#STOP WASTE : SAVE FUEL

[monkeyssalad-blog]

STOP WASTE : SAVE FUEL by jim goodyear Via Flickr: 440PSX[rsz[strtn Windows Down - Lights Out

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Saving Jacaerys during the battle of the gullet? I am not ready for this moment

Who else is not ready for this? I have not read the book, but I know it will be a sad day

Warnings: mention of injuries, death of a dragon,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Arrows were being shot by the fleet of the Triarchy and Jacaerys was making a big mistake making Vermax fly too low, but you were too high in the sky for him to hear your warning. 

Time seemed to slow as the inevitable happened: a crossbow bolt struck Vermax in the eye. The dragon let out a pained roar, spiraling uncontrollably before crashing into the sea below. The sight tore at your heart, but there was no time for hesitation.

Wasting no time, you commanded your dragon to go down, diving swiftly and weaving through the storm of arrows with remarkable agility. The salty sea air stung your face as you descended, your mind racing with fear and determination.

The chances that Jacaerys survived such a fall was slim, but you had to know for sure. You had to see for yourself.

As you neared the water, you could see the wreckage of Vermax in the churning waves. His green scales and the red of his wings. A tear fell from your eye. 

Please be alive. Please be alive.

Tearing your gaze from Vermax's lifeless form, you scanned the chaotic waters and the fires spreading across the wreckage. Suddenly, a splash of movement caught your eye. Jacaerys had managed to leap free and was now clinging desperately to a piece of wood from a shattered ship. Relief surged through you, mentally thanking the gods. 

You turned in his direction, but before you could get to him, an arrow sliced through the air, striking Jacaerys in the shoulder. He cried out in pain, his grip on the makeshift raft faltering as the arrow pierced his flesh.

‘’Dracarys!’’ you commanded, fury fueling your voice. 

Your dragon responded instantly, unleashing a torrent of fire upon the ship from which the arrow had been fired. The flames consumed the attackers, their screams lost in the roar of the blaze. Satisfaction filled your blood. Hurt the ones you love, and taste the revenge of the dragon. 

You called Jacaerys’ name and he looked up, his face pale with pain and exhaustion. He had a cut on his face and his shoulder was bleeding from the arrow, which was still in his shoulder. 

For a moment, relief washed over him, but it was short-lived as a wave crashed over him. He tried to hoist himself back onto the piece of debris but winced as a jolt of pain flared up his arm. His fingers slipped, wet from saltwater, and he fell back into the cold water, gasping for breath as he resurfaced.

Carefully, your dragon hovered just above the surface, and you reached out a hand, tightly holding the handle of your saddle with your other so you wouldn’t fall in the waters too. ‘’Take my hand!’’

With a grimace, Jacaerys stretched out his good arm, and you pulled him up with all your strength, straining against the weight of his soaked clothes and his own weakened state. He settled in the saddle behind you, safely. You felt him shivering behind you, the cold of the water and the blood loss clearly taking its toll. 

You needed to get back to Dragonstone quickly before cold would take him. You ascended into the air, wings beating heavily against the wind as you fled the scene, escaping the deadly range of the Triarchy's arrows. 

 ‘’You...you came for me,’’ Jacaerys said, his voice weak from the ordeal. 

‘’Of course I came for you,’’ you retorted, your voice a mix of concern and annoyance. What kind of wife would you be if you didn’t come to your husband’s rescue?

Once you landed on Dragonstone, you called out for a maester. Jacaerys’ clothes had dried a little on the journey back, but he was still cold…and bleeding. You asked the servants to fetch him dry clothes and followed Maester Gerardys, who took care of Jacaerys’ wounds. He carefully removed the arrow out and stitched the wound, stopping the bleeding. By the look of pain on Jacaerys’ face, it must not have been pleasant. 

The fire in the hearth crackled, slowly warming up the prince. His wet clothes were discarded on the floor and replaced by dry ones before settling into the chair by the fire, his silence deep and heavy, thinking back to everything that just happened.

You gently draped a blanket over his shoulders, enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth. ‘’What were you thinking, flying so low?’’

Jacaerys looked down. His lack of battle training and knowledge was what got him into this situation. What caused Vermax's death. A tear rolled down his cheek but he wiped it away.

You sat on the second chair, still in your riding gear. ‘’You need to be more careful, Jace,’’ you scolded gently, concern lacing your words. ‘’You're not some invincible warrior. You're the Prince of Dragonstone, your mother’s heir. Your life is too important to risk like that.’’

Your words came from a good place, but Jacaerys wanted to scream. He was tired of hearing people saying his life was important. He wanted to be on the battlefield and come up with strategies, he wanted to do something to be part of this war. 

But hearing the discourse from you felt different. To you, his life was more important than any of his titles. 

Jacaerys sighed. ‘’I'm sorry,’’ he said, his voice tinged with pain and regret. ‘’I was just...I guess I was trying to prove myself. I don't want to be known as the prince who sat on Dragonstone and let others die fighting for his mother's throne.’’

You understood where he was coming from, but proving himself to others was not worth jeopardizing his life. 

‘’You don't need to prove yourself by being reckless and throw your life away. The Queen would not bear losing another child. I would not bear losing you.’’

—

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[revelboo]

Any possibility of us getting an update on “Before I Wake” (ROTB Mirage)? Miss my sassafras (no pressure ofc!!!!!!!) Pics of my Thundercracker as tribute

Oh, TC’s so dramatic! I love it!

Before I Wake Pt 2

ROTB Mirage x Reader

• Noah’s going to kill him. Or Optimus. Maybe they’ll take turns. But he can’t just leave you out here on the sidewalk. Swinging you into his avatar’s arms and carrying you over to slide into his passenger side, he hopes there are no security cameras recording because it’s going to look like he’s kidnapping you. Not to mention the nightmare fuel of his glitched avatar. Because he gets why you’d freaked out.

• Engine rumbling, he heads back for the garage. And tries to come up with a plan that doesn’t involve you coming to and running into the night screaming about aliens. Even after as many times as he’s drove Noah and his kid brother around, it’s still weird to have someone inside him. Painfully aware of your heartbeat and your breathing, the warmth of you. How fragile you are.

• Rolling into the garage, he transforms around you, shuffling you carefully about so you end up in his hands and he doesn’t have to waste energy on the avatar. Bending, he lays you on the couch, but doesn’t really have a plan beyond getting you here where you’d be safe. And maybe it’s okay. It’s just one more human that knows about their existence. Optimus will understand. Running a hand over his helm, he knows he’s lying to himself. He’s so dead.

• Groaning, you stretch and your heart races as you realize that you have no idea where you are. Pushing upright, you hear a noise and your head turns. Sucking in a breath, realizing there’s a giant, metal monster right there pacing and gesturing with big hands as he mutters to himself. And it all comes rushing back. Your attacker and your rescuer, specifically your rescuer’s entire head glitching like a video with a bad signal. Before you can decide whether or not to run, he’s turning and spotting you.

• And you’re already awake. Fantastic. Staring right at him, too. “Don’t scream,” he says, hands up because you really look like you’re about to freak out on him. Again. “I’m cool. We’re cool.” Gesturing between himself and you, he crouches slightly so he’s not looming as bad. Watches you slowly push yourself into a sitting position, wide eyes locked with his optics. “Come on, don’t run.” He groans and you bolt, making him lunge to intercept you and wincing when you try to stop and fall on your butt, scooting backwards before rolling and he has to snag you by the back of your shirt. And there’s the screaming and kicking. “You’re kind of hurting my feelings here,” he mutters. “I save you and you do this. Not gonna lie, it’s a little disheartening.”

Previous

[bloomzone]

2025 : #6 FAILURE IS THE GREATEST TEACHER

failure is not your enemy. In fact, failure is the best teacher you will ever have. It’s raw, unforgiving, and humbling. And you know what? That’s exactly why it’s necessary.

✒️..Think about this: every success story you’ve ever heard started with failure. Thomas Edison failed over a thousand times before inventing the light bulb. Oprah Winfrey was fired from her first television job because she was "unfit for TV." Steve Jobs was kicked out of the company he founded. The difference between these people and the rest? They didn’t let failure define them. They let it refine them.

WHY DO WE FEAR FAILURE?

We fear failure because we’re conditioned to. From a young age, we’re taught that mistakes are bad. The red marks on our homework, the scolding for falling short, the shame when we didn’t measure up. Society drills this fear into us, and we carry it into adulthood like a weight on our shoulders. But YOU can’t avoid failure. You will fail, repeatedly. The question is, will you let it break you, or will you let it build you?Failure taps into our deepest insecurities. It makes us feel like frauds.. like we’re not good enough. But here’s what most people don’t understand: failure is neutral. It’s not good or bad. It’s just feedback. It’s information telling you what didn’t work so you can figure out what will.The problem arises when we attach meaning to failure—when we let it dictate our self-worth. One failed business doesn’t mean you’re a bad entrepreneur. One bad grade doesn’t mean you’re dumb..one failed relationship doesn’t mean you’re unlovable...

How to Handle Failure

1. Own It

Stop blaming circumstances, other people, or bad luck. Take responsibility. When you own your failure, you gain control over it. You’re no longer a victim of your mistakes—you’re the master of your lessons.

2. Analyze It

Every failure is a goldmine of information. What went wrong? What could you have done differently? Be brutally honest with yourself. Failure is wasted if you don’t learn from it. THERE IS NO FUCKING PROBLEM IN IT

3. Detach Emotionally

It’s easy to take failure personally, but it’s not about you. It’s about the process. Detach your self-worth from the outcome. Just because you failed doesn’t mean you are a failure.

4. Get Back Up

This is where most people falter. They stay down. They let the sting of failure paralyze them BUT the only way to overcome failure is to keep moving. Adjust your strategy, try again, and keep going.

The Benefits of Failure

It Builds Resilience: Every time you fail and get back up, you become stronger.

It Fuels Growth: Failure pushes you out of your comfort zone and forces you to adapt.

It Clarifies Your Goals: Sometimes, failing shows you what truly matters and helps you realign your focus.

It Humbles You: Success without failure breeds arrogance. Failure keeps you grounded and hungry.

You think failure is the end? No, failure is the beginning. It’s the brutal teacher that shows you exactly what you’re made of. So get up. Stop wasting time feeling sorry for yourself. Stop blaming the world for your mistakes. Own it. Fix it. And then move forward. You’re going to fail again, and again, and again. But the question is, are you going to let it break you, or are you going to let it build you? Because the truth is NO one is coming to save you. It’s on you. So pick up the pieces, put your head down, and get back to work. Failure is a lesson—use it, or stay stuck. The choice is yours.

@bloomzone 📇

[pastelhikaru]

dp x dc prompt's that live in my head space 2

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:⋆·˚*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:⋆·˚*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

✧₊⁺ Damian reverse adopts himself into the Fenton family

✧₊⁺ Danny helps fuel the Riddler's obsession in a healthy way

✧₊⁺ De-aged Danny adopts Tim as his sibling

✧₊⁺ Danny makes a company so ghost have an outlet for their obsessions

✧₊⁺ Frightknight x Scarecrow prompt

✧₊⁺ Cat!Boy Streamer Danny

✧₊⁺ Ellie is destabilizing and to save her Danny freezes her to stop her from melting

✧₊⁺ Frostbite helps heal Mr.Freeze's wife

✧₊⁺ Danny's wayward attempts to deprogram the Talon's

✧₊⁺ Danny is an unexpected inventor for villains

✧₊⁺ Clone children Danny, Dani, and Jazz

✧₊⁺ Obligations of a rouge verses those of a parent masterlist

✧₊⁺ Firefighting Danny :O

✧₊⁺ Danny adopts Batman's clone subject 514A

✧₊⁺ Tim Drake is related to Princess Dorathea

✧₊⁺ Ghost are Dragons AU <333

✧₊⁺ THE BEDAZZLER AU. MY BELOVED

✧₊⁺ Everlasting Trio's life becomes the Batkids fav sitcom <3

✧₊⁺ Tim asks Danny to stage a kidnapping of the best Robin

✧₊⁺ Danny becomes a tech giant and the Batman tries to prove it's a front.

✧₊⁺ Battinson can't seem to stop adopting kids

✧₊⁺ Danny takes care of the Talons and they may believe he is their new leader

✧₊⁺ Team Phantom escape from the GIW, and try to safely sustain themselves in Gotham without drawing attention

✧₊⁺ In need of adoption au

✧₊⁺ Danny has a Boo-Tube channel :)

✧₊⁺ Danny is BruHarvy clone

✧₊⁺ Martha Wayne ghost is stuck in her pearl necklace, in which danny finds and helps said ghost find her pearl pieces to send it back where it belongs. And oh, does this good deed come to bite him in the ass. :3

✧₊⁺ SPACE WHALE DANNNY???!!!

✧₊⁺ DPxDCxBlue Exorcist prompt. Another DPxDCxBlue Exorcist prompt

✧₊⁺ Danny mistakenly calls Dick Tata

✧₊⁺ Danny is dealing with his death day when he accidently traumatizes Dick and the other Bats

✧₊⁺ Ghost act as Guardian Angels

✧₊⁺ Danny mentally adopts a deaged-Bruce/ Amity is a War Zone AU

✧₊⁺ Assumed rogue Danny is making a gift for Sam which is essentially ectoplasm that eats waste. However because he is an assumed mad scientist making clones the Bats bust in and ruin his perfectly contained experiment

✧₊⁺ Danny befriends the YJ in his civi's now vigilantes keep hanging out in his apartment and he has to hide his heroic past

✧₊⁺ Phantom of Love masterlist

[brokebonewritings]

Running Into Your Arms

Matt Murdock x Reader

Tags/ Warnings: 18+, Mild Violence, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: You are being chased by men looking for Matt. In a whispered prayer, he arrives to save you. Though you are actually the one about to do the saving. Song: Enjoy the Silence by Depeche Mode

Word Count: 2K

Navigation | Series Masterlist

You raced down the hall of the building you had just run into. Not knowing where you were or how you even got there. Panic coursed through your veins as you made a split-second decision to take the nearest staircase. 

The sound of your own footsteps echoed off the cold walls, the only other sound was your frantic breathing. As you reached the third floor, you skidded to a halt in front of a heavy metal door.

Behind you, you heard the sound of heavy boots and shouting for you to stop. Without wasting another moment you push the door open to find another hallway. This one was a bit different though. There was clutter and doors throughout the tiny passage.

Without hesitation, you darted inside an opened door and closed it behind you, praying that it would buy you some time. The room was dimly lit by a flickering lamp on an antique desk in the corner. 

You scanned the area frantically, searching for any possible means of escape. Your eyes landed on a window obscured by heavy drapes. With a surge of hope, you rushed over and yanked the curtains aside, only to be met with the sight of a sheer drop outside.

Taking in a deep breath, you turn around to see a tall figure standing behind you. You let out a yelp as the figure closes in and covers your mouth with his hand.

You struggled against the figure's hold, your heart pounding in your chest. His grip was strong, preventing you from making a sound as he stared at you with intense eyes. Panic surged through you as you wracked your brain for a way out of this dire situation.

Just as you were about to give in to despair, a loud crash echoed from the hallway outside the room. The figure's grip faltered for a split second, and you seized the opportunity to elbow him in the stomach, causing him to double over in pain. Without looking back, you dashed towards the cluttered door on the other side of the room.

You needed to get out of there. You wanted to scream Matt’s name, but you knew that was the last thing you should do. If anything these men would pinpoint your exact location and finally get the chance to grab you.

While you ran, you patted your pockets. Maybe your phone had survived your initial attack. Empty. Every pocket was empty. Then you began to whisper. 

“Matt, please, if you can hear me, please I’m in the abandoned building near 48th and 9th. Please.”

You hoped that your pleas were heard as you ran into a room filled with covered furniture. Perfect. Suddenly, as you were catching your breath behind a dusty sofa, you heard footsteps approaching the room.

Your heart raced as you tried to control your breathing, willing yourself to be invisible. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a shadowy figure standing in the doorway. Your muscles tensed, ready to bolt at any moment.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," a deep voice taunted from the other side of the room. Fear gripped you like icy claws as you realized there was no way out except through him.

With trembling hands, you reached out and grabbed an old vase sitting on a nearby shelf. As the figure moved further into the room, you mustered all your courage and hurled the vase in his direction. It shattered against the wall with a loud crash, causing him to startle and turn towards the noise.

Seizing the opportunity, you sprang from your hiding place and ran towards the door. Before you could reach the door a second figure appears in the dim light, blocking your path. With adrenaline fueling your actions, you made a split-second decision and lunged towards the nearest window.

Glass shattered as you crashed through, feeling a rush of wind against your face as you plummeted towards the ground below. The ground rushed up to meet you, but before impact, strong arms wrapped around you, breaking your fall.

You gasped for air, disoriented and terrified as you were gently set down on the pavement. Blinking rapidly, you focused on the face in front of you. Matt. He had heard you, but he wasn’t in his Daredevil uniform.

Relief still flooded through you as he pulled you into a tight embrace, shielding you from the chaos behind. “I got you. You're safe, sweetheart.” He said in his gruff voice. 

“I don’t know what happened.” You started, voice quivering. “They said they were looking for you.”

“Did you see their faces?” He asked and you shook your head. “Well, I think we’re about to find out. Run.”

You never hesitated whenever he told you to run. So you ran. Running further into the parking garage you had landed on, you never once looked back. You knew he would be behind you shortly. Until you hear a shot ring out.

The piercing sound of the gunshot echoed through the garage, sending a wave of fear coursing through your veins. You skidded to a halt, turning back to see Matt silhouetted against the dim lighting, his hand clutching his side where a red stain was rapidly spreading across his shirt.

Time seemed to slow down as you watched in horror, unable to move as more armed figures emerged from the shadows, closing in on him. Without a second thought, you raced back towards Matt, determined to help him escape this dire situation.

As you reached his side, he grimaced with pain but shook his head, urging you to keep running. "Go, get out of here!" he urged, his voice strained but firm.

But you refused to leave him behind. With adrenaline pulsing through your veins, you scanned the area for any possible means of defense. Spotting a metal pipe lying nearby, you grabbed it and began to swing at the two men.

The metal pipe connected with the arm of one of the assailants, knocking the gun from his hand. With a sudden surge, you swing again successfully hitting the man upside the head knocking him to the ground.

The second man lunged towards you, but you ducked just in time, the adrenaline sharpening your reflexes. With a swift motion, you brought down the pipe on his knee, causing him to crumple to the ground with a cry of pain. With another crack to the head, you watch the man fall unconscious.

Breathing heavily, you turned back to Matt, who was leaning against a nearby pillar for support. His jaw was clenched in pain. “Darling, where did you learn to fight like that?”

“From the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Please let me take you to the hospital, or at least a clinic.”

“No.” Without another word, you looped his arm over your shoulder, supporting him as you both limped towards the exit of the garage.

The sound of approaching sirens filled the air, signaling that help was on its way. But you knew that you couldn't wait for them to arrive. You needed to get Matt home before he bled out on the sidewalk.

As you staggered out of the parking garage, the cool night air hit you like a shock. The weight of the situation pressed down on you as you struggled to keep Matt upright, his arm draped around your shoulder for support.

Every step felt like an eternity, each one a battle against time and the fear that threatened to consume you whole. You glanced back over your shoulder, half-expecting to see shadows lurking in the darkness, ready to pounce on you both. But all that greeted your gaze was the empty street, illuminated by the flickering lights of the surrounding buildings.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you reached your apartment door. You fumble with the keys for a moment, looking around to see if anyone was watching. Not a soul in sight. You open the door, and walk inside. Setting Matt on the sofa, you rush to your kitchen where you kept your “trauma” kit.

Quickly, you retrieved bandages, antiseptic, and other supplies, your hands trembling as you dropped the tweezers on the ground. Returning to your fiancé on the couch, you tried to ignore the way his breathing had become shallow and labored.

The adrenaline that had fueled you during the confrontation was fading, leaving a deep sense of dread in its wake. Removing his shirt, you assessed how bad the wound actually was. The Bullet was still lodged in his side, but what not far enough in to be fatal.

Matt winced as you removed the bullet. Cleaned, stitched, and dressed the wound, but he remained silent. His jaw clenched in pain. You could see the strain on his face, the toll that fighting back had taken on him. 

As you finished bandaging his wound, you sat back on your heels, a mixture of exhaustion and relief washing over you. Matt reached out and gently took your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice rough with pain. "I owe you one."

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “The only thing you owe me is staying alive.” 

Matt squeezed your hand in response, his gratitude evident in his eyes despite the pain etched on his face. You sat there in silence for a moment, the weight of the night settling around you like a heavy shroud. But amidst the chaos and danger, a sense of peace enveloped you both as you sat side by side, united in a bond forged through adversity.

“Who were those men, Matt? What did they want with you?” you ask curiously.

“I don’t know, if I had to guess they work with a new underground crime group I’ve been tracking down.”

“I can’t believe I jumped out of a window.” You say after a few minutes of silence, cause him to chuckle.

"Well, you've certainly lived up to your end of our unconventional partnership," Matt said with a weak smile.

You stand, still holding onto his hand. “Let’s get you to bed. You need to rest.”

He nodded in agreement, and you pulled him into a standing position. Stumbling, you both make it to the bedroom.

Taking great care, you helped Matt lie down on the bed, adjusting the pillows to make him more comfortable. He winced as he settled against the soft sheets, his eyes closed against the pain that still pulsed through him. 

Once you made sure he was okay, you settled into your side of the bed.

As the adrenaline wore off, your body began to tremble uncontrollably. Matt noticed and quickly wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close to his chest. "We're safe now, just try to relax," he whispered soothingly.

Despite the danger they had just faced and the pain Matt was in, a sense of comfort and safety enveloped you both. You snuggled closer to him, feeling his heartbeat slowly synchronize with yours.

“That could have been really bad.” You say as tears fall down your cheeks.

“I know.” He says, pausing a moment. “I won’t go out for a while okay?”

You nodded, grateful for his assurance. In the quiet of the room, you both lay there, the night settling around you like a heavy blanket. Matt's steady breathing eventually lulled you into a restless sleep, his warmth a reassuring presence beside you in the darkness. 

The events of the night replayed in your mind like a haunting film, each moment etched into your memory with stark clarity. You never wanted something like that to happen ever again, but at the end of it all you still had him. You could continue to run into his arms at the end of the day.

“I love you.” you whisper, “Thank you for saving me.”

“I would save you even if it killed me.” he starts. “I love you to the ends of this earth.”

@alexxavicry @guacam011y || join my taglist!

[charliehoennam]

beyond the badge pt. 1

a/n: request made by @harmonity-vibes. had been thinking about this specific plot for a long time and this lovely angel gave me the inspiration i needed. this will divided into three parts because it's simply too big lmao that's what she said. s/o to @strangergraphics-archive for the cute divider <3

pairing: david loki x f!reader

summary: his fianceé is abducted and a distraught david realizes some rules must be broken in order to save the one he loves.

warnings: 18+, dark themes such as language, violence, eventual smut, suicide, death, physical injuries, threats, abuse of power and blood.

SHARING IS CARING, SO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

two | three | four | five

What was once a home filled with love, laughter and passionate moans is now hollow and empty.

The haunting silence of the house only fuels his self-hatred. He can’t stop blaming himself because he knows, deep inside, that he could’ve avoided all this mess if he had only listened to you.

When a dead body showed up in the river by the old mill, David was quickly assigned the case. It might have taken him a couple of months, but he successfully found the man responsible for a such a horrendous crime.

The man was Frankie Donovan, a bus driver and self-made drug dealer. You would’ve never guessed by simply looking at the man, due to his scruffy appearance and uneducated demeanor, but he had successfully made around 500 thousand dollars from producing and selling meth.

It might not have been much to some people, but to a man who grew on the country skirts of Conyers, bouncing around from trailer park to trailer park and addict parents, that money was more precious to him than his own life.

No one would’ve believed that Donovan was capable of making so much money. Most people underestimated him either because of his job, his poor background or, what appeared to seem like, his friendly nature. He might have fooled many, but not David.

In the empty house that belongs to both of you, David stands in front of the foggy bathroom mirror with a towel wrapped his hip.

He stares at his stoic reflection and takes in the physical effects your absence has had on him. Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Hollowed cheeks from the loss of appetite. The prickly 5 o’clock shadow growing out that he refuses to waste time shaving.

The lingering heat from his hot shower constricts the air around him. He leans down to splash some cold water on his face, hoping that it will provide just a little bit of relief. Although the water soothes him on the surface, it fails to subdue him within.

He runs a trembling hand over his face to try and keep his composure, but he’s losing it. His breath shortens as the room spins around him. What feels like rocks settle in his throat. His chest tightens with rage until he finally explodes and punches the mirror before him repeatedly.

“It’s your fucking fault!” he repeatedly shouts at himself.

Dangerous shards shatter into the sink and onto the counter. David doesn’t feel it just yet, but blood drips from his knuckles over the shards. He takes a look at his hand. His fit of fury let out a bit of the steam that he had pent up inside him, but it’s not enough to make him better.

Nothing will make him feel better until you’re home, safe and sound. He promised he would always keep you safe and he feels like he failed you. There's nothing that can silence that thought in his mind.

Once he’s poorly rinsed and wrapped his knuckles with gauze to stop the bleeding, he drags himself into the bedroom that lingers with the scent of you and haphazardly chooses a few items of clothing. He doesn’t bother with the usual button-up shirt. A simple black thermal, a pair of pants and usual boxers. He tries to get dressed as fast as he can.

David hates being in the house for too long, but he tries to avoid the bedroom as much as he can. Not only does everything there remind him of you, but it’s all still the same as you left it before you went to work that day and he wants to keep it that way.

The uncertainty of the future fucking terrifies him. He doesn’t know if you’re alive, he doesn’t know if you’re hurt. His colleagues are doing their best to find you, but the fear he secretly has of you not coming home is ever present. So, he keeps the bedroom the way you left it to create a false sensation that you’re somehow still there almost like a ghost.  Like you're still coming home, even though he's not sure you will.

It’s been almost two days since you’ve been missing. The captain made it very clear to David that he could not, under any circumstances, take the case due to his close relationship to the victim. Being off your case drives him insane, but it’s not enough to make him stop looking for you.

He might not be able to professionally investigate, but it doesn't stop him from questioning the local thugs in the neighborhood about the recent kidnapping. After coming to a dead-end last night, he spent the rest of the night driving aimlessly, hoping he might find you somewhere.

He came home for a quick shower before resuming his illegal search for you. He’s tired beyond belief, but his mind can’t concentrate on anything else besides his missing fianceé.

Sat on the edge of the bed you used to share, he looks over at the engagement ring still sealed in a plastic baggie on your nightstand and reaches over to hold it in his hands. Letting his head hang low, he lifts his bloodied hand and holds his forehead in it. His head pounds as memories flood his thoughts.

When a call about an abduction came in from a co-worker of yours, David could feel his heart sink down to his stomach. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the thought that you could’ve been the one kidnapped scared him to death.

He is in another town, a more populated, small and neighboring town who’s courthouse Conyers was appointed to. David hadn’t been aware of the newly opened case until he made it back to his car and saw 3 missed calls from his captain.

When he arrives at your workplace’s parking lot, he climbs out of his car so quickly that he doesn’t even remember to close the door to take the keys out of the ignition. It all feels like a dream, like nothing is real, everything around his is far from touch and he’s floating through the air

“Tell me it’s not her,” he begs already fearing the worst as he marches towards the blockade of police officers preserving the scene.

“Loki, I’m sorry, but you can’t be here right now. I can’t let you through.”

O’Malley has to hold him up as David’s knees give in and sits him on the curb. Kneeling in front of him, he instructs David to breathe as the air thickens in his throat.

“I-I gotta find her, captain. I gotta-“

“What you gotta do is let us do our job, Loki. You can’t work on this case and you know why. Tell me what you know.”

The truth, at the time where he can barely remember his own name, is that he doesn’t know who could have taken you. He’d put away so many bad guys already and, just like the Keller-Birch case, kidnapping were becoming more and more often in the small town of Conyers.

David is in no condition to answer most of the questions that his boss needed to ask. At least, not right there.

“David, let’s go back to the station. We can talk better there.”

“No. I’m not fucking leave. I need to be here. I need to find her!” he insists, wide eyes locked on the scene as the forensic investigators search the area.

His watchful eye notices one of the investigators lift something up from the ground after taking pictures of the object. As the woman places the small item into a plastic bad to preserve for DNA or prints, he quickly stands on his feet. Despite the dizziness that strikes him suddenly, he pushes his way through the uniformed cops, but there are too many of them to hold him back from the scene.

“Get the fuck of- Let me go! That’s her ring! That’s my fianceé’s fucking ring!” he shouts at the investigator while being restrained.

She looks at O’Malley who nods and allows her to show David the evidence. Walking towards David, he finally calms down enough and complies in order to make sure it is yours. And, just as he fears, it is indeed yours.

His hands tremble as he looks at the plastic evidence baggie containing your engagement ring. He closes his eyes as dread floods his chest.

The ring is technically evidence and is actually supposed with the forensics team to process, but David stole it from the scene to bring it home with him.

Tears drip against the plastic. He just wants you to come home.

The buzzing cellphone he'd left on your nightstand snaps him back to the present. Quickly wiping his tired blue eyes, he looks over at the phone placed beside his gun and badge. The thought of taking his weapon to his head to end the agonizing pain and guilty flashes in his mind.

Before he finds the courage to reach for the firearm, his gaze drifts and lands on a book you had been reading when you were home and he recalls one specific conversation you had had one night.

“You got a strange call today on the landline.”

You’re sat on the bed with your back against the headboard and a book in hand.

“Yeah? What’d they say?” he asks lying tiredly on the bed beside you.

Lifting your arm to make way for him, he nestles himself into your side with his strong arms locked around your hips while his face nuzzles into your waist with closed tired eyes.

“I dunno. I mean, I do, but it was just strange,” you lower your book, combing the fingers of your free hand into his luscious brown hair. “The guy just said told you to call him back or you’d regret it.”

“Probably just a prank call, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.”

“But they asked for you. They said your full name and they know you’re a detective. Isn’t that a bit too personal?”

“I’m a cop, babe. That information is public. Anyone can find that out if you know where to look.”

You nod and stay silent as you try to continue reading, but it’s unsettling.

“I’m just saying,” you start as David groans tiredly. “Why would someone call and threaten you? Not to mention you just recently closed the Donovan case.”

Rolling over onto his back, he looks up at you from his side of the bed.

“Babe, Donovan is a small-town meth head. He doesn’t have the balls to come after a cop.”

“It’s just a strong coincidence, David.”

A lightbulb goes in his mind. Finally, a lead he could work on. How the hell didn’t he think about this before?

He shoots up onto his feet to get dressed and, just after he slides his boxer briefs on, his phone buzzes again with another incoming text.

Due to his close relationship with you, O’Malley didn’t allow him to take the lead on the case. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have thought twice, but he knows the close relationship could impair David’s judgment. David’s already known for his temper and the last thing he needs is him risking the case because he didn’t follow procedure.

Instead, Chemelinski’s been assigned as the lead detective on the case. And, influenced by their close friendship, he’s ignored the direct and important order O’Malley had given him of keeping any new information from David.

The way he sees it, David’s a smart detective. If it hadn’t been for the close relationship, the case would’ve been his because he’s the only one that has solved and closed difficult disappearance cases like this.

“Evidence found at Penn Aire Motel, 46th and western. No vics”

“Didn’t hear this from me”

He wastes no time replying to his co-worker’s texts. His heart pounds with hope and adrenaline as his mind races with a thousand thoughts, wondering what kind of evidence they found. Even without a body or blood, assumptions can still be made based on the scene which is why he needs to be there.

Speeding in his car, his stomach churns contemplating what he might find once he’s there. He knows the procedure in case of dead victims. If you were dead, he would’ve already heard about it, so he’s hopeful it’s not the case.

As his car pulls up, O’Malley sighs already feeling the heavy headache setting in of having to deal with a distraught David.

“Who the hell told him?”

Chemelinski shrugs avoiding his accusing eyes, but mutters it wasn’t him as David quickly marches over to the captain, ducking under the yellow ‘do not cross’ tape with curious eyes scanning the scene to understand what’s going on.

“Loki, I told you-“

“I know, I’m off it. I know, I just wanna know what you found.”

David keeps a strong facade with hands up in surrender as O’Malley approaches him.

“You know I can’t share that information with you. You’re involved with the victim and it ca-“

“Yeah, I fucking know it can cloud my judgement! I know!” he shouts back.

O’Malley watches him take a deep breath to compose himself. He understands how stressful this is, especially for a detective.

“Captain, I-I’m losing my fucking mind. Please, j-just tell me something. I-I need something.”

He can’t ignore David’s pleading blue eyes or the crack in his voice. David’s a strong man who’s endured some of the most awful things life could throw at anyone. It takes a lot to scare him to this point.

He informs David that they’d tracked down the car from the location of your kidnapping. After identifying the vehicle with the help of local security surveillance footage, a dispatcher had ID’d it after receiving a call about an abandoned car in a rundown motel parking lot, just off the freeway.

No one saw you at the motel; the clerk working the desk that night said a man checked in alone, but a maid who had been getting off her shift mentioned she saw the man – who was staying in the room in question – putting something in the trunk of a different car before driving away in it alone.

The forensic investigation is still processing the scene, but the unit was able to find a small earring in the truck of the car, which was now in a small plastic bag labeled evidence in O’Malley’s hands.

O’Malley would’ve asked him if the earring was familiar, but the way David froze and stared down at the small accessory with swelling tears in his eyes is enough to confirm his belief.

He’d given you the beautiful jewel on your first anniversary. He remembers how happy you got when you opened the gift and saw the sparking, delicate pair in the small velvet box. His heart broke a little when you mentioned no one had ever given you jewelry before. You loved them so much that you wore them proudly every day to work.

He never thought he’d be the one having to identify a personal item of a victim.

“Y-yeah,” he sniffles blinking away his tears. “That’s hers.”

“We’re gonna find her, Loki. Loki!”

David can’t stand it anymore. The ring found at the site of the kidnapping and the newly discovered earring leads him to believe they weren’t left there on accident. He knows these are items you treasure more than anything and you would never take them off unless you were at home to avoid the risk of losing your precious accessories due to their sentimental value.

They’re breadcrumbs. They’re clues you’re leaving behind, calling out for him to save you. He needs to take matters into his hands.

[aspiringsophrosyne]

Let's talk about Stream Ripley and TLOVM Ripley.

(Spoilers for Critical Role Campaign 1 and The Legend of Vox Machina Season 3 under the cut.)

What’s The Difference?

Stream Ripley has no extensive backstory or Freudian excuse. Instead, the woman’s actions and words paint the picture of a classic mad scientist. Her home empire did not support her ambitions, so she got pissy and aligned with fugitives from said empire to further her goals.

She’s an admitted supremacist; during her fight with Vox Machina, she tells Percy that they (humans) stand above the other races on their ingenuity. Percy does not grant this the dignity of a response.

As I mentioned here, TLOVM left out a detail from Ripley’s story: how she designed a black powder weapon when Percy invented them. In the show, it’s unclear, but in the stream, it’s explicit she copied his work.

Ripley and Percy

Since she couldn’t have devised it herself, stealing Percy’s idea ties him to her destruction. She unleashes the black powder weapons wherever possible, not just for her petty revenge and aspirations but because Orthax tells her it will drive Percy mad. And she's all about that.

In contrast, Percy doesn’t spread his invention beyond Whitestone but keeps a squad of riflemen to defend it. He understands having and using black powder weapons will lead to their propagation, but this never stops him. Percy knows the potential harm his creation could cause but stops right before he would take the steps to truly prevent it.

Stream Ripley is far more depraved than Percy, yet still reminiscent of him. That's what makes her effective. Two young people who became consumed with indiscriminate, destructive revenge after the death of their families? Sharing similarities? Not shocking. But Percy sharing similarities and a connection through their designs with a woman whose immense ego, pettiness, murderousness, carelessness, spite, callousness, and supremacism fuel her proliferation of such a dangerous stolen idea?

That is far juicier.

Ripley raises the question of how far Percy might fall. Is it possible for him to turn into her? Or something even worse? She stole his invention; he has far more destructive potential than she does.

How responsible is he for his ideas falling into her hand? How irresponsible was he for creating and using it? Someone was going to replicate his gun at some point, and he knew it.

According to Taliesin, for Percy, it was inevitable. The question was never if but when.

Consistency

This is the narrative advantage of making an antagonistic foil simple and wicked. But there’s a practical advantage as well. If Ripley’s just fantasy Elon Musk, she doesn’t need extra exposition. She’s characterized; we’re done. There are no questions about her backstory or her motivations that need answering.

But TLOVM’s flashback to her past raises questions.

For stream watchers, did Delilah help raze Ripley’s home with the other Assembly members? If so, did Ripley know? Did Ripley know and not care? Was Ripley even aware Delilah was ex-Assembly? Was Delilah even a member of the Assembly in TLOVM’s canon?

For show-only watchers, how exactly did a woman who supposedly wants to make it easier for the common folk to fight back against wizards wind up torturing children in the employ of a wizard? While there are potential reasons and explanations, none are provided.

That flashback introduced wrinkles to the story with those unanswered questions. Keeping this villain simple would have kept her more consistent.

It's possible to make a complex, complicated villain with contradictory motivations...but Ripley didn't have the right set-up for that, and S3 didn't have the time to put all of her new, disparate pieces together into a cohesive whole.

And in her case, why would you want to? It robs her of her efficacy and wastes time the show doesn't have.

And yeah, keeping this villain simple wouldn't have just tightened up the plot and her character, it would've saved precious time.

Time

Because putting the wrinkles aside, what do we get from this flashback? What do we get from dragging Ripley's defeat out? Admittedly, the fight on the boat was well-made, and we get a sneak peek of the Cerberus Assembly, but neither was worth giving up the group kill Ripley earned in the stream. Nor was it worth the time that could’ve been saved ending her life an episode earlier.

Keeping Ripley simple does not just make her a better villain who serves Percy’s characterization by being his dark reflection. It doesn’t just make it easier to keep her story consistent. It saves time. And for an adaptation of Vox Machina’s story, time is paramount. There are seven protagonists and a ton of plot to get through; TLOVM can't afford to waste a second.

[rubyvhs]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ dean doesn’t go to lisa after sam dies…

gn!reader, drug abuse, masterlist

“dean, come on—”

“it’s just getting high, sweetheart, really not that serious.” except that dean knows it is. he doesn’t look at drugs the same way you do, like something you wanted to try once, maybe twice, and be done with it. dean craves it. every single night and sometimes when he’s on a hunt and it’s terrifying.

he’s supposed to protect you and all he’s doing is throwing phones across the room because he can’t find a cheap dealer. dean’s driven drunk before, and sometimes wasted, either way he’d been stable. stable enough, you guess, but he’s never okay the second he has that little bag in his hand and it makes your heart rate pick up. 

“please, dean, you promised me a good night, right?” you try desperately, frowning at him sitting down on your couch, taking a blade out. lights are turned off, music is on. minds unlocked.

“dean—”

“i swear to god, if you say my name one more time.” he groans, taking out two pills to break on your table, “do you want one or not?” he looks up at you and you shake your head aggressively, backing away a step.

you love dean, maybe more than he’ll ever love you, but you don’t love this version of him. the version of him that lost sam and lisa and everyone in his life. you don’t know if you’d rather this version over him looking for ways to bring sammy back. maybe you should. 

“d— look,” you sigh, trying to regain your composure, “sammy wouldn’t want this for you, you know it.”

dean scoffs, not acknowledging your words further as he leans down to snort the white power and your heart aches at the sight. the dean that saved the world from the apocalypse. the one that had to let go of who he thought was the love of his life. the dean that lost his mother and had to go through the hardest childhood you’ve ever knows, he’s gone. he’s gone and replaced by this man who’s default is forgetting his brother and getting high or drunk or dead. 

and maybe it’s better that way. at least he won’t end the world to find sam. this should be better, what’s one more junkie? nothing compared to the supernatural beings dean would piss off if he tried to bring sam back.

but maybe you’re selfish. “dean, i love you. please, you need to stop— you need to snap out of it.” he sighs contedntly, pressing his back to the leg of the couch. “we got high together this week already, that’s supposed to be enough, what you’re doing here—”

“‘s grievin’.”

“it’s addiction.” 

“whatever you wanna call it, sweetheart.” he shrugs. “at least i ain’t doing it to lisa and ben.”

you’re voice is low and timid as your eyes water, “you’re doing it to me.”

he faces you, and you’re scared. you’re scared he won’t care and it’s going to break you forever that he never wanted to protect you the same way he did lisa, or that he’ll do something worse than hurt you with words and you’ll love him too much to leave. 

and in the blink of an eye, you never get to find out. 

sam knocks on your door.

listening to constellations while writing this which is the best song to ever exist btw thank u! also why am i obsessed with writing these things? what even are they? like they’re complete/incomplete fics that fuel my mind & i love them. and this isn’t really a headconnon i don’t think dean would resort to drugs after sam’s in the cage but he would at some point. maybe the first time he losses sam.

[duhshereadz]

More Arcane head cannons because I can’t stop:

---

Jinx (Powder)

- She has a habit of giving her bombs cute names, like “Boomy” or “Snappy,” and talks to them as if they’re her friends.

- She bites her nails so much that she paints them just to make herself stop, but the paint usually gets chipped after a day.

- She doodles all over her arms when she’s bored, even though she knows it’ll smudge.

- Jinx absolutely hates vegetables, but she’ll eat them if you lie and call them “explosion fuel.”

- She has a surprising knack for sewing and will patch up her stuffed toys obsessively.

- She hums offbeat, made-up songs when tinkering, and sometimes they turn into actual catchy tunes.

- Jinx would totally put googly eyes on her weapons for no reason other than to make herself laugh.

- She hoards random shiny objects and insists they’ll be “important later,” even if it’s just a bottle cap.

- She’s constantly barefoot because she hates the feeling of shoes.

---

Vi

- Vi makes terrible coffee but drinks it anyway because she’s convinced it gives her “character.”

- She’s surprisingly superstitious and always knocks on wood when she feels like she’s jinxed something.

- Vi collects random keychains from places she visits and hangs them all over her belt like trophies.

- She pretends not to care about her hair, but she secretly spends time making sure it’s styled just the right amount of messy.

- She gives people nicknames that have nothing to do with their real name.

- Vi can’t whistle, and it drives her nuts when others do it effortlessly.

- She’s an amazing dancer but will only admit it when she’s had a few drinks.

- Vi always takes up too much space on couches, sprawling across them without a care.

- She secretly loves fluffy, cozy blankets and has a stash of them in her room.

---

Caitlyn Kiramman

- Caitlyn cannot function without a proper breakfast, and she gets cranky if she misses it.

- She’s weirdly good at chess, but she plays so competitively that no one likes going up against her.

- Caitlyn absolutely has a planner and writes everything in it, even things she doesn’t actually need to remember.

- She’s awful at video games and gets super flustered when she loses, which makes Vi tease her endlessly.

- Caitlyn secretly loves cheesy romance novels but keeps them hidden on a high shelf.

- Her guilty pleasure is eating dessert before dinner when no one is looking.

- Caitlyn’s handwriting is ridiculously neat, but she gets annoyed if anyone compliments it too much.

- She’s terrible at telling jokes, but her deadpan delivery somehow makes them funny anyway.

- Caitlyn refuses to wear mismatched socks—ever. It would ruin her whole day.

---

Jayce Talis

- Jayce is a terrible cook and once managed to burn water, but he insists he’s “just experimental in the kitchen.”

- He talks to himself when working, narrating every step like he’s in a tutorial video.

- Jayce has a stash of energy drinks he tries to keep secret because he knows they’re unhealthy.

- He always takes forever to get ready because he’s obsessed with looking polished, even if he’s just going to his lab.

- Jayce is weirdly good at folding fitted sheets, but he keeps that talent to himself.

- He tries to keep plants in his apartment for “aesthetic reasons,” but they always die within a week.

- Jayce collects notebooks but never fills them out because he “doesn’t want to waste them.”

- He has the worst poker face and can’t lie to save his life.

- Jayce has an elaborate skincare routine and won’t go to bed without following it.

---

Viktor

- Viktor sometimes forgets to eat while working, so he keeps random snacks hidden in his desk drawers.

- He’s the type to re-read books he’s already memorized just because it brings him comfort.

- Viktor hums classical music under his breath when he’s deep in thought.

- He’s absurdly good at mental math and sometimes mutters equations when he’s bored.

- Viktor absolutely talks to his tools and machines, even apologizing to them when they malfunction.

- He hoards broken parts or failed prototypes because he thinks he might use them “someday.”

- He doesn’t drink coffee, preferring tea, but it’s always cold by the time he remembers to drink it.

- Viktor sleeps in the weirdest positions, like half-falling off the bed but somehow comfortable.

- He’s lowkey very sentimental, keeping tiny mementos from his childhood in Zaun.

---

Silco

- Silco keeps his surroundings ridiculously neat and loses his temper if anything is out of place.

- He’s surprisingly good at card games but gets irritated when people accuse him of cheating.

- Silco never, *ever* lets anyone touch his chair in the office. It’s his throne.

- He prefers bitter drinks and thinks anything sweet is “a waste of time.”

- He secretly practices his speeches in front of a mirror to make sure he sounds menacing enough.

- Silco keeps a journal, but it’s filled with cryptic notes that only make sense to him.

- He absolutely hates bright colors and insists on everything being muted or dark-toned.

- Silco’s a night owl who rarely sleeps, and when he does, he can fall asleep sitting up.

- He secretly enjoys playing mind games just to see how long people take to figure it out.

---

Ekko

- Ekko is the type to doodle on absolutely everything, from walls to random scraps of paper.

- He always carries a deck of playing cards with him, and he’s amazing at sleight-of-hand tricks.

- Ekko has a sweet tooth and will go out of his way for pastries or candy.

- He has an old, beat-up notebook full of his plans and ideas, but it’s barely legible to anyone else.

- Ekko’s ridiculously good at climbing, treating it like a sport even when he doesn’t need to.

- He likes making little gadgets just for fun, like wind-up toys or tiny flashlights.

- Ekko is a surprisingly good dancer, but he only busts out moves when the mood strikes.

[tisayemate]

Vaporised

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader (callsign Vapour)

Fluff

Summary: Vapour teaches Hangman to put his mouth where his money is.

AN: tomorrow’s my birthday!! (Yup, sharing the same birthday as Scarlett Johansson and Mark Ruffalo 🥹)

Story under the cut:

Hangman was in rare form that morning—if by "rare" you meant absolutely, maddeningly, always insufferable.

The squadron had barely settled into the briefing room when Jake "Hangman" Seresin made it his mission to antagonize everyone in his orbit.

"Rooster, you planning to keep that mustache after I wipe the floor with you today?" he quipped, leaning back in his chair. "Or is it aerodynamic enough to help you fly better?"

Rooster shot him a flat look. "Shouldn’t you be studying the rulebook, Seresin? I hear you keep forgetting what 'teamwork' means."

Jake laughed, loud and carefree. "What can I say? I don’t need teamwork when I’ve got skill. I’m just built different."

"Built irritating," Phoenix muttered under her breath, earning a smirk from Bob.

In the corner of the room, you—call sign Vapour—remained silent, arms crossed, and gaze steady on the whiteboard. You had no intention of getting involved in Jake’s antics. He’d teased you enough in the past, despite the fact you barely spoke to him.

“Awfully quiet over there, Vapour,” Jake called out, turning his attention to you. “What’s the matter? Saving all your words for your post-match excuses?”

You didn’t even glance at him. “I, unlike some, don’t waste words,” came your reply.

That earned a round of "oohs" from the others, and even Hangman seemed momentarily caught off guard before recovering with a grin. “We’ll see if your flying’s as sharp as your tongue.”

The reason you were called Vapour wasn’t a mystery to anyone. During a training exercise, you’d pulled off a miracle landing with barely a drop of fuel left, earning you the respect of the instructors and the envy of a certain cocky aviator. Jake had never stopped trying to one-up you since.

Today’s dogfight simulation would be the perfect battleground.

Up in the air, Hangman’s taunts were relentless.

“Vapour, you sure you’re up there? Haven’t seen you all game,” he teased over the comms. “Or maybe that’s just your style—light and forgettable.”

Phoenix groaned. “Do you ever shut up, Seresin?”

“I’m just providing commentary,” he replied. “Gotta make things interesting while I mop the floor with you.”

You stayed quiet, focusing on your maneuvers. You weren’t interested in banter—you had one goal: take Hangman down.

Jake was good. Annoyingly good. But he was also predictable. He liked flashy moves and big risks, and you had no problem using that against him. You let him chase you for a while, luring him into a false sense of control.

“Gotcha now, Vapour,” he said smugly, locking onto your tail.

“Do you?” you replied, your voice finally cutting through the comms.

With a sharp roll and a sudden cutback, you slipped out of his sights and got behind him instead. Jake’s curses filled the channel as you locked on and fired the simulated kill shot.

“Hangman, you’re tagged,” Maverick announced.

Silence.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jake Seresin had nothing to say.

“Vapour!,” Rooster cheered. “Finally someone shut him up!”

You smirked, leveling your jet and heading back to base. 

Back on the ground, Jake’s usual swagger was noticeably absent as the team debriefed. Rooster, Phoenix, and the others took turns mocking him, clearly reveling in his defeat.

Jake made a beeline for you afterward, his expression unreadable.

“Vapour,” he said, folding his arms. “You got lucky.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Luck? Or maybe you’re just all talk.”

For once, he didn’t have a comeback. He just stood there, staring at you like he was trying to figure you out.

Before he could say anything else, you gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You know Hangman’s actually the perfect name for someone who just got left swinging in the wind.”

And with that, you walked off, leaving him standing there—thoroughly humbled.

[officials-of-heaven]

Aight back to pushing the Crystal Fool agenda. Y’all need to sit tight I will fuel this fandom myself

HEADCANON TIMEEEEEE (some ended up a little spicy but nothing explicit right now)

—————

• I am convinced the invitation to join the Montelli family was a marriage proposal (and specifically Carlotta’s grandfather was pushing for her to marry him)

• Carlotta most definitely drags him onto the ball floor and makes him dance with her. He knows how to dance but he still fumbled a lot at first from being flustered

• The first time they met, he didn’t realise she was flirting with him until Roccia fake gagged and rolled her eyes, elbowing him

• He often flirts by being the one to pour the wine, peeling her fruit, and will often pick her up if it’s muddy or there’s a puddle even though she could easily walk around it. It’s an excuse to hold her

• Roccia still tries to convince him to marry her because “maybe you’ll stop being pathetic if you have a ring on your finger”

• Carlotta’s grandfather already has a pair of rings sitting because he is determined that “if Brant is an excellent captain, he’ll be an amazing family head” (also he wants to spite The Order by a Fool being head of the Montelli’s)

• The first time they kissed was because Brant was wasted and being pathetic. He was a mess slurring out “you’re so beautiful” “I think I’m in love with you” to which Carlotta laughed and said “with how red you get when I flirt with you I think it’s obvious.” He almost cut her off kissing her spontaneously. He doesn’t remember that night but she teases him about it. Roccia got a picture so she could bully him later

• He brings her gifts from things he’s found in his travels. Gift giving is one of his love languages. It’s almost never anything worth much, but she keeps each and every trinket on a shelf in her room

• She’s very open about her feelings towards him. Practically all of Ragunna know she’s in love with him. It pisses off most members of The Order save Phoebe

• He specifically likes to wrap himself around her when they sleep in the same bed. She ends up having to wriggle away from him at some point because of how warm he runs. She never uses a blanket if they’re in the same bed

• He’ll often brush his hand over her back and around her tacet mark, spelling out words or making hearts. He enjoys how her breathing picks up a bit when he runs his hand over the mark

• She often kisses over his tacet mark when they’re laying together for similar reasons. His voice always ends up breathy and soft

• Carlotta already considers Roccia her kid and often brings her some of her favourite things when they see each other

• The Troupe consider Carlotta an honorary member and get excited when she visits with Brant. There’s always a party and they’re always trying to convince them to get married. Carlotta agrees, and Brant always ends up red as a tomato (they also place bets on what their kid would look like if they had one, which they also push for)

• Brant has genuinely considered marrying her, but he freezes up every time he tries to ask. He also still isn’t sure marrying her would be the best for his Troupe

Uhhhhhh ok my brain is dead now. Maybe I’ll add more later but here have some of this because y’all ain’t feeding me so I gotta feed me. Ok bye

[yuriosakawa]

The Haunted Sundae

The neon lights outside flickered erratically, casting strange shadows against the wet pavement. Danny could feel the pulse of the city in the air, a sort of underground tension that hummed beneath the surface. It was the kind of place that made even the bravest of souls uneasy. But for Danny, this was just another stop on the long, grueling path to find Phantom.

He stepped inside the bar, the creaking door groaning as he entered. The air was thick with smoke and the low murmur of conversation, but it was quiet—too quiet, for his taste. The bar was dimly lit, with cracked leather booths and an assortment of patrons whose faces seemed strangely blurred at the edges. The bartender, a tall, thin figure with hollow eyes, gave him a once-over before pouring what could only be described as a vile-looking drink.

Danny scanned the room, his mind already calculating how this would go down. He wasn’t here for a drink, not even for the atmosphere. His goal was information, and he knew this place well enough to be sure that he wasn’t dealing with regular human patrons. No, every single soul here was a ghost.

Taking a seat at the bar, he casually placed his order, his voice smooth. "I'll have a strawberry sundae," he said, eyes locking onto the bartender.

The bartender blinked, momentarily taken aback. It wasn’t the typical request. But after a brief hesitation, he nodded and began preparing it. Danny was always the odd one out, even in a place like this. Most would have ordered something stronger—some ghostly concoction to numb the senses or fuel their darker desires. Not Danny. He was too focused to let anything get in the way of his mission.

As the sundae slid onto the bar in front of him, Danny took a spoonful, savoring the sweet, creamy taste for a brief moment. The ghosts around him didn’t even bat an eye at the unusual order. They were too busy watching him from their dark corners, murmuring among themselves.

Danny didn’t waste time. His eyes scanned each figure in the room, trying to read them, assess them. None of them looked like they had any useful information. They didn’t even seem to care that he was there—just another ghost, another stranger among the lost souls.

“Anyone know where I can find a Phantom?” Danny asked casually, his voice piercing through the low chatter like a blade. He looked around again, making sure his words hit the right ears. “You know, the one who’s been... missing.”

A few ghosts shifted uneasily in their seats. One muttered something incoherent, while another laughed softly, the sound hollow and strange. Danny didn’t flinch. He was used to the resistance.

“Figures,” he muttered to himself, pushing the sundae aside, his appetite gone.

In a flash, Danny sprang into action, his movements so quick and precise that the ghosts didn’t have time to react. He pulled out his guns, twin pistols gleaming with an eerie glow, and fired in rapid succession. The ghosts barely had time to scream before they evaporated into nothingness—disappearing with each shot. His fingers moved like a blur, targeting them one by one. No hesitation, no mercy.

The bartender was the first to go. One shot to the head, and the man—if he could still be called that—disintegrated into a burst of ectoplasm. The patrons followed, disappearing in a rain of vaporized particles as Danny worked his way across the room. They had no chance.

Within moments, the bar was silent, save for the faint hum of electricity from the flickering neon lights outside. Danny stood in the center of the room, his eyes scanning for any sign of useful information. But there was nothing. No leads, no hints, just empty, hollow souls who had been useless in his quest. He turned and began heading for the door, but as his hand touched the handle, he heard a noise behind him—a faint rustle, the unmistakable sound of something sneaking up on him.

Without missing a beat, Danny spun on his heels, his pistols raised and ready. The ghost who had been foolish enough to think they could catch him off guard was already mid-attack, but Danny was faster. Before the ghost could even form a coherent thought, Danny fired, the shot ringing out with a finality that echoed through the room.

The ghost collapsed into a heap of ectoplasm, and Danny muttered under his breath, “Bingo.”

With that, he exited the bar, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft thud. His search continued, as relentless as ever. He didn’t need to kill every ghost in his path, but when they got in his way, he made sure they didn’t stay there. There was only one thing on his mind: finding Phantom.

And no one, not even ghosts, was going to stop him.

[b33zlebubz]

RECKLESS ABANDON--------

CHAPTER FIVE - adding fuel to the fire

TASK FORCE 141 X READER (PLATONIC)

PREV CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || AO3 LINK || NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, slow burn found family, PTSD, trauma bonding, kidnapping, reader is a foster kid in high school, family drama, blood, violence, guns

"After your life falls apart at the seams very early on, you work hard to keep the small amount of peace you still have. Foster care is rough, work is draining, school is a drag...but you eventually find yourself in a good place. All of that quickly goes to waste, however, when your family's unfinished business finally finds its way back to you."

There's a new guy whenever you walk up to the plane.  You're never one for people, especially this early in the morning—and you dread conversation as you rub your sore eye and begrudgingly approach.

There wasn’t anything about him that immediately screamed good or bad. He was taller than Price and the aviator sunglasses he's wearing glint against the sun, his arms elbow deep in the engine of the small airplane you are likely about to board.  He's in a thick coat despite the warm weather and his laugh was far too loud for your very sleep-deprived brain.  

Nikolai.  The pilot.  Price had mentioned him off-handedly days ago.

You're not sure what to make of him, at first.  He's talking with Price whenever you approach, a hand over your brow as you squint against the pink glow of the rising sun that beams over the busy runway.  It's warmer out now, and you regret your choice of a hoodie as the sun reaches the dark fabric.  Considering where you're going, though, you're pretty sure that won't be a problem for very long.  

Price raises an eyebrow at the backpack of stuff and the new clothes on your back, and you pretend not to notice how you can see the gears turning in his head as you turn to the new person in the group.  If he’s mad at the obvious evidence that you snuck out, he’s good at hiding it.

Nikolai beams as he sees you walk up and laughs as he ruffles the hair on your head and exclaims in a thick Russian accent: "Look at you, all grown up now!  Haven't seen you since you were just a wee thing in Sparky's arms!"

That name again.

"Sparky?"  you question, looking at Price as you bat away the hand on your head.

"Your dad," the captain clarifies, patting your arm.  "Liked his fire, from what I hear."

"That's one way to put it," Nikolai adds, chuckling.  "Your old man lit a whole cartel base aflame, once upon a time.  Burned the whole thing to the ground.  Was only a bit older than you when he did it, too."

The lighter from the shoebox in your room suddenly feels a bit heavier in your pocket, and you fidget with it as you're soon ushered onto the small plane.  You shove your backpack up top and take a random seat on the end.  Soap and Ghost follow after you, and the shorter sergeant visibly hesitates when Price holds a hand up, stopping him from sitting down in the seat directly behind the cockpit.

"Kid," he says, cocking his head at the seat.  "You sit here."

Soap speaks up, "Aye—"

"Save it, Soap."

You can almost feel Soap's stare burning into the back of your neck as you hesitantly take what must be his usual seat.  Ghost chuckles somewhere behind you as Soap strides further back into the plane instead to share a seat with him instead.  After that, you watch Price duck out of the plane again for a few minutes, have a very animated talk with Gaz outside, before both him and the sergeant filter in as well.

Gaz sits down in the seat across the aisle from you, letting out a breath that sounds relieved as he lets his head fall back against the seat.

"Captain chew you out for helping me?"

His lips curl into something that is half-grimace, half-smile, "A little."

That piques your interest.  "Then what'd he say?"

"'Just asked if anyone saw us."

"Did anyone see us?"

"No."

"Good," you turn your gaze to the window, shifting in your seat to accommodate for the sore bruises on your upper back.  "Nobody knows I ate shit on the fire escape, then."

He snorts, shaking his head.

Soon after, you're up in the air.

With nothing to do but stare out the window and clench the armrests whenever the plane vibrates and shifts, you take to people-watching.  

You feel almost comically out of place, watching everyone else go about everything like this was all just another day.  They're all in fatigues aside from Nikolai, camo pants and T-shirts with respect for Ghost—who seems to throw the idea of uniform out the window.  Nikolai and Price talk in front of you, though you can't hear what they say through the wall and the rumbling of the engine. You hear the Lieutenant and Soap behind you accompanied with the sound of scribbling.  Ghost speaks in a low voice every so often to tell Soap the nose is crooked or you drew one of the eyes lower than the other, followed by a quiet curse from Soap and a few seconds of loud erasing.  Occasionally, his boot brushes against the back of your heel, and every time it does you swear you could kill him.

Gaz offers you a few snacks, muttering something along the lines of Russian base food is somehow worse than the shit they give you at American D-Facs, before he is sound asleep twenty minutes into the plane ride.  His lean arms are folded over his chest and his cap is tucked over his eyes, casting shadows over his dark face.  You're not sure why he sat with you—but you figure maybe it's the same reason he took you to your house last night.  Pity.

Before any of this, you would have resented him for it, but instead you find yourself wondering what you might be able to do to return the favor.  You’ll have to corner Price and ask him for advice or his favorite color the next time you get the chance.  He might get a kick out of a friendship bracelet…or something.  You’re not entirely sure what your thought process was behind grabbing colored yarn out of your drawers whenever you were packing, but you figure you mine-as-well put it to use.

Not like you had anything else to do.

Not wanting to dwell in your thoughts too much, you take to inspecting the lighter in your pocket.  It's old and rusted; you doubt you've touched it since tossing it in the box with the rest of your dad's things years ago.  The hinges of the cap take some effort to pry open through the dirt crusted onto it, but it still works, and you take the time to thumb off all the gunk.  Rubbing the crust off the bottom, you come to realize there's something scratched into the metal.  Your brow furrows in confusion whenever a name stares back at you.

RILEY

"The kid's a fucking liability is what they are."  Soap's hushed voice catches your attention, and you shove the lighter back in your pocket, listening in a little closer, "Just another loose end to carry around."

You take a breath, shifting your gaze to watch the ocean out the window.  Suddenly, you really miss your phone.  Some loud, angry music would really be great right now.

"Price has his reasons, and you have your orders.  Best not question them."

"'Bet they're lying about not knowing the codes…"  Soap huffs, ignoring Ghost's comment.  "Just so that we'll protect their sorry ass."

For the first time in your presence, Ghost actually sounds like he might be irritated, "Wouldn't blame 'em if they were, mate."

"They're gonna flip the whole mission tits-up,"  Soap replies, shifting in his seat behind you to whisper quieter to his Lieutenant.  "We're harboring some dead guy's kid—who has zero training and zero experience, might I add—around a fuckin' warzone for no reason.  What if Graves, or someone worse, gets 'em and spills our guts?  What if they die?"

"Sounds like you need a little more faith in your Captain."

Soap scoffs, "Didn't take you as a dickrider, LT."

"Shut up, Soap, fucking hell…"

After that, they fall silent.  You bite back the frustration that bubbles in your chest, filing it back in your brain with everything else from this week to think about later, when you were alone with a pillow to punch.

The plane ride is nearly a full day, and by the end of it you feel like you left half your brain in Texas and the other half in the Atlantic.  Waking up way earlier than necessary to break into your foster home definitely didn't help, either.  Sleep is fleeting, but when you do happen to catch a few naps, Ghost’s blood-stained mask still fills your brain.  This time, Soap's voice echoes around it.

Gaz is the one to stir you awake whenever you all land.  It's dark when you open your eyes save for the dim plane lights, and quiet other than the tired shuffling and grumbling of the others gathering their things.  Outside, it's freezing, dark, and snowing—and for a moment it feels like you might still be dreaming.

You pause in the parking lot you find yourself in to look up at the heavy snowflakes that flutter around the otherwise silent landscape.  Your breath fogs up into the air above you and the cold makes your ears and nose sting.  Spending the last few years on the lower regions of the west coast, snow was a concept that had slipped your mind until now.  You remember, vaguely, a time where your father would chase you around a yard—throwing snowballs at you as you laughed and attacked him—and you swallow thickly.  You're not sure if the sudden thought is a dream you had once, or perhaps a really distant memory, but it's comforting just the same.

Price lags behind the others, noticing how your footsteps pause behind him.  He eyes you, for a while; and watches your bruised eye close against the gentle snow and your fists clench and unclench repeatedly.  

“Kid.”

You turn to face him, looking dazed.  “Hm?”

“You alright?”  

He holds your gaze, his eyes heavy with concern.  The question isn’t fleeting.  He expects an honest answer this time.

Your mouth opens to say the same response you’ve been saying for days to ward off curious people.  You hesitate, however, when scenes from the past week flash through your mind and your mouth snaps shut again.  Skull mask.  Rifles.  Pity.  Fluorescent lights.  Tactical gear and a scar across the cheek.

You let out a breath that shudders slightly and you shake your head.

“Just…”  Your voice sounds hoarse.  You look away, gesturing vaguely to the plane as if that answered Price’s question at all.  “Tired, I guess.  Couldn't sleep.  Soap was talking shit.”

Price’s brow pinches.  “Soap was what?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head and pad through the snow to catch up with him.  “Gaz isn’t in trouble, is he?”

Price sighs and it fogs out into the cold.  He shakes his head and fishes around his pockets before pulling out a cigar and a lighter.  You watch as he presses it to his lips and lights it, the glow lighting up his face in the dark.  The bags under his eyes are deeper than they usually are.

"No," he exhales.  "Far from it."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

Price chuckles.

"He only would've gotten in trouble if he did something stupid," he says.  "What he did wasn't stupid, it was insubordinate.  He had a plan and he executed it well…despite how he did it without permission."

"Does he usually do that?"

"Do what?"

"Things without permission."

"No," Price says again and exhales more smoke.  "None of them do.  Not unless the situation is dire."

A beat passes as you both walk and he smokes.  It's silent aside from the rest of 141 talking and walking a little ways in front of you, haloed against the yellow streetlights of the base before you.  Funny, it looks almost identical to the one in Texas—but bigger.  Liminal.  Colder, in more ways than one.

"I feel useless," you say, suddenly, and it's like now that you’ve started your mouth won’t stop running.  "I don't have the codes and I can barely break into my own house never mind keep up with any of you guys.  I can't do anything, and I hate it.  If I'm going to stick around here…I want to be useful, somehow."

Price’s eyebrows raise slightly.  In the five days you've spent living on base, Price thinks that might be the first time he's heard you complain—never mind say more than a few clipped sentences to him.

"You weren't supposed to get tangled up in this," Price insists.  "So, it's our job to fix it.  Not yours."

"I want to, though."  You insist, “If I can’t help, I’m a liability.”

"No," Price shakes his head with finality.  "No.  You’re not, and you won't.  Because then you'll end up like him, and that's the last thing any of us want."

You shoot Price a look; one that's somewhere between helpless, shocked, and frustrated.  A million things to say cycle through your mind but you can't find the energy to pinpoint which you want to articulate first.  So, you bite your tongue as he finishes his cigar and flicks it off in the snow somewhere.  The ember dies immediately, and he sets a hand on your shoulder.

"C'mon," he says, softer now, as he picks up the pace.   "Let's catch up with the others.  Get you some sleep."

You're being brushed off.  It stings, but it's a familiar kind of hurt this time.  One you've grown up with and one you can manage.  One that, pared with the soothing hand on your back and Price's confession that some people here do care what happens to you—is a nearly fatal blow that finally leaves you, for once, without a final word to put in.

A sigh leaves you as you find that you’re too tired to remain angry.  Subconsciously, you lean into the hand on your back as you drag your feet towards the base.  The rest of the walk is comfortingly silent, and snow falls silently around you as you watch the ice at your feet.  

If you listened close enough, you could hear each individual snowflake hit the white ground, and for the first time in years you feel like you might've found something that feels slightly like home.

@brokenpieces-72 @warenai @pertinentpostmortem @kaoyamamegami @hayleybarnesx @scuftryo @0alk0msan @synthe4u @stunkbiggu @karurururu @nostalgialeech

[storyofmychoices]

A Stolen Moment

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 1 + Beyond] [Mal’s Orphanage] [Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 2 + 3 AU]

Pairings: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!OC) Book: Blades of Light & Shadow (can take place at any time post book one) Word Count: ~ 800 Rating/Warnings: Teen (heavy kissing, light dominance) A/N: For the request "a kiss out of lust" by @cadybear420. I think you secretly knew I had art that needed a fic! Lol A/N#2: This gorgeous portrait is by the amazing ArtbyAinna. She always indulges me in my Mal and Daenarya are once again making out in the woods art.

Synopsis: Daenarya steals a moment with Mal to share a heated kiss and have some fun.

Her fingertips traced teasingly up his forearm, pulling his focus from the noble at the front of the hall—who had somehow turned a speech meant to praise the heroes of the realm into one about his house’s greatness, as if he had ever lifted a finger to help the people starving in the streets. Saving the realm would mean nothing if they couldn’t save the people.

"Are you having as hard a time as I am stomaching whatever this self-important drivel is supposed to be?" He scoffed.

"I stopped listening fifteen minutes ago." She rested her chin on his shoulder, looking up at him, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eyes.

His brow rose, and a smirk pulled on his lips. "I know that look."

"Good. Then you know what I'm thinking right now?" Her fingers still wandered across his skin, tempting him to read between every line.

"Mmhmm." His tongue drew across his lower lips. "Think they'll miss us?"

"Do you care?" She pressed a lingering kiss to his neck; her next words, barely a whisper and just for him, "I want you, Mal Volari...and I get what I want. Wouldn't you agree?"

Her eyes darkened as she pulled back—a look that could make him fall to his knees in reverence, regardless of the crowd surrounding them. It wasn't as if that were an unusual position for him (minus the crowd at least)... but before, there had always been an angle, something he wanted, something he hoped to get or relieve the person of, but with her...with her... he'd give everything for one moment more just to be with her. "After you."

He barely got the words out before she—not so delicately—yanked him forward to a fate he was more than happy to follow.

The manor overflowed with people who had come from across the realm for the celebration, leaving no private corner without guests wishing to steal the ear of the heroes of Morella. To another couple, that might act as a deterrent, a reminder of where they were and the expectations for them, but they weren't another couple and they were not ones to cower to the expectations of others.

Daenarya eyed the treeline at the far edge of the well-groomed lawn and gardens. "That'll do."

They had only just made it under the cover of the lush foliage when Daenarya pressed him back against the trunk of a large tree. Wasting no time, her lips crashed onto his hungrily, claiming the kiss she had craved. The taste of his lips only fueled her desire. Her tongue swept into his mouth, setting a disorienting pace that left him breathless, aching for more. The world around them faded away, the heat of their connection a fire that consumed them.

Her fingers made quick work of the delicate buttons on his silk shirt, revealing his toned torso. She hummed her satisfaction against his lips. Her nails scraped down his chest, eliciting a moan from deep in his throat. His hips bucked toward her, but she wasn't quite there yet.

Her free hand cradled his jaw, a tender contrast to the rough gestures she'd offered so far. The mix made him dizzy. His arms snaked around her, anchoring himself to her. It began as a need to hold on, to ground himself to her, but it didn’t take long for his hands to wander lower, giving her a squeeze from behind.

"Nuh uh—" She clicked her tongue, her eyes darkening as her grip on his jaw tightened. "Did I say you could touch me?" Her voice was low and commanding. Each word a soft warning, full of promise and control.

He attempted to stop the grin spreading on his lips, unable to hide the way his body ached for her. "My apologies."

Amusement flickered in her eyes. Her voice stern but still filled with affection, "Your apologies... what?"

His heart beat faster, enjoying the power she held over him. "My apologies, my Princess." His voice was light, more than happy to submit to her.

"Much better," she purred, rewarding him with a kiss on his nose. Her lips lingered for a moment longer than necessary before leaning in. Her voice dripped mischievously, "Now, if I may continue."

"Of course. Always happy to please you, my lady." He winked, his head resting against the tough bark, waiting for her to make the next move.

“Then, be a good little rogue. Do exactly what I say—,” she whispered against his ear, her breath hot as her fingers tip-toed lower down his stomach. "—and we'll both have our fun."

His body relaxed under her attention. He had never trusted anyone the way he trusted her. She was the only one he could truly be himself with, the person with whom he could let his guard down and know he was completely safe and loved. His voice was low, filled with devotion to her, ready for everything she would offer him, “As you wish.”

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story. 🖤🖤🖤

As for the last line. I'm a sucker, I can't help it, all my fictional men say it. It's a rule, I can't change it.

[robinvomit]

I was thinking all 3 have different ways of approaching a situation and end up butting heads (maybe on how to finish a mission?)

To make it extra angsty 😈 maybe they all have crushes on each other

- Shiny

I just.. I did all of it, enjoy, lol. This is also my love letter to those who forget that out of the two.. Jon is actually pretty aggressive. Damian is quiet in his aggression! Jon is emotionally angry and will destroy shit. Jon does not know how to manage his anger. ♡ I took this so seriously, I am sorry otl

Damian vs Jon.

This is a battle of softness and heart against coldness and logic. Damian just wants everything to end — clean, precise, and prioritizing success and victory over comfort. He wants to get in, get done, get out.

Jon, on the other hand, is far more compassionate. It blinds him a little because he wants to save everyone, no casualties, not even the slightest. He is willing to sacrifice the planned goal. He's still fueled by emotions on comparison.

"You are wasting our time trying to save people who are already lost! It's simple, all we—" "How can you say that?! God, maybe if you cared about someone besides yourself for once in your life, you'd understand why it matters! Why it matters for us to save everyone if we have the chance!'

The problem is — Damian pushes Jon away any time something could make him vulnerable. Jon hates it, it hurts but he can't stop it. On the other hand, Damian hates to see Jon act like a reckless dumbass while ignoring that he cares too much and Jon never sees it.

They go their separate ways and finish what needs to be finished in their own way. Worried. Upset. Aching with emotion in two very different ways. Absolutely hating that in the back of their thoughts, they were thinking of kissing each other.

They don't discuss the mission again when it's over. Jon goes home, Damian stays behind only for a minute, nails digging into his palms.

Reader vs Damian.

A struggle between someone's pride and control against someone's trust and softer edges.

The moment you suggest a potential shift in the plan, he sees it as a threat to his leadership. ( You're not really sure who made him the leader. )

He doesn't have time to explain to you why you're wrong ( In his eyes ) and he's not going to stand around, letting you change things when the plan is already "perfect".

"Do you think this is some sort of game? Your feelings don't matter out here." "No, I don't. But if you just — if you just trusted me, us, maybe you'd see you're not the only one here! Not everything has to be about victory and you."

You don't even say anything further, just accept that he's a stubborn, closed off asshole and go about the mission. You're ignoring the anger — the anger of wanting him to see you outside of a teammate and as someone who actually sees and understands him.

The problem? He does see you. He does know that. He's just scared of it. The feelings, the vulnerability, the potential for loss or abandonment. The way you understand him makes you dangerous and his way of coping with that is to lash out.

Reader vs Jon.

Jon's hopeful outlook can sometimes be too much — because he does not accept the fact some things are just lost causes. Especially people.

You aren't cold or completely shut down to it, but it gets frustrating when it causes a mission to extend or could lead to potentially hurting either of you. Like Damian, you get agitated when Jon dives head first into something, not caring about his wellbeing.

"That's not.. Jon, you always think things will just magically work out. That's not how the world works! That's not what happens." "So, what then? We just walk away— we just give up? We stop trying to push and be better than our parents? I'm so sorry for being hopeful. I didn't realize that made me the enemy "

You can tell he's hurt, being defensive and it makes you want to shut down a little — because he doesn't listen. He takes his abilities too seriously and thinks he can save the world. He's looking at you like you just ripped his heart out and crushed it in front of him. You feel sick to your stomach.

And, of course, you're so fucking in love with his dumb blue eyes and endless hope — because you've never been able to see the world the way he does. But, there's nothing you can do about it when he's already flying off.

Damian vs Reader vs Jon.

Well, it's not pretty. The mission went to shit. Reader thinks it's best to just pull out — no one is in immediate danger and they need to regroup. Jon, ever the optimist, wants to get the survivors out immediately. Damian just wants to push through and get it over with.

Everyone is on edge. Everyone is tired. Everyone is ready to strange everyone else.

Damian; You are both fools being run by your emotions. You are too sentimental. Jon: And you're just heartless! Maybe if— Reader: Stop it! This isn't the time! We're supposed to be a team, figuring it out together, not fighting each other!

It goes on for a little while. Yelling, hurting, pushing each other to edge. But when it quiets and no one has anything left to say, everything boils down into a mess of fear, love, insecurity — jealousy. It's not just about anger or frustration, it's about a deep seated fear of the others getting hurt, of losing someone, of failing.

Jon's hands are shaking and he turned away from both, taking a deep breath to handle the rage vibrating under his skin and the tears of anger that are threatening to fall. Damian is breathing hard, holding back more that he wants to say that he shouldn't and fighting off things he should say, but won't. You're crouched down, face in your hands, trying to figure everything out on your own, not wanting to acknowledge the fractures that are forming.

No one knows how to fix it. No one knows how to put it into words. And no one is going to confess on the battlefield — no one is going to break down and scream about how scary it is, how fucked up the world is or how they wouldn't even know how to continue if they lost one of the other.

So, they all stand, sit, take a moment. The mission is paused, time is running out. And the only thing anyone can think about is pulling the others close and breaking down because they're kids fighting battles they shouldn't be, with feelings they know aren't safe to have in the world they have been given.