#See you in Chapter 3~!

[kewpikayo]

"Partners...?" Human Alastor x Reader

Chapter 2: WC: 5,109

I dedicate this second chapter to the sweet @ritualofcirice, the exquisite @lumikello24, the utterly superb @fraugwinska and the fantastic @macabr3-barbi3 . Thank you all so much for making this event such a pleasure to be a part of. Hope you enjoy part two!!

Here's Chapter 1: Team Player.

your at Chapter 2: Left Hanging.

here's Chapter 3: Burning Alive. Warnings & Tags: Violence, typical bloodshed associated with Hazbin hotel and Dead by Daylight. Alastor still being a little shit, etc. death of minor characters

Multiple hours passed until mid morning became late afternoon as the sun was continuously locked away in the realm of mist and shadow.

At least the darkness provided ample cover for further protection, but it was terrible to navigate the necessary equipment needed to fix the machines. Luckily, you had a miniature flashlight from your time pilfering through stray boxes. It was currently held under your chin to create a steady light source for your tedious task.

Despite your unfortunate hooking accident and the pain it still caused you, your progress with the generators had gone rather smoothly. You had somehow managed to get three out of the five generators up to working condition; plus or minus the few instances when hiding in a locker or behind brush became necessary. 

For the most part, your partner seemed to be carrying out his delegated task quite well. At least that’s what you assumed. You hadn’t heard from him in hours, but the looming threat of capture or death had somehow lessened in severity. It had been quiet…

Maybe striking a last minute deal with that strange, smiling guy was the best rash decision you had ever made .

As your bloody, oil soaked hands worked meticulously, your mind strayed to less demanding thoughts.

The asshole of a stranger, Alastor, was unbearable to say the least. His sharp wit was easily comparable to the nice, bloody blade he had acquired when he chose to ignore you. The insufferable bastard didn’t even bother to ask if you were okay or needed help, but just decided to leave you hanging. Literally.

Regardless of his initial purposeful ignorance of your person, perhaps you made the decision to reach out to him not only out of necessity, but also for the sole reason that he looked like the type to have his shit together. 

You remembered the dark man stood tall with obvious pride in the presentation he held for himself. It was as if he was opulently adorned in only the best of linens. He was a bit too pompous for your tastes, but you had to admit the man did have pretty privilege. Alastor was indeed a looker. 

Surprisingly, no blood was to be seen on him and his smile had never left his face even when he had seemed cross with you. It was a peculiar habit. There was just something about that grin of his and how it continually cast a supernatural glow to his warm skin. It was almost as if it was glued or stitched to his features permanently. It was creepy; and you hated how effortlessly charming it was.

His eyes spoke of a different tale, however. They were dauntless and expressive; amber jewels that were attuned to his face in unwavering self assurance hidden behind gentle, dark curls. It was obvious he was of the calculating, intellectual sort. Maybe that was why you felt comfortable enough to beg him to help you. You were assured he had a plan brewing under that steadfast grin, and you wanted in on whatever strategic formulation his mind deemed worthy to conduct.

He was a survivor, a victor, and you had always liked being a part of the winning team. Acquiring a partnership with another like minded, capable individual was only the most logical step forward. Anyone within their right mind would’ve done so.

Wiping your brow of the sweat that accumulated under the ball cap you donned, you went back into an intense focus. There was no time to daydream. How much time had you lost already? You didn’t know, but you did know too many valuable minutes had already passed you by. It was one moment too many to risk doing so a second time.

Rewiring your focus, the specific cable in your grasp was of the stubborn sort; unwilling to bend to the plan you had for it with a burning passion. 

You readjusted the flashlight underneath your chin and moved closer to have a better look, wincing when the twinge in your shoulder wouldn’t go away. You cursed to yourself, frustration dripping into your vocabulary.

“Havin’ a wrench would’ve made this a helluva lot easier…Dammit…Just connect, you stupid wires…It literally isn’t that hard…It’s not rocket science!”

As if a resistant response to your furious words, sparks flew into your face with a loud, rambunctious pop. You jolted backwards with a colorful curse, a sting in your fingertips. The light and sound startled you; and with a wince your expression contorted into a deeper scowl due to the pain.

“Shit!”

Waving your hand, a harsh hiss escaped from under your breath as your fingers were brought to your lips. You bit back the pain, shutting your eyes and blinking back tears as the taste of blood and oil flooded over your tongue. The blackest smoke quickly bellowed into your vision as the bold smell of gasoline was the only scent available to you. It was to the point that any oxygen had been snuffed out and made breathing an even greater hardship. 

You stifled multiple coughs. The force of each constricted your chest painfully; each spasm threatening the contents of your stomach to make an unsightly appearance. Too enraptured in retaining air, you failed to hear the soft snap of a twig behind you.

However, upon calming down from the attack on your lungs, the feeling of wind and metal brushing against your ear rivaled the active popping of the nearby generator.

You were left stunned as you stared at the butcher knife lodged in the wooden pallet next to your head. Raising a tentative hand, you brushed your fingers against the edge of your ear and hissed when you felt the sting and the promise of blood. 

Another knife launched itself into the wood again, landing closer to your head this time.

If the first knife didn’t get your attention, then that one certainly did.

You whipped your head to look behind you, beholding an ominous figure in a vibrant trench coat. The fog swirling around the marsh mixed in with his clothing to the point it was hard to make out who it was, but the shadow looming over you was so profound that the fear the sight instilled held you firmly in place.

That was until the threat took another dagger from his sheath and stepped forward with ill intent.

“Oh fuc-!...”

A third dagger was thrown in your direction with the intent to hit its mark as one of the Entity’s champions boldly pursued you. Jolting backwards, the dagger thrown managed to nick your cheek in the process of piercing into the nearest pallet.

As your most recent threat, referred to as the trickster by the other survivors,  rearmed himself and prepared another blade with a bold laugh at your misfortune;  you took the chance to flee. Scrambling to your feet, adrenaline powered your movements as your converses dredged deep grooves into the mud. You slipped, but not before pushing a pallet over to maintain some distance between you and your attacker. 

Hissing in pain, you grabbed at your shoulder as you haphazardly continued to run, your breath leaving you in frantic spurts. Your legs had a will of their own, knocking you into every spare piece of wood or type of debris imaginable. It took great effort just to keep yourself on your feet.

Almost to your destination, hope was ripped from you as your foot got lodged in an unnoticeable hole, twisting uncomfortably to the point a guttural growl turned gasp escaped you as you hit the ground. Hard. 

The rest of your air deflated from your lungs and into your  surroundings as your ball cap was knocked from your head in your descent; flying and disappearing amongst the weeds. You cursed. There was no time to search for it. It was lost to you now.

Amidst your thoughts, somehow your rib cage  managed to land on the largest, sharpest rock known to man. You yelped in pain, assured yet another of countless bruises would appear on your skin within the hour.

Dazed and light headed from pain, but the last of your adrenaline pushing you to your limits; You grabbed at the soil and lunged  yourself forward with strenuous effort. You were so close to your designated hiding spot, and now that option was taken from you as well.

You wouldn’t give up, though. Not that easily.

Determined, you crawled to the next best thing: A spare pallet with just enough room underneath to provide some sort of cover. The entrance of the hole was covered with weeds and the occasional cattail. Perfect. Cover was just what you needed. 

Panting , you willed yourself to continue on, elbows digging into the ground to gain leverage in the moist soil as you hurriedly crawled in desperation. You were almost there. You were sure you would make it..

You had to. 

Unfortunately, your pursuit of safety was denied when the trickster caught up with you. You managed to crawl a few more inches to safety when you felt hands grab at your sides. You looked behind you and in a panicked fury started kicking your legs and wiggling to struggle free; but to no avail. Fate has other plans for you, much to your terror and disgruntlement.

The trickster hoisted you up and had you hanging from his shoulders like a light, limp sack of fruit. It irritated you how frail you were.  Still, delicate and bruisable as you were, you would not go down without a fight.

So fight you did, kicking and hitting any reachable orifice or weak point you could. You managed to hit your target every so often with sufficient force, but it was as if the man was made of impenetrable stone. Nothing you did weakened your kidnapper and it proved useless to struggle. Your attempts just made you more tired in the end and you needed to conserve your strength. 

Still, your fierce spirit wouldn’t be silenced and you wouldn’t give up your fight for survival just yet. Thinking it your best, and only, option; your voice illuminated the space around you. Your words ignited your attacker’s hearing in colorful, torrential succession as you also continued in your physical attack.

“Let me go, you fucker!! Put. Me. DOWN!!!”

This only supplied the trickster something to laugh at, your voice reverberating through his useless ears as your words came back void. To no surprise, your request was denied with yet another muted, sadistic chuckle. Great. Why did you think that would work? 

You continued in your struggle and berating words until you were nearing your destination; a particularly rusty hook that already had fresh blood from a recent victim acquired on the metal. You blanched at the sight. You didn’t have the possibility of acquiring Tetanus or blood poisoning on your agenda that evening, or ever, but you guess fate certainly didn’t give a damn. 

This particular hook was beneath The Pale Rose; and unfortunately was a good bit away from your nearly completed generator. You hoped that somehow one of the other survivors would take a hint and aid you in finishing your work, or at least come to your aid. It was unlikely though. The majority of people, if in your predicament, would’ve certainly attuned themselves to the idea of “Every man for themselves.” You certainly did. You tried rescuing someone before and it only resulted in your first capture. You wouldn’t make that same mistake again. Not without getting something in return.

There was only one other person you hoped would come for you, and even then it was still a long shot of if he would actually help you or not. From your short time of knowing him, Alastor has proved himself to be a wildcard and a man of conviction, but only if it suited his own needs or desires.

Left with no other options, you shamelessly screamed your partner’s  name with all the graceless volume in your lungs. 

“ALASTOR!!! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!?! I NEED YOU!!”

Your desperate plea was met with nothing but your own continued screams as your injured shoulder was violently shoved into the rusty hook you spotted earlier.

The screams that left you didn’t sound like your own voice. They were raw and saturated with agony, foreign in pitch and deeply feral in cadence. Desperate, a shrill shriek left you as the tendons and veins in the muscles of your shoulder were ripped anew. Black dots adorned themselves to your vision, your head light from blood loss. You swore you even saw stars in your disoriented state. 

Before the worry of passing out or worse could visit your thoughts, the entity's claws were upon you. The sharp blades of horror forced you into a life or death struggle as your captor stepped away to watch your promised demise with glee. 

Gritting your teeth, you glared at the trickster, stubbornly clinging to life. With the last of your strength, you held the claws aiming to puncture holes into your chest and abdomen at bay as exhaustion loomed over you.

With a fury so profound you swore you saw your attackers eyes widen in surprise, you snarled out the most putrid threat you could think of in your pain. Your grip tightened on the entity’s claws as you pushed against the trap.

“I hope you fuckin’ die and burn in the hottest part of Hell, you stupid ass piece of shit! You’re lucky I’m hangin’ here otherwise I’d kill you myself! I-I’d gut you like a fish and rip out your eyeballs and… And feed you to the gators!!! Mark my words, I’ll make you wish you were dead!!! ”  

“Ha! What poetry~! But it would be quite hard to make one wish for death when they have already experienced it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Not expecting the figure in front of you to slump over dead, your eyes widened when you saw your partner appear out of nowhere to pull a knife from the trickster’s back. Alastor’s blood soaked hands tightly gripped around his weapon of choice as he gently disposed of his latest victim’s blood on his dark denim jeans. 

“Now, this fellow’s descent into the nine circles can most assuredly be arranged. It is plausible that it is already well under way…”

When did Alastor show up? Amidst the chaos and trying to keep conscious, somehow he had appeared before you instantaneously. Perhaps he was just very close by when you called out to him? 

Glancing toward you, Alastor chuckled as his smile grew in smug satisfaction; curiosity glinting back at you from his calculated gaze. You continued fighting off the iron claws in silence, hoping seeing you in a struggle would alert him that his assistance was most definitely needed. You bit back a frustrated growl when he failed to notice your hidden cry for help. Perhaps he just actively ignored you again, preferring to continue talking instead.

“Though I’m sure it would’ve been such  a nice sight to witness your spin on taking out the trash… It pains me to know I won’t have the opportunity to see you do so…”

Despite his words, Alastor looked chipper with the outcome that had transpired. The man stood tall, his cream button up and blue jeans soaked  in viscera and gore, blood splatter decorating his spectacles and face. His conquest to gain the lives of the killers you requested most likely was going smoothly. Good. The more he killed, the greater assurance that you wouldn’t be.

What was surprising about his presentation, however, was that you could tell the blood wasn’t his. You thought that his close contact with various types of killers around the premises would have at least scored him a few wounds to keep as souvenirs; but he managed to surprise you yet again. He didn’t even look injured in the slightest. You could tell from the way his expression was lively and full of enjoyment that he was high off of the chaos, obviously receiving great pleasure from his conquest, and even more so about his most recent kill…

 Just how had he managed to do so well? You supposed that wasn’t important. What did matter was that your partner was taking the deal seriously. 

Choosing to ignore the unhinged vibes Alastor was giving off,  you scoffed and did your utmost to hide the tremendous pain you felt in your shoulder. Talking was getting very hard to do without pausing for much needed air. With each moment that passed, the Entity’s claws encroached closer to your person, making an exhausting task even more strenuous. 

You gasped as your hand slipped from one of the iron grips holding you firmly in place, the pain in your shoulder immense as the hook tugged on your overly sensitive flesh. You were fighting for your life and Alastor didn’t even seem to care. What kind of partner was he?

You supposed you couldn’t blame him. He had mentioned he always preferred solo work. Even so, anyone with even a slim amount of sanity would see you were very much in need. Your patience was about up, your struggle using the majority of your brain power. Words were hard to form at the moment. Brevity became necessary.

“Yeah, well he… Woulda looked like he does now…Dead…Stupid and…Fucked up…You did…A good job, I guess…”

“My, Is that praise I hear? Glad to know you approve of my efforts. I’m flattered.”

Alastor’s smile couldn’t have been more smug even if he tried. You rolled your eyes at the sight; stifling a low groan from both annoyance and affliction as the claws inched closer to your abdomen and collarbones. Sweat poured down your brow in your attempts at escape. You were too exhausted at this point to really call him out on his bullshit; and you really didn’t want to risk him leaving you on that hook again. Playing it safe, you decided to ignore his obvious attempts to get under your skin in hopes that he would lend you aid this time around.

“Yeah…Yeah, you don’t gotta mention it. Now…Are ya gonna help me out and… Let me down or…Or what? We’re wastin’ time…”

Still tall and poised, Alastor tilted his head as he looked at you, placing his blade back into its sheath, a question to counter your own on his breath.

“Just how many times do you intend to be captured this evening, dear? You certainly are a bloody mess, aren’t you?”

Scoffing, you stared at the first three buttons on Alastor’s shirt, blood splatter staining his fabric to ruin. He looked how you felt, every flinch and twitch of your muscles shooting agony through your body as your own blood created an ocean down your jean jacket. 

You groaned. It was too much energy wasted to look anywhere else.

“No Shit….Look who’s talkin’, but no, seriously… Are your arms not workin’ or somethin’?…Let me down…”

Wincing, you used the majority of your remaining strength to readjust your body weight on the hook. Another hiss of agony leaked through your gritted teeth. Your attempts were enough to bring brief tears to the corners of your eyes. You blinked them away. You wouldn’t let him see you cry.

“We’re…Supposed to be partner’s, right? Don’t just….leave me hangin’….”

“Ha! Good one…”

Another encore of enthused chuckles escaped him as he crossed his arms. It still didn’t look like he was in any hurry to come to your aid. Shocker.

“...Unfortunately, you are missing a simple, vital phrase…It’s rather rude to forget it, wouldn’t you agree?”

Once again you were left dumbfounded by the man’s words. What did he mean? You were left in tremendous confusion until it hit you. The bastard was wanting you to beg him for his help. Again.

Swallowing as much pride as you could spare, as well as the urge to let out another scream, you let your head hang as low as it would go without causing anymore needless damage to your shoulder. Your hands still firmly grasped around the claws of the greedy Entity.

“...Please…”

Without seeing him, you could tell he was smirking just by the way his voice sounded, conceited and self important. Vain.

“Please what?”

A low growl entered your voice in a mixture of exasperation and discomfort as you looked up at your so-called partner with a deep scowl. You bit into your cheek before uttering yet another shameful, pitiful plea. You absolutely hated how weak it made you feel.

“Please…If you’d be so…gracious as to lend me your….Assistance…I'd be so appreciative…”

You wanted to make sure that Alastor knew you were pissed.  The words you managed to mutter were drenched in so much sarcasm that it brought an obvious, irritated twitch to your partner’s eye. Good. He deserved it after refusing to help you for a second time. If he thought it was a burden to help you, you would show him just how much of an inconvenience you could be, should he continue to refuse to come to your aid.

Alastor remained silent. Another claw formed on the hook, causing you to have to split your efforts of keeping the iron talons at bay; one hand for each claw that formed. 

Frustration flooded into you to the point you let out a shout and another string of vibrant  curses.

“Arrghhhh!  Just. Get. Me. down! I’m bleedin’ out, if ya haven’t noticed!”

“Oh, I’ve noticed. I do think the color red suits you rather well…”

Yet another vexing pause was seen on his part as he shifted his weight from one hip to another, his arms still crossed and his gaze curious as he stood infront of you, tantalizingly close but resistant and mute to your continued pleas.

“Besides, what was your earlier phrase? Ah, yes…I do believe it was ‘“Fuck you. I’ll just do it myself.”’? Where has all that spirit gone? You seemed very capable before. Surely nothing has changed since?”

Dumbfounded, you didn’t know how to reply. You were in such shock that one of your hands slipped, allowing one of the Entity’s claws to pierce deeply into your opposite collarbone. You let out an ear piercing scream as you managed to dig the iron out of your skin; adrenaline sending shivers swimming through your bloodstream.

Struggling to form words, you paused to take breaths in between your verbiage.

“It’s...Complicated…Hard to…Explain!”

“Then try. Enlighten me.”

“Look…I…I already used my perk, Deliverance ... .I can’t use it again; so I would greatly appreciate it if you got your head out of your ass and…and helped me! The Entity’s rippin’ me apart!”

A look equally offended and appalled darted across Alastor’s features, distorting his toothy smile to the slightest degree.

“Your…Perk? Entity? Whatever do you mean? Speak plainly, dear. What you’ve just said is very much akin to gibberish…”

If you weren’t actively fighting for your life you would’ve stared at him in disbelief, mouth agape like some braindead fool. Did this idiot not know what a survivor’s perk was? Was he actually galavanting around this entire map without using any of his? And he still managed to not get a single scratch on him? What type of creature was he?

It was as if he wasn’t even human…

Irritated that your partner was seemingly perfect, except for the one flaw that he would not willingly help set you free; you grumbled out the expected information. Somehow amidst gasping for breath, you managed to explain what a perk was and a little about the entity until Alastor’s expression changed to one of mild understanding.

“...Now, help me already….Please!”

Gasping for air and on the verge of passing out, or passing away, you looked toward your so-called partner with the utmost desperation hidden in your eyes. Yet another pause was shared between the two of you and he still refused to move or help you. Your patience for this man was about over.

“Look, shithead, I said please three times, didn’t I?!”

“My, how rude…You do realize whose life is still on the line at the moment, yes?”

In a tone that could only be described as patronizing, his grin grew in conceited splendor. Did he really enjoy getting a rise out of you that much? Your scowl deepened at his sick joy. 

That sadistic fuck…

An even wider smirk adorned Alastor’s features as you blanched, your complexion pale due to both your realization as well as blood loss. His smile was more genuine when you whispered an apology. It was obvious he was pleased to know he had bruised your pride even more than it already was.

“Hmm…I suppose I will let you off the hook for your blunder, if only this once…The tendency to lose manners when one’s life is threatened is something common and albeit expected. Here, brace yourself…This will surely hurt.”

Reaching up to you to finally offer you aid after what seemed to be a millenia, a dark and teasing laugh seeped into Alastor’s breath.

“Feel free to scream if necessary…”

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

After a few minutes and a superfluity of stifled screams and curses from his little lady, you were freed. It didn’t take much for Alastor to procure you from your entrapment, but he did silently muse on just how light you were in his arms. If he so wished, throwing you with one hand would’ve been as simplistic as breathing. Of course, he had no time for such tempting indulgence. As you had rudely prompted him before, time was slipping away from you both. 

So, with minimal effort and all the grace the radio host had at his disposal, Alastor allowed your liberty to take place. He encapsulated your waist in his hands, deftly  pulling you from your perch. You were worse for wear and covered in filth, of course, but freed all the same. 

Fortunately, the subsequent screams from you were a sufficient reward for his efforts.

Alastor listened to you grumble under your labored breath as you dusted the first of many particles of dirt from your clothing. Your attempts did nothing to satiate the need for disposing of the blood and oil that collected themselves upon your bodice and skin. At least an attempt was made on your part to better your appearance.

Looking over his shoulder to survey the area for any additional threat, Alastor caught sight of the tell tale signs of your dingy cap underneath the shadows of the cattails nearby. Ah. That’s where he had placed it when he acquired it out of the weeds and spare piles of wood when your belligerent cry for assistance rang through his ears. Luckily he was close by, but even so. A little more patience would’ve been appreciated on your part.

Within minutes he left you behind to attain said cap, only to daintily dust it off and provide it to you. You propped your forearm on one knee for a moment before pulling yourself up from the mud to look at the outstretched hand he offered. It was a most generous gift he bestowed to you. 

“I do believe this is yours?”

A deeper scowl was returned to him for his efforts; but he only laughed. You certainly were of the feisty sort.

 You snatched the gift from his hands and donned it swiftly, tugging it over your eyes and adjusting its place on your head as your back arched forward in an atrocious attempt at remaining on your feet. Your posture was lacking, but Alastor supposed you did have a right to not be at your best. It was a marvel how you steadfastly willed yourself to remain standing, let alone conscious. Your stance was shaky, but surprisingly firm as your ever present scowl looked up to meet his curious gaze. 

“Alright…We don’t have much time…There’s only two gen’s left. So you go…Uh…Stab people or what have you…and I’ll…I’ll fix those machines. We’ll meet back up at the exit….Sound good…?”

Alastor quirked a brow at your words, but remained silent. Just what type of tenacity compelled you to continuously move forward when you were considerably near death's door? Surely you were ready to give in by now. 

However, even if your complaints were mostly of his “incompetence” your ferocity was never aimed at your own predicament; but just one glance at your pale complexion instantly notified him that you were tired. More than tired. You were a corpse walking.

It was very interesting how you hadn’t fallen over dead, and Alastor would go so much as to say you colored him impressed. Perhaps only the fiercest of  fighting spirits remained within you? You were of the obstinate sort, after all.

Still, there was something else about you that piqued his interest. Something he couldn’t quite name; and he wanted to figure out what it was. 

Perhaps your natural inclination for survival was just emboldened by the circumstances the two of you found yourselves in. It was an admirable attribute. You weren’t weak and your folly wouldn’t be by your own hand. No, you were stubborn, determined, and just did not know when to quit.

Perhaps that was a good thing…

Alastor’s smile grew. Yet another intriguing thing was learned from you. A few more close observations would surely supply him with even more delightful answers? If you still proved entertaining and useful as the night dragged on, he wouldn’t mind offering you the continued chance to thrive… 

So far, that prospect was promising. Loathe as he was to admit it, however, your eclectic nature, your stubbornness and that persistent disgruntlement of yours had piqued his full curiosity with ease; providing him with a surprising amount of amusement.

Perhaps you had already earned your chance to be spared…

Commanding his thoughts to cease for a moment, Alastor watched as you stepped away from him with a deep heaviness in your footwork. You certainly were a tenacious little thing, compelled by your convictions to a fault. Of course, he would expect nothing less from a partner worthy of his time. He conceded. Your work ethic was impeccable. You were doing well.

Alas, however a nuisance it was to obey someone else’s orders, Alastor assured you he would do as asked as you continued down your chosen path. He only received a small nod and a barely raised hand as you slowly retreated.

The radio host made his way down the opposite path, taking his knife from its home on his belt as he continued his previous stalking through the brush; eager to bleed yet another soul dry that evening…

[mrs-gauche]

The Dread Wolf Take You (Part 1)

~~Link to the complete 31 page comic here~~

"Imagine that, overlooking the god in your mids!"

May I present, my attempt at illustrating the last four pages of Tevinter Nights. 😁 (Also, the first time I'm posting art on here!)

As the whole thing was quite literally too long to post on tumblr, I uploaded the full version on a customized site made for reading webcomics (via ComicFury). Feel free to check out the link above if you like to read the rest! Also, if you're on mobile, there's a "Scroll View" option for easier navigation. :)

And, obviously, HUGE spoilers for those who haven't read Tevinter Nights!!

On a personal note though, I can't believe I actually finished it... As it had been a *very* long time since I drew (and finished) anything, let alone a 31 page comic and reading Tevinter Nights again finally sparked my motivation (and the courage to post it lol). So I want to thank Patrick Weekes for helping me overcome this massive art block and over two decades of Case Closed mangas for inspiring me how to draw an overly dramatic "exposing the imposter" moment. 😂 I tried my best to be as faithful to the book as possible and it took me forever, so... hope you like it! :D

[purble-gaymer]

i miss beast yeast…

[kamaluhkhan]

COMPLICATED

LUST — part iv of we'll write sins not tragedies

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab) word count: 8.9k summary: the lives of demigods are never simple. why would your relationship with luke be any different? or: four moments of tension + one moment of release. featuring a trip to montauk with percy, grover, and annabeth warnings: a decent amount of reader backstory (mention of dad having cancer); multiple POVs (percy, grover, annabeth, luke, reader - obv nothing suggestive/smutty until luke and reader POV); luke + reader get into arguments and are v stressed so their relationship is a bit strained; reader has tattoos; reader is on birth control; rough smut (protected + unprotected p in v, oral f+m receiving, biting, scratching, slight choking, slight breeding kink, etc...); also slight dark + possessive luke! (18 + MDNI); major angst — we all know how this story ends ;( author's note: this was meant to be a blurb but...here we are! this is basically another chapter of my spill ur guts series lol. i've been gone for much longer than i planned to, but hope u enjoy possibly the angstiest, smuttiest thing i've written so far ♡

♪ "complicated" by avril lavigne

i. 

in the span of a few minutes, percy went from pure joy — being greeted with cheers from all the campers was great, sure, but truthfully the hug from annabeth alone sent him to elysium — to feeling like his heart dropped all the way to tartarus.

which is definitely not a place percy ever wants to visit again. he was happy to be back at camp with his friends, knowing that his quest was completed, his mom was safe in new york, and a war between the gods was prevented.

it should be over….but there’s something in the back of percy’s mind that’s telling him it isn’t. seeing a certain someone in the crowd earlier didn’t do anything to ease that feeling.

"can someone explain to me why clarisse is still here?" 

you raise an eyebrow at luke, and he shrugs in response.  it seems neither of you had decided who should break the news, and neither of you seem particularly excited to do so, even after dragging percy, along with annabeth and grover, into the empty hermes cabin for some privacy.

after another beat of silence, you take the lead.

“look, kid, i know you and clarisse got off to a rocky start —”

“she tried to drown me, and then basically kill me during capture the flag,” percy points out. he hears an ocean roaring at the memory, but that could have also been from his duel with clarisse’s dad, the god of war, more recently.

a duel that percy had won, for the record. luke trained him well.

“and i’m not defending that,” you clarify. “i’m just saying that we’ve known clarisse for much longer. she’s not perfect, maybe a bit aggressive sometimes — trust me, she and i have had some major disagreements, too — but i can’t see her doing something like this.”

“why would anyone at camp want to steal the bolt? to join kronos’ army against the gods?” annabeth wonders. to herself or to the group, percy isn’t sure, but he has a feeling that the wheels in her mind are turning.

“revenge, maybe?” grover suggests. 

almost instinctively, grover glances at you, and so does annabeth. percy wants to kick himself for doing the same. 

with you being the daughter of nemesis, he imagines that it's not the first time you’d been blamed for something just because of who you are. it’s a feeling percy knows all too well. and, for better or for worse, like percy, it seems like you’re not one to accept these things without a fight.

you straighten your shoulders, ready to snap back, but before you can, luke declares:

“it’s not her.”

he then knocks the toe of his shoe against your combat boot. you smile and return the gesture. the tension eases out of the room.

for a second, percy wonders if he’ll ever have someone like that: someone to defend like it’s second nature, to share that sort of secret language with, to smile at him like nothing else in the world matters. 

according to annabeth, the two of you weren’t technically dating — but percy is pretty sure that aphrodite is swooning over you. 

“see, grove? if camp half-blood’s golden boy can vouch for me, then i’m in the clear.” your tone is playful enough — no hard feelings — but the tips of grover’s ears still turn red. “i didn’t steal the bolt. sure, the gods and titans can tear each other apart for all i care — " 

annabeth stiffens at your bold statement, and grover starts to nervously chew on an empty diet coke can he had stashed in his pocket. luke watches you with the hint of a smile on his face, and percy —

well, percy can’t help but admire you even more. 

"— but it's everything else that i have an issue with.”

“everything else?”

you look at percy like the answer is obvious. 

“when have the gods ever fought their battles without us as collateral damage? doesn’t seem worth it to me, to betray my friends.” 

that itch in the back of percy’s brain gets harder to ignore.

“the oracle warned me, betrayed by a friend.” 

“prophecies don't always come true,” annabeth reminds him. “at least not in the way we expect them to.” 

“annie is right,” luke adds, nodding at his sister. “mine didn't. the oracle said i would die a hero.” 

you turn to luke then, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“what? you never told me that.” 

“it doesn’t matter,” luke insists. “my point is that i came back from my joke of a quest, alive and a definitely not a hero —”

“fuck what the oracle said.” you roll your eyes. “dead or alive, you are a hero, tiger.”

you move to place a hand on luke’s arm. to percy’s surprise, though, luke brushes you off.

“i’m not a hero. at least not the one my dad expects me to be.”

again, percy is taken aback by how luke snapped, at you of all people. you huff, and percy can tell that you’re a bit agitated now, too. 

“okay, but that doesn’t mean —”

“my point is.” luke turns to percy, effectively blocking your presence for the time being. “you completed your quest, fought a god, and stalled kronos’ plan. you’ve been through it — all three of you have — but now you’re back. let’s just enjoy the rest of our summer, yeah? whatever happened out there, whatever the oracle said, it’s in the past.”

percy wants to believe luke, he really does. one glance in your direction, and it seems like you do, too.

deep down, though, percy isn’t entirely convinced. there’s that dread in the pit of his stomach, that voice in the back of his head. something in him, warning that this isn’t quite over. the worst has yet to come.

he wonders if — or maybe just hopes — you feel the same.

—

ii.

if you of all people can’t get luke’s attention, grover is pretty sure that the world is ending.

“luke,” you try again, foregoing your usual nickname for him. your arms are crossed and you tap your foot against the floor. it makes grover slightly anxious, feeling your frustration threaten to boil over.

“i’m busy,” he grunts, and flips over another page, scribbling something on the other side. 

“grover wanted to talk to us about something.”

“i-it’s fine, we don’t have to —”

“no, it’s a good idea, grove,” you insist. you smile at grover then. he remembers that, despite the deadly glares you can deliver, like the one you were just giving luke, you have a gentle core. you just guard it behind sharp edges. 

“tell him that i’ll talk to him later.”

“or, you could tell him yourself,” you huff. grover waves awkwardly, even though luke doesn’t realize what’s happening. “he’s right next to me.”

luke looks up briefly, and then back down at the pages in front of him just as quick. he looks tired, exhausted even. 

“sorry, man. didn’t see you there. i gotta finish these reports.”

“no worries. i tend to be quiet on my hooves.”

in the moment of silence that follows, and with luke still not giving you the attention you’re asking for, you walk over to the desk where luke is working. what you see seems to make you even more annoyed than before.

“these reports are for september. why in the name of nemesis are you filling them out now?”

“i just want to be prepared.”

“prepared for what?”

luke hesitates. “just….the future.”

“oh!” you laugh, sharp and sarcastic. “i didn’t realize that the future required you to neglect your friends.”

“i’m trying to help my friends,” luke huffs. he taps his pen impatiently against the desk. “if you didn’t keep interrupting me —”

“oh my fucking gods — ”

grover watches the two of you argue. it had been easier to step in whenever something bubbled up between annabeth and percy, because they were just kids. but you and luke — you were adults. 

when grover met luke for the first time, he was already taking on way too much responsibility for a kid — keeping thalia and annabeth alive, protecting them from monsters, taking care of them. in a lot of ways, those responsibilities didn’t go away: as a senior counselor and resident older brother, a hero for the older campers to admire and the younger kids to aspire to be. camp half-blood’s golden boy, as you liked to call him. 

and, like you, luke is good at hiding. for him, its heavy burdens behind easy-going smiles. 

lately, though, those smiles seem to be strained, his shoulders slowly bending under the weight of it all. the other day, grover asked you if everything was okay with luke. you had looked back at him sadly, shrugged, and said you didn’t know.

that’s when grover decided that everyone just needs a break — an escape. he had been sensing that things weren’t quite right with the others, too. percy seems a little on edge, and so does annabeth.

then, of course, there was you and luke. finding out that the two of you had actually started dating was huge news for someone like grover who had painstakingly watched the two of you dance around your feelings for years. so, it was more than a little weird that you’d barely been speaking this past week. the rare occasion you did was tense at best, and explosive at worst. 

like now, when you pick up one of the reports luke was working on, and threaten to burn it. luke dares you to do so, even suggests, albeit sarcastically, that you use it as your next offering to the gods. 

“oh, a handwritten document from luke castellan himself? they would love that,” you snort. “admit it: you’re doing all of mr. d’s work just to suck up to some gods who don’t even give a shit about any of this. you’re practically olympus’ lapdog.”

luke, blushing a furious shade of red, gets up and yanks the paper from your hand.

“at least my parent is important enough to actually have a seat on olympus and an actual cabin for his kids to stay in.”

you look like you could just about throw luke into a fire, and vice versa. grover had never seen the two of you like this, but it made sense: each of you knowing just where, and how, to hurt the other.

and, he thinks it’s about time to step in before the damage is irreversible. so, grover starts slowly clapping. the clapping gets faster, and he manages to get through the first few lines of the consensus song before you stop him.

“alright, alright,” you sigh. you push past luke, steal his chair, and put your feet up on the desk. luke scowls at you, but you put your hands up in surrender and jut your chin out towards grover. “just listen to what grover has to say and then we’ll let you get back to your precious reports.”

grover tells luke his idea. luke actually agrees, and grover can’t help but feel a little bit of a victory. 

he’s a protector, after all. it’s his job to make sure you’re all alive and happy and thriving. and not burnt to a crisp over some petty argument.

—

iii. 

annabeth had missed home when she was away on their quest, but being back and seeing everyone being taught to worship the gods without question, to believe that the only things that matter are power and glory….well, after everything that happened, after percy, annabeth can’t just go back to doing the same. at least not entirely. 

all this to say, she was totally on board with grover’s idea: the five of you, renting a cabin in montauk to get away from camp for a bit.

unfortunately, the trip starts off less than ideally. you and luke bicker the entire way here — and not the playful jabs you usually throw at each other. 

annabeth remembers the first time she saw you together. it was during breakfast, their first morning at camp half-blood. annabeth had spent the night trying not to cry over thalia, and already missing luke even though he was only a few cabins away. she was still a kid, surrounded by strangers, told that she was safe now, but didn’t quite believe it yet. one look to luke at the hermes table, and annabeth could tell he felt the same way, too — not quite settled in this new place that was supposed to be home, and with these people who were supposed to be family.

she watched as the hermes table went to burn offerings to the gods. when they sat down again, luke looked even more unsettled than before.

but then, you leaned in and whispered something in luke’s ear, and he actually laughed, just a bit, which was a nice change of pace. luke was always the one making annabeth and thalia laugh when they were running from monsters, always the one trying to keep everything together with a smile or a joke.

as she devoured her breakfast, annabeth couldn’t help but keep glancing at the two of you. she heard warnings from her half-siblings, about your mother being the goddess of revenge, and you living up to that name. 

luke either didn't know, or didn't care about whatever reputation you had. sitting there, next to you, annabeth didn’t think she’d ever seen luke so, genuinely happy, so at ease.

all these years later, neither you nor luke seemed particularly happy. you’re obviously avoiding each other, and annabeth doesn’t understand why.

you and luke are a new puzzle that she can’t wait to solve. 

annabeth had finished constructing the most elaborate sandcastle in history, just for percy to accidentally splash it when he was trying to surf a wave; so she decides that playtime is over. it’s time to figure out what exactly is going on between you and luke.

luke is in the cabin doing gods know what. you're on the deck painting your nails, so annabeth decides to start gathering information from you, first. 

“hey." you finish painting your pinky a dark purple, and set the bottle down next to you. "having fun?”

annabeth nods once and sits next to you. she asks if you could paint her nails, and you pull out a bottle of silver polish you said you thought she might like. 

as you work, careful with each stroke of polish, annabeth surveys the tattoos on your skin. you’re wearing a bikini top, so there are some that she’s seeing for the first time. there's one of a knife on your sternum, and annabeth distinctly remembers seeing a similar one peeking from underneath the collar of luke’s shirt. she wonders when you got it, if you had to travel to a tattoo parlour in the city, how many other adventures you'd gone on without having to consult the oracle beforehand. 

maybe that’s a good place to start. 

“have you ever thought about leaving camp? like, long term?" 

"sometimes," you admit. "it would be nice to have some normal early-twenties experiences."

"would you go to school?"

you smile as you keep painting annabeth’s nails. “maybe. i might have seen legally blonde too many times, but i think about law school sometimes.” 

“what about luke?”

your smile fades at the question. “i...i don’t know." your once precise nail-painting falters, and you mumble a curse when a drop of silver lands on annabeth's skin. you swipe it away before continuing. "luke's one of those people i can't really see away from camp half-blood for too long; pretty sure it would burn down without him. there's a reason he feels responsible for everyone there...in a way i respect, obviously, but, it's not the same for me. nobody needs me."

"luke needs you."

you sigh, and annabeth wonders if you even realize how you shake your head slightly. she thinks you're about to disagree with her, but instead you ask: 

“what's this about, annie? are you thinking about your dad’s offer?”

and annabeth’s completely thrown off her line of inquiry. 

“how did you —”

“perce told me that you’ve been talking about staying with him for the year,” you explain. you gesture at annabeth to give you her other hand, and she complies. the silver polish on the hand you just finished glitters in the sun. 

“well, nothing’s confirmed.”

you look up at annabeth, one eyebrow raised. “it's okay, you know — if you just wanna….be a kid for a bit.”

annabeth is silent, prompting you to ask another question.

"what's holding you back?"

“well….at first, i thought it would be a definite no,” annabeth admits. “obviously, it didn’t work out last time. i don’t know if i want to risk it again — if i can trust him, you know? how do i know he actually cares —  that he’ll be there for me when i need him?”

“you don’t.” you pause for a second. “but i’m gonna tell you a story that i think might help.”

you're done painting her nails, so you put everything away. you sit cross-legged next to annabeth, looking out at the ocean.

“my dad never wanted me to go to camp. he wanted to raise me in the city, just like he’d grown up. he’d take me to rock concerts all the time. i was so young, he’d make me wear earmuffs and carry me on his shoulders so that i could still see the band.” you smile softly at the memory. “and then….my dad got sick, he couldn’t take care of me, and monsters started to show up, so he brought me to camp for safe keeping." 

"you've told me all this," annabeth remarks. 

you start fiddling with your camp necklace. annabeth isn't used to seeing you so unsure, so nervous; it throws her off even more. 

"what i haven't told you is that even when my dad got better, he….he didn’t give me a choice of where to stay.”

"oh," is all annabeth can say. 

“yeah, oh," you scoff, but there’s not really any malice behind it. you seem…sad. defeated, almost. your fingers move to play with the hem of your shorts, which causes the fresh nail polish to smudge. you don’t seem too concerned about that at the moment, though. "i told everyone that i chose to stay. the truth is that i stayed because my dad didn't want me anymore. he said that the universe gave him a second chance, so he wanted to live his life without having to worry about monster attacks or taking care of his teenage daughter."

annabeth wonders if luke knows the truth about this; though, considering how difficult it seems for you to admit, she doubts it. 

before, annabeth had a theory that you decided to stay at camp because of luke.

luke was away when you got the news that your dad was in remission. annabeth remembers how happy you were, how excited you were to be back in the city and living with your dad again. you started packing right away.

when luke came back from his failed quest, you had just gone into the city the day before, having promised to visit in the summer and stay in touch. someone – chris maybe, or beckendorf — must have called you, told you what happened, because you came back to camp right away, your bag still fully packed. you never left again. 

"that sucks."

“yeah.” you let out a hollow, breathy laugh. “and, i was angry at first. of course i was. but now, i don’t know. i think that maybe my dad does care about me. like, he still sends me mixtapes with old punk rock songs he thinks i’d like. he actually calls me on my birthday, and we have a 3 minute conversation about nothing important." 

"right…" annabeth furrows her brows. this conversation had definitely not gone as planned. "no offense, but what's —"

"i'm getting to the point," you tell her, bumping your shoulder against hers.  "i realized that sometimes people can only love us in a way that works for them — and it sucks. it really, really sucks. but then sometimes…. sometimes people do actually try. and, i don’t know, it seems like maybe your dad is willing to try.”

“so you think i should take him up on his offer.”

the sun starts to set. you get up, brush sand off your legs. 

“i think it's time for a swim. i also think that you’re smart enough to know what’s best for you, and who deserves a second chance. just know that whatever you decide — we’ll be there for you.”

you leave without another word, but with the return of your usual confident smile, off to the shore to take advantage of the last bits of daylight. 

"she's right, annabeth." luke appears a few seconds later, takes the spot next to annabeth you had just occupied.

annabeth hums.

"how much of that did you hear?" 

luke doesn't answer. he just stares at your form, disappearing in the distance and diving under the waves.

—

iv.

you clear your throat and luke turns around to see you freshly showered. you’re wearing a pair of shorts and one of the oversized band tees the two of you constantly exchange. you've lost track of whose is whose at this point.

luke resists the urge to shamelessly check out your legs, and turns his back towards you once again. that bikini top you were wearing earlier was bad enough. thankfully, the heat from the stove was enough to cover up his blushing cheeks at the sight of your exposed skin. 

“i thought we were ordering pizza,” you say, moving to peer over his shoulder, chin hovering just above. luke had the sense that you were avoiding physical contact, and as much as it drives him crazy, he knows that he’s the one who’d dug his own grave. pushing you away and whatnot. 

“didn’t know that you knew how to cook.”

“not much,” luke shrugs. he keeps stirring the vegetables — broccoli and carrots and baby corn. he’ll add the red peppers once the broccoli turns green so that they don’t become too soft. he’s pretty sure that’s how he remembers it going.

“i could have helped you.” you reach over and hand him the peppers right on time. you shift to lean your back against the counter next to the stove, arms crossed over your chest and eyes following luke. 

luke throws in the chicken he cooked earlier, and then the sauce he had also mixed. he waits a few seconds, lets the sound of everything sizzling fill the space between you. 

“it’s an easy recipe.” luke turns off the stove to punctuate his point. 

and it had to be. something quick he’d make with his mom after she had one of her episodes, before waking up and realizing that she had a son to feed. the sounds, the colors, the smells — it all, overwhelmingly, reminds him of a childhood he once had. one that was never as simple as the food he just made.

none of the bitterness in his throat is caused by his mom, of course. just his father who calls himself a god, and left them both alone to fend for themselves. 

you start getting out plates from the cupboards as you ask: “where are the kids?”

luke checks the pot on the stove to see if the rice is cooked. “told them to go rent something from the video store.” 

“they went alone?”

“they’ve literally been to hell and back,” he replies and sits down at the table. “i think they can handle a blockbuster.”

“i don’t care if they get attacked by monsters,” you state, setting down the last plate in front of him. “i know they can handle themselves. they just better choose a good movie.” 

luke doesn’t mean to snort, but he can’t help but remember all the arguments you’d gotten in with chris over your tastes in movies. 

 “don’t laugh, castellan. i’ve saved movie night on more than one occasion and i’ve never gotten so much as a thank you.” you roll your eyes, but luke notices the ghost of a smile.

it fades just as quickly as it appeared, and luke already misses the small moment of levity that’s passed. 

“what’s been going on with you, tiger?”

you hold his gaze, and luke knows that you’re hoping for a real answer, for the truth he can’t give you. 

“nothing,” he answers instinctively. 

“don’t give me that,” you sigh and turn away from him, returning to your position against the counter. 

“i said it’s nothing,” luke insists, a bit more assertively. “why can’t you just believe me?”

“because you’ve been distant, moody.” your tone is sharper now, too. “you’ve been avoiding me. you’ve barely been eating. the side of your bunk has been empty, which means you haven’t been sleeping, either. gods, i can’t even remember the last time you kissed me —”

“you’re really mad at me because we haven’t fucked?” 

it’s a low blow, and he delivers it as if he hadn’t missed seeing you underneath him. or on top, or beside. luke isn’t picky. 

“you’re impossible!” you groan, and cover your face with your hands. you take a deep breath  before returning to glare at luke. “do….do you not want to be together, anymore? because if that’s what’s happening, i’ll survive. we can go back to being friends.” you clench your jaw to make up for the tremble behind your question. always a tough face, even in the face of potential heartbreak.

of course, luke knows you’ll be fine without him. he’s the one who might have difficulty surviving when you part ways.

“that’s not —” luke sighs and runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. “that’s not it.”

“then what is it?”

“noth—”

“i will send you to elysium if you tell me it’s nothing one more time, because i know it’s not!” you’re shouting now. “i might not know what it is, but i know you well enough to tell that something is bothering you. so i’m asking you, one more time, what is going on?”

the thing is, luke can’t tell you — about what he’s done, about who he’s aligned himself with. he can’t lie to you, either, at least not to save his life.

so, he’s basically stuck in whatever the greek mythology version of limbo is. 

for now, he’s saved by percy, annabeth, and grover, who walk in with a stack of DVDs and armfuls of movie snacks. 

dinner is fine, especially with the kids providing a good enough buffer. luke even catches you smiling and laughing along with them a few times. you approve of their choice in movies, starting with mulan. it’s one of luke’s favorites, too, but he can’t help but let his attention wander. 

the two of you have known each other for a long time. luke has felt your anger. he’s felt your frustration. you’ve been on opposing sides of explosive arguments, of brutal sparring matches. 

but, despite everything, luke’s never been hated by you. it’s unavoidable, given what he’s done and the path he’s on; it's just not something he's particularly eager to feel.

working for kronos….luke won't pretend he regrets it. something had to be done, to take back the poisonous world the gods created. 

he did it for you, even if you won't understand.

he'd do anything for you.

so, for now, he’s willing to endure the daggers you stare at him from the other side of the couch. 

—

v. 

in another life, you might have taken advantage of the queen bed and private room. both hard to come by at camp half-blood, if you’re not willing to risk zeus’ wrath for the latter.

gods, it feels like forever since you and luke snuck into cabin one because couldn’t keep your hands off each other, curses and lighting strikes be damned. 

you almost wish lightning would strike — at least then the bed would be warm. 

“i can feel you being mad at me,” luke whispers. 

“sorry, thought you’d already be gone by now,” you respond, sarcasm dripping through your words. “off to see whoever else you’d rather sleep with.”

“so, you are mad because we haven’t fucked in a while.”

a stupid slip of the tongue. you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and your entire body feels on fire for giving him any leverage on you. that was definitely not the warmth you were hoping for. 

“whatever,” you mumble, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed, your back still towards luke. 

for the record, you’re mad because of whatever distance luke was forcing between you, or whatever wall he was putting up, for a reason you don’t understand. you’d always known luke well, but lately you haven’t been able to read him. 

and, sure. maybe you are…. frustrated. the two of you hadn’t been intimate in a while, yes, and your fingers are nothing compared to luke’s, but more than that: you just miss actually feeling him close to you. in any sense. 

you’re not sure how much time passes, and there’s nothing but silence. then, you hear his voice again, gentler than before, no cocky attitude laced through. 

“you never told me about your dad.”

ugh. of course, luke had overheard your conversation with annabeth earlier. damn those sly hermes’ genes.

you stay silent to give off the illusion that you’d fallen asleep, but luke doesn't fall for it. 

“we’ve shared a bunk for years, karma. i can tell when you’re not sleeping.” 

you pause for a few more seconds, but you know that luke is persistent.

“it didn’t matter,” is all you offer before he asks again.

“it did,” luke insists. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“it’s not like we tell each other everything,” you scoff. “like, why didn’t you tell me about that prophecy? and why won’t you tell me whatever’s going on with you now?”

“that’s….that’s different.” 

“not really. i bet that it’s all for the same reason.”

“which is?”

 you debate telling luke the truth. 

it was no surprise that you had a certain reputation around camp: cunning, hot-tempered, brash. you were fine being the angry girl whose mother wasn’t enough of a god to warrant a cabin, but enough of a threat to be wary of. you didn’t want to be the one who was also dropped by her father, unwanted and too much of a burden. so, you swallowed the reality of the situation; pretended that nothing broke your heart, and that nothing ever would.

“i didn’t want you to look at me differently,” you admit. 

another pause, this time from the other side of the bed. 

“if it makes you feel better, i was glad that you stayed.”

you can’t help it; you let out a sardonic laugh.

“that’s not much of a comfort, since you haven’t seemed very thrilled with me lately.”

“that’s not….” luke falters. “i just mean that i don't know who i’d be if you left.”

in spite of the situation, the ongoing tension between you, you find yourself smiling. 

“always so dramatic,” you tease.

deep down, you know you’re not much better.

luke was part of the reason you might have stayed at camp, anyways. he was the reason why you didn’t fight harder to get back to your old life, and you always did like a good fight.

it was scary though, that one person had so much power over you and didn’t even know it. you tried to convince yourself that you stayed because luke had needed you, after his quest and everything. but, once you’d known how it felt to have luke in your life, you didn’t want to go back to a time you didn’t. 

truthfully, it still scares you.

“i don’t like fighting with you,” you admit softly, swallowing a lump in your throat. “especially when i don’t even know why we’re fighting in the first place.”

you wonder if you’d just thought that instead of saying it out loud because luke doesn’t respond, until you hear the sheets behind you shuffle, and feel luke position himself behind you.

"i'm sorry that we're fighting. it's my fault."

he settles a tentative hand on your exposed hip, where your shirt had ridden up. luke starts to trace circles onto your skin with his thumb, the way he sometimes does when he's nervous or having a bad dream.

"i’ve just been so….in my head. i don't want you to worry about what's going on with me, okay?

"luke —"

"i have to sort it out on my own.”

"you don’t, though,” you insist. “if you just tell me what’s going on, instead of pushing me away.”

another pause. you can feel him breathing down your neck, and in turn you inhale the spicy citrus of his body wash. it’s all so excruciatingly familiar as you wait for him to say something, anything. 

eventually, luke sighs, deeply, and confesses:

"it's just….we've known each other for so long, but this — us? so much of it is new. i don't want to fuck it up." 

"well, congratulations," you quip. "you're one step closer to getting there."

you meant it as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but you feel luke stiffen at your words, his grip on your hip becoming almost painfully tight as if he's worried you'll slip away.

"i'm kidding, tiger." you weave your fingers through his to loosen his hold on you, and reassure him even more that you're not going anywhere, any time soon. "for better or for worse: you’re mine, and i'm yours. no matter how much either of us might fuck it up."

luke shuffles closer, and you melt into him even more. 

"do you really mean that?"

his voice is soft, surprisingly timid. you crane your neck back to look at him; luke stares at you, his gaze heavy enough to take your breath away. 

“of course.” 

you're so close, and you hadn't been in so long. luke's leg is somehow lodged in between your thighs, and you bite back a whimper as he brushes against you. you feel him behind you, already half-hard, and you rub your ass against him slightly, causing a groan to vibrate through his body. 

neither of you have to do much to crash your lips together.

you can sense how luke’s been unraveling, from the kiss alone. his lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure; his stubble scrapes against your cheek, and you’re dizzy with anticipation, imagining how it will leave a stinging sensation on other areas of your skin when luke has his way with you later. 

for now, you focus on your mouth on his: teeth clacking together, your tongue laving over the cut on luke’s bottom lip and tasting copper. luke brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into his mouth even more. 

it’s like the first time you kissed. all consuming. messy. urgent — like you've already run out of time. 

eventually, you have to pull yourself away from his grasp, your neck straining at the uncomfortable angle. luke takes the opportunity to suck bruises onto your neck while he presses his thigh harder against your cunt. he slips his other hand further underneath your shirt, cupping your breast and pinching your nipple between his fingers.  instinctively, you start rutting against him. 

“f-fuck,” you groan, relishing in the muscles of his naked thigh underneath you, defined and strong. 

luke chuckles, and you feel his breath warm against your skin. 

“you missed me that much, hm?” he taunts, encouraging you to go faster, harder. “you’re gonna cum before i even have a chance to undress you. doesn’t seem fair to me.”

“who —” your breath catches when luke’s hand settles around your throat, pulling you impossibly closer to him. you feel the outline of his abs against your lower back, and his length, hard and waiting. it’s difficult to finish your thought, but you try your best. “who says i only have to cum once?”

“that sounds like a challenge,” luke decides. “what’s our record — three? think we can beat that tonight?”

you laugh, already out of breath. “i think we can do it.”

“good girl.”

your thighs clench at the nickname, and it's one down, a few more to go. 

you maneuver luke so that he lays flat on the bed, your legs on either side of his hips. your hands fumble with the edge of his shirt, and he lets you remove it without any more hassle.

it's a little ironic, really, how much you and luke hate the gods — because looking at him underneath you, you're sure that something divine must have created him, and you have to thank them for it. sharp jaw, deep scar, flushed cheeks; curls slightly askew, and skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat; that cocky smile — you'd worship luke castellan over any of the olympians. 

secretly, of course, you pretty much already do.

"like what you see?" luke smirks up at you, hands firmly on your ass.

you roll your eyes to save face. "come on, tiger, like you're not seconds away from tearing through your boxers." 

luke clicks his tongue, locks his calf around yours to switch your positions. you grunt as your back hits the mattress, but you very much appreciate the force and weight of luke above you. he practically rips off your shirt, then starts to nip and suck down your body. he kisses the fabric still covering your cunt, and you can feel his chuckle vibrate through your body when he encounters the wetness there. 

"i'm not the one who already ruined their underwear," luke teases as he finishes undressing you. he pauses at the sight of you, bottom half completely exposed. you're about to tell him to hurry the fuck up, but then luke spits onto your already soaked cunt and says: 

“i need to clean you up, baby.” he gives you another cheeky grin, teeth glowing like the cheshire cat, before diving in.

luke is skilled at everything he does, so of course he's quick to unravel you once more, this time with a persistent combination of tongue and teeth, lapping at your cunt like it's his last meal. 

as soon as you're done riding out your high, you yank luke by the leather cord around his neck to collide your lips with his again. 

you reach down to return the favor, snake your hand underneath the fabric of his underwear, and you're deeply satisfied to find him already sticky with his release.

“you already finished,” you tease, stroking his v-line. "and ruined your underwear without me even touching you." 

in the dim light of the moon, you can barely make out luke blushing. he hides his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. 

“guess we’re both desperate, huh.” luke’s teeth graze your skin, his curls tickling your neck. “i need to be inside you, now, so how about you get on your hands and knees for me? i’ll get the condom.”

sometimes, luke tries to be gentle — but not this time. 

this time, he fucks you, hard and fast and deep. 

you love it, even if you might not be able to walk properly tomorrow.

with so much power behind each thrust, and the overwhelming pleasure, your arms threaten to give out, but luke catches you before you fall. he wraps a hand around your neck, bringing you flush against his chest as he continues to plunge his length into you. 

"listen to me," luke growls. he snakes a hand down to rub harsh circles on your clit. "the one thing the gods did right is make this perfect, tight little pussy of yours. you were fucking made for me, weren't you?" 

all you can do is whimper, closing your eyes at his filthy, sinful words. 

you aren't used to luke being so possessive, and certainly not in these past few weeks. it's making your head spin in the best way. you can feel your orgasm build in the pit of your abdomen.

"were you made for me?" luke asks again. he squeezes your neck slightly, and you gasp at the pressure. "answer me, or i'll stop." 

you don’t think it’s likely he’ll stop; you’re sure he’s just as lost in the sound of your cunt squelching and the feeling of you sucking him in. but, he does slow down, only a little bit, and it's enough for you to start whining.

"y-yes, luke."

"are you mine?"

you don't answer fast enough. luke stills his hips completely and you almost burst into tears.

you moan, trying to move against him in vain. luke keeps a firm grip on you, making it hard to cause any sort of friction between your bodies.

"i'm yours," you promise.

luke plants a firm kiss behind your ear. “that’s my girl,” he whispers darkly.

satisfied, luke resumes his pace. he moves the hand around your neck to your chin, angling you accordingly so he can crash his lips onto yours. 

it doesn't take long to feel the tension in your abdomen snap, wetness gushing out of you. exhausted, you collapse onto the mattress. luke slips out of you.

the next few seconds consist of you trying to bring yourself back down to reality after such a high. 

luke turns you around just to face him as he hovers over you. he lodges his hand behind your ear and taps your cheek to get your attention. your eyes flutter open.

“did you just —” 

the dampness between your legs, and on the sheets underneath you, is enough evidence: you just squirted.

"i….” you gulp, feeling yourself flush. “i’ve never done that before."

luke stares at your glistening cunt. you wonder if you should be embarrassed, but then he locks eyes with you. you've never seen them so dark, pupils almost fully blown, just a sliver of brown showing through.

"you’re so fucking hot."

your heart flutters. 

“you’re not too bad yourself, tiger, or i wouldn’t be in this mess.” you wink at him, still trying to catch your breath. your eyes wander lower. you note luke in the current state he’s in; you realize that the scales are nowhere near balanced. “that’s three for me, and only one for you. let me taste you.” 

he doesn't need to be told twice. you get on your knees once more, this time facing him as he kneels in front of you. luke rips off the condom, something to deal with later, and you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowed and tears brimming your eyes feeling him fuck your throat. when he finishes, you swallow him whole, savoring every drop. he pulls you up for a kiss; you can still taste yourself on him, and it mixes with his new release, a combination that is more than a little intoxicating. 

“fuck,” luke mumbles as he pulls away. he swipes his thumb over the corner of your mouth where some of his cum dribbled out. “i know that was intense, but would you be up for another round? "

"yeah," you reply without a second thought, reaching up to thread your fingers through his curls to ground yourself. 

maybe you should thank artemis for the full moon tonight, giving you just the right amount of silver light to illuminate the sculpted curves and edges of luke's body. his skin is also littered with bruises and bites of your design, chaotic and beautiful. luke looks like a mess, just as you're sure you do. 

you want more. you need more.

"we gotta go for four, remember? but...maybe we, uh…"

"....slow it down this time?" luke finishes your thought. 

you nod, grateful that you and luke are on the same page. he scrambles off the bed to get another condom.

"shit. i don't have another one.”

"check my bag, too," you tell him. luke complies, but comes up short once more.  

you’re sitting up against the headboard now, and luke returns to kneel in front of you. 

"i can use my fingers,” luke offers. “or eat you out again —"

“or we could just do without a condom this time?” you suggest. luke raises an eyebrow at you, so you think through the possibilities out loud. "we both got tested before our first time together and haven’t been with anyone since.” you find yourself pausing for confirmation on that, and luke nods once. “i’m on birth control. obviously there’s still a risk that something happens, but maybe just this one time? you can just pull out whenever you’re ready….if you're okay with that."

luke waits, almost like he thinks you might change your mind, before finally answering:

“yeah, i’m okay with it if you are. i’ve always wanted to fuck you raw. i just didn’t think you’d be into it — and didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

you have to kiss him then. because how is it that the boy who just gave you three jaw clenching, toe curling, heart pounding orgasms be so sweet and considerate?

before you know it, you’re flat on your back, sheets slightly scratchy with stray sand. you don't care much because luke hovers above you; he presses his forehead to yours, curls falling in front of his face. 

"just so you know," luke starts, just as you feel him enter you once more. "i must have been made for you, too. i'm just as much yours as you are mine."

you smirk, bite your lip to keep from moaning so that you can keep up the arrogance, just a bit longer. 

"always so dramatic," you mock, as if your cunt isn’t squeezing around him at his sweet nothings. 

luke grins at you sheepishly, his cheeks flushed. 

"guess that means the gods did two things right," you joke, exhaling when you feel luke brush against that gummy spot deep within you. "maybe we've taken them for granted. maybe we should - " he hits that spot again, and your breath hitches. you dig your nails into his shoulders as he rocks back and forth. “maybe we should thank them.”

luke clicks his tongue, grips your hip firmly. "not a chance, sweetheart. the gods’ll get what they deserve."

you don’t care enough to ask luke what he means. you care more about him going faster. you’re about to tell him to do so, and to throw your legs over his shoulders, but he does it himself before you get the chance. you feel him slipping deeper within you, the force and passion behind each movement, his body molding to every curve and crevice of yours. 

made for each other.

you’re so sensitive that your orgasm approaches quickly. as he helps you ride it out, his thrusts get sloppier, and you know he’s almost reached his peak, too. 

“fuck,” he grunts. “i’m close.” luke starts to pull out, but then you lock your ankles behind his neck. 

“don’t,” you command. 

“a-are you sure?” he looks at you, wide-eyed.

“i just want to feel you this once.”

he nods and brings you in for one more bruising kiss. he finishes inside you, warm and wet. 

luke leaves once he catches his breath, and comes back with a damp towel to clean you up. he knows your body, recognizes how sensitive you are, and presses kisses on the inside of your thighs, where the same lips had made bruises before. 

even completely fucked out, your mind starts to unpack everything that’s wrong in your life. like how luke has always been a little too good at pretending, with everyone else at least, and something serious must be going on if he's trying to fool you, too.  

this luke with you now, the one who gently wipes his cum from between your legs after fucking you so relentlessly, is your luke. it feels like your luke is slipping right through your fingers, and you’re wracking your brain trying to figure out how this can stop before losing him completely.

wait….did luke say something about getting revenge on the gods? your mind is still a bit cloudy, but you could’ve sworn —

 “are you okay?” 

his question puts pause on your spiraling. he’s done cleaning you up, throws the towel on the floor and settles back on the bed, next to you. you’re close enough for the softest whisper, your limbs intertwined beneath tangled sheets.

you watch luke carefully as he waits for an answer and surveys your body, tracing his fingers over the marks he'd left underneath your jaw, across your shoulders, over your collarbones and down your stomach. 

"i didn't hurt you, did i?"

“i’m okay,” you assure him. luke’s hand stops to gently rest on your cheek. your other worries are pushed to the side for the time being: for now, it's just you and luke. “do you think we could pick up a plan b pill tomorrow though, just in case? i love you, but i’m not ready to have your babies.”

luke widens his eyes like a minotaur in headlights. he drops his hand.

 “you’ve never said that before.”

“that i want to have your babies?” you jest, slightly amused at how panicked luke seems.

luke blushes and clears his throat. “well, that too. i meant the whole ‘i love you’ thing, though.” 

your amusement evaporates. you swear your heart stops beating momentarily.

“oh, shit.…” 

you’re not quite sure what to say; you’ve felt this way for a while, truthfully. 

of course you love luke. you can't remember exactly when you realized it, but you just….know.

because if what you felt for luke wasn’t love, then you were foolish to have secretly bought into what silena beauregard had been on about for years, and aphrodite herself might just be out of a job. 

“i know we’re kind of in a weird place, but, yeah, i mean it. you don’t have to say it back —”

luke leans forward to kiss you. gentler this time, but just as firm. “i love you."

"you do?" your heart resumes its beating. 

"of course i do. i have ever since my first morning at camp.”

“yeah right,” you chuckle in disbelief, feeling your cheeks heat up. “it’s not a competition, you know, over who loved who first.”

“karma, i’m serious,” he insists. “someone taught me to burn offerings, and with everything that happened with thalia, i obviously wasn't in the worshiping mood, but then you leaned over and whispered —"

"they like the smell of begging." 

luke grins at you, and you reach up to brush your thumb against the dimple in his cheek. 

"exactly. somehow, that was what i needed to hear. it was nice to know that i wasn't the only one who didn’t want to just accept things the way they were….” he loses his train of thought. luke grabs your hand in his. “i wish i had told you earlier. after all this, i don’t want to lose you.”

“you won’t —”

“whatever happens,” luke continues, somewhat ominously. “i love you, y/n.”

you hadn't heard luke use your real name in a while. you fall asleep, heart full with the memory of him weaving it together with those three magic words. 

the next morning, you wake up — you actually sleep in, for the first time in years — and decide that if you could stay here forever, you would. 

the morning sun stings your eyes through the sheer curtains. the sticky heat of summer sits heavy in the room, and stray grains of sand tickle your skin underneath the sheets. waves wash gently on the shore outside, and an ocean breeze mixes with the smell of burnt cinnamon. you can hear annabeth, grover, and percy crashing dishes and bickering and causing chaos in the kitchen as, you imagine, they scramble to surprise you with breakfast. 

luke is next to you, on his stomach. his curls are a mess, covering most of his face. 

evidence from last night: scratches from your nails prominent on his back, his neck decorated with purple bruises in the shape of your lips. you shift slightly and feel a dull ache between your legs, so you'd call it even.

outside, something clatters on the floor, and you hear percy swear.

luke's eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, and he starts to move. "we should get up before they burn down the place." 

you press your hand to luke's shoulder blade, barely, but in his half-asleep state, it's enough to keep him in bed. luke moves to his side, facing you. you bring your hand up to brush curls away from luke's eyes, even if they're still closed.

"they've literally been to hell and back," you recall his sarcastic words from last night. "i think they can handle pancakes." 

the corners of luke's mouth curl upwards. 

"you're such a smart ass," he mumbles.

you lean forward, plant a kiss underneath luke's chin. his stubble scratches against your lips. 

"don't pretend you don't love it, tiger."

luke breathes steadily. you think he might've fallen asleep once more until he presses his lips to your forehead, pulls you towards him, and quips:

"i love you."

your heart quickens as you echo his words. something churns in your stomach, too.

because this peace isn't something that feels permanent.

you're the children of gods, and there's always a catch. some inevitable plot twist where lovers end up separated, where heroes end up dead or cursed. 

it's nauseating — dangerous, even — that you want a happy ending, a desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut. it's cruel that the fates keep twisting, taunting you with what can never be.

no monsters; no gods or titans; no prophecies.

just this.

[critter-covenant]

"We'll be best friends forever!"

[laurents-secret-diary]

oh damen we're really in it now.mp4

[thefloatingwriter]

it is not a fix-it if stanley uris is still dead. it is not a fix-it if stanley uris is still dead! IT IS NOT A FIX-IT IF STANLEY URIS IS STILL DEAD!! IT IS NOT A FIX-IT FIC—

[matcha-gh0st]

you're in catnap's home, angel

[idontcaboose]

Haunted car Au part 11

Previous. Masterpost

When Duke woke up, he remembered the fight he had with Bruce last night. All in all, it was actually what Duke wanted to happen in a way. Duke got full access to “fix” the Batmobile, but just the way Bruce made it sound was just… Infuriating. Like, sure, blame the newly 17 year old kid who had only moved the car, not even a hundred feet, for everything wrong with the car. Being benched until he figured out how to get whoever was possessing the car sucked though.

The good news is that the only people who would be awake to bother him or ask unwanted questions would be Alfred and maybe Tim. If Tim got on his case it would be simple to call in Alfred or to threaten him with calling in Alfred. The only other people that use the cave like the front door are Dick and Jason. Both would be up for hiding the issue from Bruce once explained. Dick would be a bleeding heart to a potential meta/alien kid getting stuck because of their powers. Jason would keep the secret just on principle, especially if told Duke got blamed for something he had no hand in. Jason would probably help set the kid up after he gets out of the car too, assuming Bruce doesn't pull a Bruce. It would be nice to not be the only meta in the family though, and the kid would already know about the family, but that would be the kids choice.

After a short breakfast, Duke made his way back down to the cave, only to hear a…Rave?

He made his way through the cave following the muted music to… the car…

“What in every hell are you doing?” Duke could not help to exclaim as he saw the Batmobile, for lack of a better comparison, dancing.

The car was strobing its headlights from the yellow driver's lights, to the brights, to the color changing LEDs Jason and Dick put in for a party prank that Bruce never removed, all to the beat of some techno that had to have been in Tim's Playlist. The car stopped in its perceived dancing to open its door in another mockery of a wave causing the music to become almost deafening as the door opened. Duke had to cover his ears as the kid in the car panicked and set off its alarm before turning everything off. If Duke thought the cacophony before was deafening, the silence after was even more so.

“Seriously, what the hell kid?” Duke said with as much incredulity as he could muster.

The car responded with a slow turning of its front wheels and a quieter sound of ‘Sorry’ by Justin Beiber playing, which could have been from either Dick or Steph’s playlists.

“You know what? I am not going to deal with song names and lyrics to guess from. Give me a second.” Duke went to the Batcomputer and found Tim's folder containing all of the sound bytes and clips that he uses when he gets real malicious with the power points for his team, the JL, or for Bruce when he is being exceptionally pissy, and downloads it onto a large USB stick. It took a little longer than Duke expected, but within an hour the USB was downloading its new playlist into the Batmobile’s radio storage. The sound bytes should be better than songs, right?

“GOOOOOOODDDDDD MOOOOORRRRRRNNNING GOOOOOOOTTTHHHHAAAAAAAAAMMMM!!!!!!!!!!”

“God dammit Tim”

Next

@kizzer55555 @sebas-nights @candeartist422   @trappednyourheart @fandom-life-corrupted-me @tkiesai @2lbballpeenhammer @admiralwidow @rewrittenwrongs @whotfevenknowsanymore @symmetricalastigmatism @thespacedragons @atinygracie @okami-love  @lesbian-spider-drone @1n0sss @forgetmenot-bluepurple

[lemongogo]

then, we will be even

[deadly-dapperling]

I've been enamored with The Stranding by @belethlegwen ever since reading all 71 (at the time) chapters in 2 weeks. This was a perfectly acceptable and normal way to enjoy a story.

Regardless, Here's a scene from chapter 65 in which Melanie startles the shit out of her commander. I genuinely love their interactions so much and this was an especially good one.

[cupophrogs]

sometimes I'm bored and sometimes i just want to hug and Kiss DogDay (not in a romantic way, I'M NOT WEIRD I SWEAR)

[arthursfuckinghat]

The fishing trip with Hosea and Dutch has a special place in my heart, but it makes me realise how much loss Arthur had gone through in regards to his animal companions.

"Remember those big salmon I caught in Montana last year? We had a banquet planned that night until Copper went and scoffed the lot!"

"You never had control of that dog, Arthur."

"He had some spirit though. Never lost the puppy in him, right to the end."

Not only did Arthur lose his childhood dog in the last year, his beloved horse sometime not long after, but then also Cain, the camp dog - and he was furious with Micah for whatever he'd done to that poor dog.

[froggychair05]

“I took a little journey to the unknown

And I've come back changed, I can feel it in my bones”

- Meet Me In The Woods by Lord Huron

I’m very very normal about @enden-agolor’s Forest Deity AU :)

[midnight-mourning]

Week 3! But WHAT'S THIS?? WHO ARE THESE HANDSOME FELLAS???

Why, they're none other than some of my beloved mutuals versions of Sun! Or at the very least, attempts at them!

Yapping and links to the mutuals and their aus below the cut :)

**also you should click for better quality**

Something important that I remembered recently was what advice I got from watching Bob Ross paint (yes I do bob ross paintings in my free time, moving on) which is that when you're following someone else's process, you're not trying to copy them, but rather emulate them and learn the fundamentals while do so.

It's how I'm now able to do paintings in 'bob ross style' without following a tutorial bc i learned the basics first and foremost. And besides being my moots (who I think are so cool and amazing) I chose these 4 designs specifically because of how distinct their styles are and how each ends up with very pretty end results regardless.

So that's how we ended up with the last three drawings of the week, which are me trying to figure out a more lax sketch/doodle style (Day 20), a very detailed style for more 'finished' pieces (Day 21), and lastly somewhere in between (Day 19).

I've seen a lot of growth in myself while going through this challenge, both in my art and in my confidence towards it, and I'm excited to finish out this next week. Who knows, might see a few other familar faces mixed in :)

As for my lovely moots, if you haven't already you should go check them out! They all make very great content. Hope I did y'all justice with these! Stared at your art for hours and simultaneously had a TON of fun drawing your versions of the boy ^-^

In Order of Appearence:

Eclipsed By You (EBY) Sun - @ping-ski

All Bark No Bite Sun - @cazbats

Fashion/Model Au Sun - @luckyyyduckyyy

Solar Takeoff/Ride Operator Au Sun - @fishm0ther

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 1)

—

Tw: one instance of canon-typical violence (DC), vivisection mention

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Prologue) - (Pt. 2)

(Subscription post/masterlist)

—

Danny has been working for Mr. Cobblepot for over a month now.

The first few weeks he was in the Penguin’s company, he couldn’t do much of anything. Instead, Mr. Cobblepot made sure that he was well-rested and beginning to recover.

Danny cried a lot in the first week that he was there.

He cried when he ate for the first time in years; the GiW had kept him on IVs and a feeding tube, so they wouldn’t have to move him from his surgical table.

He cried when he was given his own room to stay in, when he was brought clothes to wear, when he was given a bodyguard to protect him.

He cried when Mr. Cobblepot’s doctors told him that the damage to his vocal chords was likely permanent, and that he would never sound the same again. That he would find it hard to speak at any volume above a whisper.

Apparently, he had a lot more damage to him than he had thought.

The doctors said that the scarring in his brain stem suggested his entire brain had been removed and had regrown. Danny couldn’t really disprove that, and it did line up with a pretty substantial gap in his memory, but if that was the case then why couldn’t his voice recover too?

The scarring and incredibly new tissue that showed up in scans of several other parts of his body suggested that the GiW had done the same thing with most of his organs, as well as a few limbs, and all of the fingers on his right hand.

Danny could remember that. He just didn’t want to.

Perhaps it was the feeling of pity that kept Mr. Cobblepot so understanding of Danny’s slow recovery. That didn’t really matter much, though; Danny’s energy was focused on keeping his place here, ensuring that Mr. Cobblepot didn’t decide he was no longer worth the effort.

As it turned out, there was an easy enough solution to that.

Danny was the only one who knew how to properly operate and modify the weapons and inventions stolen from the GiW.

And so, Danny had a niche he could occupy. He could be useful, useful enough that Mr. Cobblepot couldn’t get rid of him, even if he wanted to.

And, as it turns out, Danny remembered quite a lot of the theories he heard while he was on the cutting board.

As soon as he had enough muscle control of his arms to do so, he was working away at the machinery created by the GiW and his parents.

No, not his parents.

Doctors Madeleine and Jack Fenton.

Regardless of their creators, he was able to understand them quite intimately.

Maybe it was because the ectoplasm flowing through the weaponry was his own, maybe it was because he had nothing to listen to for three years other than the excited chatter of his vivisectionists as they cut him open. Maybe it was because they were both simple weaponry without a purpose.

Danny found working on the machines soothing in a way that nothing else was.

The smell of oil and grease, the sounds of mechanical clanking and metal joints squealing, the feeling of cold steel beneath his fingertips.

The first thing he did to the machines was replacing the paint, from shiny white to a matte black. That way, they were recognizable as his own modified creations.

It was only a bonus that he didn’t catch his reflection in the metal surfaces this way.

Still, his reflection was starting to become more familiar to him. It was still strangely off-putting to see, but his face was beginning to plump out from consistent eating, and his skin was beginning to lose its unhealthy pale tone, going back to a more natural pinkish color.

His eyes still looked devoid of life, but that could be ignored as long as he didn’t look at himself for too long.

Danny sighed, leaning back in his chair as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was working on modifying the ectoblasters so that they could properly hit humans, as per Mr. Cobblepot’s orders.

He probably should feel some sort of moral conflict over it, but really, Danny couldn’t find it in him to care. Maybe it was some sort of deep internal flaw, or maybe it was because he knew that they wouldn’t be shot at anyone without blood on their hands. Either way, he didn’t have any qualms with what he was doing.

As Danny reconnected the circuitry within the gun, the indicator lights on the side of the muzzle blinked to life, a familiar neon green.

Danny would have to change that color too, he thought. Maybe red would be nice instead, or an icy blue?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the door to his temporary workshop opening. Danny looked up, and smiled when he saw that his bodyguard was the one standing in the doorway.

The man, known only as Derringer, was 6’2”, built like a tank, and known for his love of unusual firearms. He was also a big fan of card games, and had been teaching Danny how to play Blackjack during their meals.

He gently closed the door behind him, strolling into the workshop.

Danny hopped out of his seat, hugging the man tightly. Derringer laughed, patting Danny on the back as he clung to him like a koala.

“Good to see you too, kid,” the man said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “you just about done in here?”

Danny nodded, letting go of the bodyguard. He picked up the gun on the desk, handing it to Derringer, and pointed to the target resting in the far corner of the room.

Derringer glanced down at Danny, shrugging before aiming the gun.

He pulled the trigger, and a large scorch mark appeared in the center of the target.

Derringer whistled appreciatively, walking over to inspect the damage.

There was a deep dent in the center of the metal target, around an inch in diameter, and a large scorch mark surrounding it. The metal of the dent was white-hot, and the area around it was somewhat warped.

“That’s real nice, kid,” Derringer said, “don’t know how you do it.”

Danny grinned, baring his teeth at the man. He smiled back, ruffling his hair.

“The boss is gonna go forward with the Arkham raid soon, so long as your guns are ready,” he said, “he’s eager to try them out for real. You think you’re up to talking to him?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding to the man.

“Good,” Derringer signed back.

Mr. Cobblepot, not wanting Danny to be limited in his speech by the damage to his vocal chords, had ensured that all of the people who interacted with him knew at least the basics of ASL.

When he wasn’t working on the ectoblasters, Danny was practicing his ASL with a dedicated tutor, or with Derringer, who learned the language when his mother had gone deaf.

“Can I eat first?” Danny signed, “I forgot to.”

“You forgot, or you didn’t want to leave your work?” Derringer asked, signing as he spoke, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, “and yeah, the boss wants to talk to you in thirty minutes. You’ve got plenty of time before then.”

“Thank you,” Danny signed, “let’s go.”

“Hey, just a sec,” Derringer said. His face had dropped into something unusually serious.

Danny nodded, tilting his head as he signed a quick “what’s wrong?”

“You’re a good kid. Even after what you’ve been through, you’re…you’re a really sweet kid,” Derringer said, looking away. “But you…you can’t keep being sweet to everyone. You gotta act tough, alright?”

“Why?”

“You just…” Derringer sighed, combing a hand through his thick, curly hair, “a lot of the guys think that you’re too weak to be here. They’re calling you the Penguin’s pet project, and the problem is that they’re not really wrong. You gotta be scarier to survive, alright? Gotham’ll eat you alive if you don’t. Just make up a persona and roll with it.”

Danny nodded slowly, processing his words for a moment.

“Like a mask?”

Derringer laughed, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Yeah, like a mask. Just don’t start fighting crime while you’re at it.”

“Okay,” Danny signed, his movements slow. “I can do that.”

“Good on you, kid,” Derringer said, ruffling his hair once more, “now let’s go get lunch.”

The two of them ate quickly, Danny’s mind on Derringer’s advice the entire time.

He was right, and Danny knew it. He’d seen the way that some of Mr. Cobblepot’s men had looked at him.

He wasn’t anywhere near big enough to pull off the looming intimidating look that Derringer did; his doctors back in Amity had told him that he would grow to be over six foot, but his time in the GiW seemed to have stunted his growth significantly. He was only around 5’6”, and it seemed that he was going to stay that way.

In the same way, he wasn’t nearly frightening looking enough to pull off the terrifying stares of the smaller individuals working under Mr. Cobblepot. He just couldn’t get the glare right; his face would always fall back to a blank, dead stare.

Though, maybe if he played into that…

A few minutes before they had to leave, Danny excused himself to go to the restroom. He stared into the mirror, looking into his cold, dead eyes, and let his face drop.

When he adjusted his stance, and kept his eyes a bit wider than usual, he looked downright unnerving.

Danny had already noticed that most of his mannerisms were…unusual, after his stay at the GiW base. Put simply, he had forgotten what it was like to be a human.

He had noticed that most of the people around him would avoid being in his presence, and had begun mirroring their body language as much as he could to seem more normal.

Maybe, though, it would be better for him not to.

He could lean into the whole thing. An unstable young adult, experimented on by the government for years.

Danny looked into the mirror, and wide, icy eyes stared back at him.

Danny left the restroom. Derringer turned to greet him, jolting when he did. After a moment, he nodded.

“That what we’re going with?”

“Yes. Is it good?”

“Yeah. Freaky. Gonna take some getting used to, but yeah. Now,” he said, getting up from his spot at the break room table, “let’s go see the boss.”

Danny felt anxiety bubbling up in his chest, his entire body beginning to twitch. If Mr. Cobblepot didn’t approve of the weaponry, or if he thought they were underwhelming, would he be thrown out? Would he be tortured again, or killed?

Danny shivered when they came to a stop in front of the door to Mr. Cobblepot’s office. Failure wasn’t an option. He had to make sure this went well.

“You’ll do great, kid,” Derringer whispered, pushing the door open.

Mr. Cobblepot had been talking with a few other people, but their conversation died out when Danny and Derringer entered the room. Danny’s skin crawled.

“Ah, Danny! Just the person I wanted to see,” Mr. Cobblepot said, a large smile on his face, “Do you have one of your guns with you?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding.

“Wonderful. I was just telling my associates here about your work. Do you mind giving a demonstration?”

“Where should I shoot? Do you have a target?”

Derringer was quick to translate. Mr. Cobblepot nodded, gesturing for a hired hand in the corner of the room to pull out a small wooden board, holding it up in the air.

Danny paled. He would definitely burn the man’s hands if he hit the target, even if he aimed for the furthest corner of the board.

Still, he was more terrified of disappointing Mr. Cobblepot than he was empathetic towards the man, so he drew a blaster from the holster on his leg and aimed carefully.

The blast hit the center of the board. The man holding it howled in pain, dropping the target and drawing his hand close to his chest. The nauseating smell of burning flesh filled the room.

Danny breathed shakily, in and out.

Mr. Cobblepot, for what it was worth, looked like he couldn’t possibly be happier. He and the others inspected the board on the ground closely, ignoring the hired hand as he ran out of the room, still cradling his damaged hand.

A large hole had been blown into the board, and a good portion of it had been incinerated.

“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen! I told you that Danny would deliver, and deliver he did! Imagine if that had been a person instead! Danny, what would you say would happen?”

Danny paused, trying to wince when he realized that the question wasn’t hypothetical, and Mr. Cobblepot actually wanted an answer.

“It would give them S-E-V-E-R-E burns,” Danny finger spelled the word that he didn’t know the proper sign for, “mostly S-U-R-F-A-C-E. It can’t P-E-I-R-C-E, because there is no bullet, just energy.”

Derringer translated for him.

Mr. Cobblepot frowned, and Danny frantically continued, “but it can be L-E-T-H-A-L! Burns on the head kill fast. Burns on the body make S-H-O-C-K, and kill. Strong I-M-P-A-C-T, too.”

“So they do still kill, just not instantly?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, “they’re fast. They hurt bad. Bad way to die, hurts a lot.”

“Well,” one of the other men in the room piped up, “I guess he’s not completely hopeless.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Mr. Cobblepot replied, fixing a terrifying glare onto the man, “it was my idea to bring him in, after all.”

“Danny,” Mr. Cobblepot said, turning his attention back to him, “we’re going to be collaborating with these fine individuals in the future. I’m going to need twenty guns ready for use in a week. You can handle that, can’t you?”

Danny nodded frantically.

“What kind?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mr. Cobblepot said, waving his hand dismissively, “semi-automatic is preferable, but handguns and shotguns also work. Just make sure they work perfectly.”

The room was silent for a moment.

“Well, that’s all. You can leave now, and I’ll finish discussing the details with my associates.”

Danny nodded, signing him a quick “thank you, goodbye,” and slipped out of the room alongside Derringer.

They made their way back to Danny’s workshop in silence. Once they were inside, Derringer heaved a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“You really think you can make that many guns that quickly, kid?”

“Yes,” Danny replied, “but I need your help.”

Derringer groaned, a smile on his face.

“Of course you’re putting me to work. I should’ve expected it. Now, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, first, hold this…”

—