wretched excuse of a husband, give me back my dAuGHTER-!”

How could he?! Hadn't he been the one who'd said that he would protect and cherish his children? To nurture them? To ensure that nothing would... obstruct or... drag... them... down...

Ah.

Is this how it's going to be, then? Satoru was his son, but Shiki wasn't his daughter?

...

Hina walks through the halls of her own home, feeling like a stranger. Rooms that are full of sunlight are now cold and dim. Walking into the nursery room that she and Muneyoshi had prepared for their child feels like stepping into a grave.

Shiki doesn't have a grave. They didn't even have the decency to write her name down in the clan registry! Instead, they just swept her infant daughter's corpse under the rug because they wanted to deny that she ever even existed-

Hina can't-

Hina can't-

She can't live like this.

One night, with shaking hands, Hina forms a noose out of her bedsheets, and throws it over the rafters. Steps on the edge of her bed. Closes her eyes, raises her neck and-

-falls.

Hina tumbles roughly to the ground with a startled gasp, because the bed had moved. Why? How?! She's not drunk, and there's no way that inanimate furniture just moves-

-on its own-

... oh.

Hina stares. A formless cloud of darkness dives under her skewed bedframe before she's able to get a clear view of it, but Hina can... Hina can feel it. There's a connection, from her to this odd cursed spirit -and there's no doubt that it is a cursed spirit; Hina might not be a sorcerer, but she grew up in a sorcery clan. Speaking of, how in the world was there a cursed spirit in the Gojo Clan? To be fair, it had a weak presence and Hina barely sensed any resentment from it, but that still didn't explain...

Hina slowly lowers herself in a crouch, cautiously peering towards the cursed spirit from where it's hiding under the bed. It shrinks in on itself, hiding from her with a wail-

An infant's cry-

Intuition clicks, and the pieces fall together in her mind. Hina trembles. "... Shiki?"

Her daughter. That's her daughter, turned into a cursed spirit by unjust murder at the hands of her father, that's her daughter-

Tears stream down Hina's cheeks as she finally reaches for her child. There's a faint air of confusion that Hina can sense emanating from her, which makes her cry even harder.

But, there's no time to lose.

She doesn't know how Shiki has been able to go unnoticed all this time, but this definitely won't last. The Gojo Clan is a clan of sorcerers, and it won't be long before her lingering presence is discovered, and the last traces of Shiki are erased. And even if a miracle happened and no one found her -how long would it last, once Satoru started training to become a sorcerer? If one day Satoru came back and found a cursed spirit in his home, wouldn't he exorcise it without a second thought? He wouldn't even know that he'd be killing-

Wait.

Satoru.

Satoru.

... Hina knows what to do.

For the first time, Hina holds her child in her arms. Shiki is oddly docile -can she sense the same connection that Hina feels? The bond between a mother and her newborn child that somehow transcends even death? Hina croons softly to the formless mass of darkness, where the silhouette of something that vaguely resembles a fetus can be glimpsed in its center.

She picks up a knife, and brings Shiki to Satoru's nursery room.

... Satoru is asleep. Of course he is, it's the middle of the night. Shiki stirs curiously, hesitantly lifting a messy tendril to reach for her brother, and Hina feels her heart break all over again.

In another world, if we didn't belong to the Gojo Clan. Would the four of us have been... happy?

Hina shakes her head roughly. Now is not the time for any doubts -and so she steels her will.

... Hina is not a sorcerer. However, her family comes from a long line of powerful sorcerers -one of her ancestors had, in fact, been an honored sorcerer who'd possessed both Six Eyes and Limitless. The very same one who'd died fighting the Zenin clan head at the time, one who'd inherited his clan's Ten Shadows... which then led to the family's difficulties within the Gojo Clan for several generations afterwards.

Her family had nursed a grudge against the Zenins. Decided to investigate the Ten Shadows, not only in terms of the shikigami that could be summoned... but also the particulars of shikigami binding. Which, coincidentally, was also related to the binding of cursed spirits.

"Shhh, be good, Shiki," she whispers to her daughter. "Satoru's cursed energy will be enough to mask your presence. Shadows are fragile, and this won't hold forever, but for now... Protect each other. Go, and stay safe in your brother's shadow."

Ten Shadows allowed a sorcerer to call upon their shikigami with no need for any preparations. Other shikigami users needed to pay a price, in order to bind their familiars. As for what Hina was attempting...

Ritualistic sacrifice. It was only fitting. Now, in order to complete this binding, there was only one thing left to do.

Hina tips her head back and slashes her knife across her throat.

[totaleclipse573]

Thinking about how oc universe eclipse had photographic memory and it made his immense skill in holding grudges for the longest time ALL THE EASIER 😭😭

[starculler]

strap in for this week's fic flavor: the failsafe episode of season one of the young justice cartoon except the simulation just won't. fuckin. end.

(fics that inspired this at the end)

If I ever did sit down to make my own fic, I'd split it in 3 parts:

The Simulation: bits and pieces of the 40 years Dick lives after most everyone he knows has died

The Return: the immediate aftermath and healing from the trauma of having not-quite-actually lived a whole life only to wake up and find out it was all fake. nothing traumatizing about that whatsoever.

The Unintended Consequence: aka the twist I'd love to add and would hint to in the second part - finding out the simulation, through martian mind fuckery, pulled from the real world (and in many cases, from real minds). Dick meets a bunch of people he didn't think were real outside the confines of his simulated life. A bunch of rowdy, heroism-inclined teens across the years get to meet the sibling/friend/mentor figure they all dreamed up one night.

(actual idea snippets under the cut)

.

Dick Grayson is 14 and most of the world's heroes have died. He planned a suicide mission that left him the sole survivor of a doomed team he helped found. The invasion may have been stopped, but is this really the price he wanted to pay?

The first face he sees in the infirmary is Roy's, and he has to close his eyes and just breathe for a few minutes because for one painful moment he'd thought it was Wally. But this isn't the world where his best friend miraculously survived alongside him. This is the one where he got his best friend killed and didn't even give him the courtesy of following behind him. Behind them.

.

Dick Grayson is 27 and has lived longer without Bruce than with him. The invasion's anniversary is always a tough day for him, but that morning seems especially harrowing. He'll get shit for it later, but can't resist stepping out onto the balcony of the manor's master bedroom (Bruce's old bedroom) for a smoke -- his first since he'd promised to quit if Jason, just 15 then, did too.

"Bad habits tend to pile up," he'd said, a rueful quirk to his tired grin. He'd tapped the cigarette twice on the railing and added, lower, "and this one's especially nasty, huh."

He inhales, watches the sun creep across the horizon, and lets acrid smoke burn through his lungs for a long moment before blowing it out in a small cloud. His eyes water, but he doesn't cough. It tastes just as bad as it did the first time he smoked one, not even a year after the invasion and treading water as Robin proved insufficient.

There hadn't been enough heroes to go around then, and Dick had been trained by one of the best. It hadn't been fair, but it had been his plan that had ultimately stopped the invasion. His shoulders everyone's expectations fell on.

He takes another drag, then smudges the lit end against the rail he's leaned on when he hears a boot scuff purposefully against the roofing above him.

"Todd and Pennyworth will be upset with you."

He doesn't turn around. Damian doesn't jump down to join him.

.

Dick Grayson is 54 and wakes up in a room full of ghosts. He hears his long-dead father-figure tell his long-dead team about a simulation they weren't meant to win. A training exercise gone wrong and only half a day spent under their mentors' careful, if slightly panicked, supervision.

He looks at his hands, watching the way his gloves crease when he flexes them in and out of tight fists. He looks at his team, their eyes a little haunted but shoulders slumped with relief even as they grumble. Batman's heavy, gloved hand settles on his shoulder and the weight of it is a nauseating mix of foreign-familiar.

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

Tears prick his eyes behind his domino mask, and he tells himself the suffocating, acidic void building in his chest is just some leftover side effect of the ordeal and not the grief-guilt of outliving yet another family (no matter that they hadn't been real in the end).

.

Dick Grayson is 16-going-on-56 and well used to the coincidences piling up between his simulated life and the real thing. Some of it -- missions and villains he remembers cropping up -- he's marked for Bruce to review and sort as he pleases. Some -- security for the cave, team building anecdotes, and training regimens -- he's shared with the team. And some he keeps only for himself.

Tim is one of those. He knows it's not fair to the kid (so much smaller now than he ever was when Dick lived his simulated life), but he can't help being selfish just for this. Tim is the one kid he's sure he didn't make up, and if Dick's taken to babysitting the kid just to be near at least one member of the family he built for himself in the wake of the worst days of his life .... Well, anyone who says shit about it can happily stand in line to have their teeth kicked in.

Despite this, it still catches him off-guard when he sees a familiar face pop up in one of Bruce's reports.

Jason Todd, caught boosting tires off the batmobile, is nearly the same age now as he was when Dick met him. He stares at the words, but none of them really sink in beyond the kid's name and address. He's moving before he's even made the decision.

He's used to the world kicking him when he's down - lived it for 40 frustrating years. But he has Bruce again. And things with Tim have been so good. And he's always been selfish when it comes to family. If he could just see Jason. If he could just meet him. If he could talk to him.

If if if if if--

.

Inspirations:

Circles in Shattered Mirrors by InfinityIllusion

Fine (But Not Okay) by CharlotteDaBookworm

Verisimilitude by mutemelody

[randomly--accessed--memories]

Sir Pentious has... complicated feelings about his relationship with Vox. He used to idolize him– Pen tended to idolize all overlords, but Vox in particular was one of his favorites due to the tech empire he built for himself and how he seemed amenable to partnerships. Hearing he'd died was... disappointing, but this is Hell after all and maybe Vox being gone would leave an opening for him to finally begin his career as an overlord (it did not).

When he got the call from the Vees, recruiting him for a secret mission to rescue Vox from the Radio Demon himself, Pen was astounded. Vox was alive? And he'd seen him at the hotel but had either not recognized him or been too focused on Alastor to register his presence? The Vees gave him a vague idea of the state Vox was in, but he was shocked once he finally met him (literally: Vox zapped Pentious by mistake while shaking his hand). He didn't know Vox any more than any of his former customers would, but it was still jarring to see a man who'd always presented to the public as so powerful and in control act in such a high-strung, disorganized way.

Pentious managed to keep his cool around Vox and not instantly give the game away. It was weird, living at the hotel, slowly figuring out the finer details of the situation that the Vees had left out. Pen found himself surprisingly grateful that Alastor never took him even remotely seriously as a rival if this is what he does to people who do get his attention. Vox now followed Alastor around like a lost puppy and just could not stop breaking things. Pentious found himself being called upon to attempt to fix technology outside of his area of expertise more and more frequently. Vox was always frantic to fix his mistakes (when he could remember that he made them), so the two of them worked together; Vox explained how the technology functioned and Pen did the physical work of repairing the item, as well as the mental work of trying to make sense of Vox's rather disjointed explanations.

They talked while they worked. In group settings, Vox found Pen entertaining– he was dramatic and bombastic and could hold Vox's attention fairly easily as a result. Despite the circumstances of the situation, Pentious couldn't help but receive a bit of an ego boost from such a formerly powerful overlord treating him like he was someone worth paying attention to. But when they were alone– working to repair whatever new household appliance Vox had fried that day– was when Pen found himself actually getting attached to Vox. He could see glimpses of the intelligent, diligent, ambitious man trapped beneath all the noise. Vox still had actual, meaningful things to say, they just tended to go unnoticed in the rush of constant speech. Vox would occasionally become incredibly frustrated, feeling as though no one around him took him seriously or wanted to listen to his input on things. Pentious could relate to that.

Pen would listen though. He'd adjust the dial and try to tune into what Vox was actually trying to communicate. This wasn’t some stupid Egg Boi, after all; it was one of the most influential people in the whole Pride Ring, even if that part of his life was clearly, permanently over. Pentious was surprised at how patient he was capable of being and how much of a difference it made. Other than Niffty, most of the hotel residents had learned to sort of tune out most of Vox's chatter (either intentionally or unintentionally) and only tune back in when he said or did something that was obviously important or completely un-ignorable. It was so gratifying for Vox to finally have someone who was paying full attention to everything he was saying, as well as making a concerted effort to understand which parts were an attempt at a point and which parts were just absentminded rambling.

Once Vox and Pen felt as though they (mostly) understood each other, they were able to make progress. Vox started getting a better hold on his electricity and Pentious learned which strategies for keeping Vox on-task worked best. Instead of constantly fixing stuff, they started building things together. It was surprising for Pen to realize that he no longer only cared about Vox as a former overlord, but as a friend. They had fun together, both with and without the other hotel residents.

On some level, Pentious knew that if Vox weren't in the mental state that he was, he never would've given Pen a second glance. That thought made him uncomfortable; he couldn't help but feel like he was taking advantage in some way. But on the other hand, Pentious recognized that he was helping Vox (and Niffty too, eventually). Where did that leave him, morally? He mostly tried to tune those thoughts out though and just enjoy the present moment. It became very easy for him to forget why he was at the hotel in the first place, especially as he grew closer with the other residents too.

Eventually, approximately four months into his stay, Pentious was on a call with the Vees, reporting back about whatever was going on that week. Val casually mentioned how he and Velvette were going to kill everyone in the hotel once they got Vox back; they all needed to be punished for their complicity in this situation, not just Alastor. Pentious was shocked, especially when Velvette confirmed that, yes, that had been the plan all along, obviously. Pen had grown deeply attached to his life at the hotel and his new village of friends; he couldn't let them all die for something that wasn't even their fault. It was a hard choice, but as soon as he got off the call, he went straight to Charlie and came clean about how he'd been sent by the Vees to spy on the hotel and get Vox back. He didn't tell her the truth about Vox's situation though. Pen was desperate to preserve what he had at the hotel and he knew that if he revealed why the Vees wanted Vox back, everything would come crashing down (and that Alastor would probably kill him in retaliation almost instantly). Charlie forgave Pen, of course, and he was free to continue with the life and friendships he'd come to treasure at the hotel. Pentious wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do, morally. But he did it anyway.

[sea-owl]

Hi could i request Edmund but if he lived and he and violet turn yandere for reincarnated Portia? But like I wanna see edmund be feral too. Like someone bothering Portia and he loses it more because his wife for some reason ain't there to be the one going feral.

Thank you

Oooo Yandere Edmund's turn to go feral.

Quick note this is for one of the isekai au variants where Edmund survived thanks to Portia accidentally sprouting some modern world wisdom on how dirty bee stingers are/cryptic allergie knowledge while she was extremely tired one time and past life memories started mixing with her thoughts. He and Violet are trying to seduce Portia together. I have no idea how it started in universe, someone just requested it one day and we went from there.

Edmund knew on an outside appearance he was calmer than his family. He had to be as head of the family he had to make sure they were safe so that means keeping his . . .urges more in check than his wife and kids. Which was fine with Edmund, Violet was feral enough for both of them.

It's too bad she isn't here right now to go feral for him.

The meeting started out simple enough. It was a meeting with all the heads of each family. Majority were the lords of the houses, yes, but a few ladies of the houses were there as well, mostly ladies whose heirs had not yet become of age. Two of these remarkable women being Lady Danbury and Lady Featherington.

Lady Danbury being the lioness of the ton was almost always sure to be there, but Edmund was never sure if Lady Featherington would show. It has been. . . three years since she last showed? Though he will not complain of her attendance. Honestly she was the best view he had at these meetings. The new lip stain on her was quite a fetching red. He wondered how the color would mix with Violet's.

Edmund was sadly pulled out of his very nice fantasy when a sneering lord decided he was going to stand too close in Portia's personal space. Clearly he was trying to use his standing position to intimidate the sitting lady.

Lord Morrison, one of the old lords who more often than not preferred the ways of a century before.

"Of all chits, you lot let in you let the bloody Catholic come to these meetings?" Lord Morrison snapped. He turned to face Portia fully, and his tone took on one of mocking. "A woman with no power and no chance to truly gain power. Your husband should have left you to rot in Ireland, choked by that rosary."

Portia stiffened. Edmund felt his fist clench. Of all times for his wife not to be around.

"Lord Morrison," Portia said, her voice taking on the accent of her birthplace. "May Mother Mary bless you just as she was blessed."

Lord Morrison's face turned red, his eyes wide, and overall his body read enraged. One hand reaching out towards Portia.

"Lord Morrison," Edmund shouted, his own hand reaching across the table to grab onto the older lord's arm.

Lord Morrison looked at him, hiding a wince from Edmund's tight grip. "Bridgerton."

"I need to speak with you outside."

Lord Morrison made a grunting noise but followed. "Anything to get out of this stench."

Reluctantly letting go, he rather lead him like the disobediant dog he is, Edmund began to make his way towards the door.

Once outside Edmund looked to his left, then his right. Good no one was coming. He made sure the door closed behind him, and the curtains are always drawn at these meetings.

"Alright Bridgerton what-"

Edmund swung. Again and again he would not give the older lord a chance to hit back.

"You seem to hage forgotten your warning, Lord Morrison," Edmund spat. "You do not insult or endanger what's mine, and that very well includes Portia and her family."

Another punch and Lord Morrison tumbles over the railing around the stoop and into the shadows that cover the yard.

Edmund pauses to take a few breathes. The old lord isn't making any noise, so he should be knocked out long enough to send him to Violet so she can have her turn.

"Lord Bridgerton."

Edmund turned, using the motion to hide his bloody knuckles in his pocket. "Come now, Portia, we've been friends for long enough. Call me Edmund."

Portia tested the name. "Edmund."

Edmund smiled.

"Where is Lord Morrison?"

Edmund frowned. Why bring up that grouchy lord? "He had left, thankfully."

Portia nodded. "Thank you for stopping him. I had forgotten the distate some have for catholics."

Edmund shook his head, "He should have never said those things. Choking on your rosary? Absurd."

Portia chuckeled. "Yes, well, while some do like it, I much rather preferred to be tied up with it while saying a different prayer." She sent him a wink.

Edmund's mind flashed to an image of Portia hands bound by the rosary she used to wear under her clothes. He remembers the beads being green. Violet or himself having control while the other does wicked things to Portia's willing body. Another image flashes except this time it's Portia in control while she has bound either himself or Violet.

Damn, he'll have to bring up this potential fantasy to Violet.

"Thank you, again Edmund" Portia said. She paused, biting her lip before leaning closer. It was quick, really a press of the lips to cheek.

Edmund was stunned.

Portia's cheeks were slightly pink. "Violet is always asking for a kiss. Tell her if she wants a kiss from me, then she should kiss there," she joked.

Before he could move, Portia was already in her carriage and driving off.

Edmund looked down at Lord Morrison.

Well shit.

"He's dead."

Violet pouted. "You couldn't have a left a little bit just for me?"

"I did not intend to kill him my love," Edmund said.

"It's not like he didn't deserve it," Violet replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "Though you missed a spot in your clean up my dear."

"That is not blood, but something more favorable," Edmund teased.

Violet looked curious.

"Portia gave me a thank you kiss."

Violet immediately pulls her husband in kissing that same exact spot while Edmund laughs.

[fistfuloflightning]

An expansion on this post now that I’ve had time to think (ie daydream) about it

MDZS happened long before SVSSS to the point that the sects have faded to obscurity or legend and the only important things left behind are a handful of relics and cultivation legacies.

So when Huan Hua Palace hears about an extremely young ghost cultivator living in the Burial Mounds, they suspect he’s the reincarnation of the Yiling Patriarch (not knowing the real Patriarch has already been reincarnated centuries before as a crow and has since cultivated to a high level). Thinking to nab him for their own, they send cultivators to bring him back.

Little do they know that Wei Wuxian will not let any of them take another of his sons.