#Shadow Fight 3 hack

[neellscapsule]

My Heart — Part Six

summary | your family realizes how much they have missed. the problem is that you are a grown up by now, and terrible hurt by their neglect.

pairing | platonic yandere batfam x batsis!neglected!reader. conner kent x reader.

warnings / tags | angst, hurt/little comfort, y/n is mentioned as a female, trauma, family issues, mostly trust and daddy issues. they all love each other (PLATONICALLY) they just don't know how to feel it and express it correctly. it gets darker

angsty chapter and reader is NOT happy. it is not implicated in the text but the tea is ADULTERED totally drugged.

word count | 4.6k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :) please vote <3 dick is 28. jason is 23. reader will be 22 in a few months. cass is 21. tim is 20. duke is 18. damian is 13. conner looks 22 as well.

taglist | @cebrospudipudi @jjoppees @corvoqueen @nirvanaxx1942 @lilyalone @aixaingela @lettucel0ver @time-shardz @pix-stuff @galaxypurplerose @cupid73 @theproblemisthattimnotfictional @vanessa-boo @timebomb1101 @chemicalwindexbottle @chiizuluvr @ihavenomuse @mat5u0 @thismessyshe @lovebug-apple @myjumper @angwlart @esposadomd @nisarelle @mrmacwaffles @mazixxss @ememgl @naomi-xxi @bbmgirll @ash0-0ley @rowan-no-rizzz @hearts4mica @sillyheartmoonnyx @crumbs-and-covers @nininehaaa @ironsaladwitch @c4xcocoa @keyllsbk @welpthisisboring @redkarmakai @yuyuzi-ling @91-kya @mat5u0 @nymphzy0 @jeshomie @keysmashstuff @imsomniaccorner @rowan-no-rizzz @xoxoangellll @oliviaewl

previous. next.

It’s only been a few hours. Not even dinner yet. And your things — your life — are already bleeding back into the Manor like they never left.

Boxes stacked neatly by the stairs. Suitcases rolling in. Steph and Duke arguing softly over where to drop your art stuff. Cass ghosting through the hall, carrying your sketch portfolios like they weigh nothing. Tim? You don’t even know where he is, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he already hacked the Royal Resort, changed your room access code, and sent a digital notice of your “check out” to their front desk. Smug little bastard.

You aren’t even going to try fighting it. No one here listens to “no.”

Because the Waynes, God help you, never really ask for things. They consume them. They fold you back into the sharp jaws of their family, biting down until you realize that escape was never really an option.

You tend to forget you are a Wayne as well.

You stand in the middle of it all, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching them pull your belongings through the front doors like this is normal. Like they didn’t spend four years letting you stay gone.

“Annoyed?” Jason’s voice is far too entertained, standing beside you with a box balanced on one palm.

“Beyond,” you mutter, glaring as one of your easels is carried toward the stairs.

“You knew it was coming.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Jason smirks but lets it drop, wandering off with the box. You sigh, shoulders slumping, and turn toward the wing where your room still waits. Untouched. Too familiar.

And it is… different. Familiar in the bones of it, but stripped of its soul. The walls are bare where posters and paintings used to hang. The shelves mostly empty, save for a few stubborn relics that Alfred clearly refused to toss — old books, a cracked snow globe, a tiny bronze bust of Athena from your first Gotham art exhibit.

Damian’s already there. Of course he is. Smaller than the others, but somehow taking up more space than all of them combined, hovering at your side like a shadow that refuses to detach itself.

The kid hovers near your bed, arms crossed behind his back like a tiny, overly proper soldier on duty. His green eyes flick to you, guarded but… softer than usual. Like he hasn’t quite figured out how to stop being angry at the world when it comes to you.

“Need help unpacking?” he asks, tone clipped, but there’s hope there. The kind that coils tight in your chest.

You hesitate, torn between instinct and guilt, then nod, stepping inside.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Sure.”

He follows, eager despite his mask of disinterest, helping you tug open bags, sort clothes, stack books. For a while, it’s… weirdly peaceful. The steady rustle of fabric. The faint creak of the floorboards. Damian brushing past you without biting words, his fingers tracing over your old framed photos on the shelves — ones you left behind because they hurt too much to take.

You catch him pausing at the piano music sheets tucked beside your nightstand. His brows furrow.

“You still play?”

“Not often.” You shrug. “More painting now.”

Damian hums, thoughtful, gaze lingering. “You should’ve stayed.”

You freeze, the words hanging in the air like smoke. You glance up, meeting his eyes — so green, so much like Bruce’s it physically aches. But they’re not cold, not like your father’s can be. They’re… fractured. Full of sharp edges and careful walls, yes, but under that?

Longing.

Guilt gnaws at your ribs.

“Didn’t know you existed yet,” you say softly, fingers curling around the strap of an old bag. “Not really.”

His mouth presses thin. “That doesn’t change it.”

You exhale, standing, brushing invisible dust from your jeans. “I left the Manor, Dami. I didn’t just… leave you.”

“You left me,” he says, blunt, young enough to say it like a wound, like a scar carved too deep. “You all did. But you… You weren’t supposed to.”

God, you hate how your throat tightens.

The bitter ache behind your ribs.

You hadn’t been prepared for him — for this — when you came back.

Your fingers reach for another box, peeling it open just to avoid his stare, but it doesn’t help. His presence is overwhelming. Silent and sharp like his mother’s. Possessive like his father’s.

“I didn’t even know you,” you murmur, voice rough. “I knew… of you. Little headlines. Files. Cass tried to tell me. But I—” You pause, eyes shutting briefly. “I was so angry. I couldn’t even… I couldn’t come back.”

“Because of him,” Damian says. It isn’t a question.

You nod.

Bruce Wayne. The great Dark Knight. The man you once idolized, once bled beside as Huntress, as his partner. The same man who never quite looked at you the way he looked at the others. Not the way you needed. Never the way you begged for as a kid with bruised knuckles and desperate, reaching hands.

“Because of a lot of things,” you correct gently, placing your sketchbook aside, the worn leather cover heavy with memories. “But yeah… mostly him.”

Damian’s jaw clenches, the muscle ticking. His arms uncross, falling at his sides. He looks…

Small.

Despite the bravado, the stiff lines, the name of the Demon Head running through his blood… He’s thirteen.

Your baby brother. One of your younger siblings. The one you abandoned before you even truly met him.

You weren’t there for the first bruises on his knuckles. You weren’t there for the first nights he slipped into patrol. You weren’t there for his first real battle, the first time he realized that Gotham’s love is sharp-edged and cruel.

You weren’t there. You left.

And it’s starting to suffocate you— the realization that this boy, this brother, had spent years carving out his place in the family you abandoned, while you disappeared into the art galleries and the high-rise studios of New York.

You curse under your breath, stepping forward before you can overthink it, cupping the back of his neck gently, tilting his head toward you.

“You shouldn’t want me here,” you whisper, honest, broken. “I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

His eyes glisten for a second, the weight of his walls faltering. But only for a moment. His hands lift, fisting in your shirt, his brow pressing against your shoulder in a rare, vulnerable gesture he’d never admit to.

“You’re my sister,” he mutters, the words muffled but steel-strong. “I don’t care how long it takes. You belong here. You were the only one who was mine. Blood. Sister. Everyone else is just… attached.”

You swallow thickly.

Damian, for all his sharp edges and biting remarks, was still just a boy looking for someone who belonged to him in the same undeniable way that blood does. He wasn’t just a Wayne. He was yours.

“I’m here now,” you promise, voice soft, fragile. “For as long as I can stand it.”

He gives a sharp little nod, like that’s acceptable.

But you both know the truth.

It’s then, when you pull another box from beneath the bed, that you find it — old, dusty, edges worn, but unmistakable.

The Box.

The one that started this whole spiral, even if you don't know it. You pop the lid, heart stumbling when you see your old notebooks stacked inside. Your sketch journals. Poetry. Music sheets. Little scraps of yourself you never let them see.

Damian watches, sharp-eyed. “You wrote a lot.”

You smile faintly, fingers ghosting over the familiar covers. “Started around your age. Couldn’t… couldn’t really talk to anyone. So, I wrote.”

For a second, there’s something bitter in your throat. The weight of all those words that never reached the right ears.

“I saw that box,” Damian says, breaking your thoughts. His lips press thin, voice low. “Grayson and Father had it.”

Your head jerks up.

“What?”

He nods, glancing toward the door like they’ll appear at any second. “They read your letters. The invitations. That’s why some of those are missing.”

You frown, rifling through the papers. Sure enough… gaps. Missing slips of faded cardstock, soft with time. The ones with their names.

You straighten abruptly, box in hand.

“I’ll be back,” you say tightly, already halfway out the door.

Damian follows to the threshold, but wisely stays behind.

You stalk down the halls, passing portraits and shelves that mock you with their polished familiarity. Your boots echo over the marble. Your heart pounds heavier. The box is tight in your arms, fingers curled so hard around the edges your knuckles burn white. You don’t even hesitate when you reach your father’s study. You shove the door open without knocking, the hinges groaning under the force.

Bruce looks up from behind his desk, the same goddamn desk that’s always separated him from you. His eyes lift slowly, unreadable behind that ever-present mask of indifference.

“Y/N,” he greets simply, setting down a pen.

You march in, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling with the weight of it all, and slam the box down onto the dark wood of his desk.

“They’re mine,” you snap, teeth bared around every syllable. “The invitations. The letters. The pieces of me you ignored for years. Give them back.”

His gaze drops to the box, lids lowering slightly. Calm. Too calm. Always calm when you’re coming undone.

“You left them here,” he says quietly, like that’s supposed to be some kind of explanation.

“That doesn’t mean you get to—” your voice cracks— “to keep them. To— to read them like you suddenly give a damn.”

“I’ve always cared.”

The words are so simple. So detached.

It’s laughable.

You laugh— bitter, sharp, ugly.

“Yeah? You cared while I was bleeding under that Huntress mask? You cared when I was fourteen, fifteen, sixteen— when I was killing myself trying to be enough for you? I was practically breaking my ribs to breathe in this house, Bruce—”

You use his name like a blade.

And for the first time, his expression shifts. The faintest flicker of hurt behind those unreadable eyes.

“Don’t—” he starts, but you’re already unraveling.

“No, I’m talking,” you hiss, voice cracking with the sheer force of holding it together for too long. “I begged for your attention. I broke myself for your pride. I learned to throw knives before I learned to drive, I broke bones before I got my period, and the only thing I ever wanted—” your throat tightens, eyes burning— “was for my dad to fucking look at me like I mattered.”

His mouth parts— an interruption, maybe. You don’t let him.

“You looked at Dick,” you spit, pacing now, heat climbing under your skin, nails digging crescent moons into your palms. “At Jason. At Tim. Hell, you adopted half the city because they were broken and brave and you saw them. But me?” Your voice cracks, and it slices through the room. “I was standing right here. Your kid. Your first daughter. And you never— you never looked.”

“I saw you.”

The words fall from his mouth like they should mean something.

You stare at him, chest heaving, that dangerous, shaking, bitter-laced laugh creeping out of your throat.

“You saw me when it was convenient. At galas. On patrol. When I played the part. But you didn’t see me when I cried myself to sleep in this house. When I begged Alfred to remind me why I even existed in this family.”

“Y/N—”

“No!” Your fist slams onto the desk, rattling the box, the notebooks inside shuddering under the force. Your shoulders curl forward, that trembling, raw ache choking every syllable. “You read my words, Bruce. You read every pathetic, desperate thing I wrote to get your attention, and you didn’t say a damn thing. You just kept them. Like— like souvenirs of how badly you failed me.”

He stands now, slow, careful, like he’s trying not to spook a wounded animal.

“I kept them because they mattered.”

You flinch. Because that— that doesn’t make it better. That makes it worse.

“Then why didn’t I?” you whisper, voice cracking so thin it’s barely audible.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. And for once, Batman looks speechless.

The lump in your throat crawls higher, the weight of everything clawing through your ribs until you can’t stand it. Your vision blurs with unshed tears, the room suffocating, the walls pressing in—

Jason’s voice cuts through the static, smooth but laced with warning, not to you.

“Hey— hey, sweetheart—” His hand catches your elbow, tugging you gently away from the desk, away from the storm brewing in your chest. His eyes flick to Bruce, sharp, protective. “That’s enough.”

Your father doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t argue.

“Later,” he murmurs, tugging you. “Let’s not explode the whole house on your first day back, yeah?”

You let him guide you, too raw, too frayed at the edges to resist, the box clutched to your chest like it holds your last shred of pride.

He doesn’t take you far. Just out, through the side door, past the old stone threshold that still smells faintly of ivy and rainwater. The gardens stretch ahead of you, green and alive, overgrown in some parts, perfectly manicured in others. Like everything in this family — halfway wild, halfway curated.

The cold air bites when the door to the garden swings open. The scent of wet grass and the sweetness of the last lingering roses hit you like a ghost. The gardens haven’t changed. You could close your eyes and walk these paths blind, could still find the cracked stone where you used to sit, where you used to hide.

It shouldn’t affect you the way it does. But it’s been years. Years since your boots walked these cobbled paths. Since you brushed your fingers along the rosebushes, memorized the stone statues of long-dead Waynes, listened to the wind thread through the hedges and wondered if maybe, just maybe, you belonged here.

You stop by the little wrought-iron bench. The one you used to curl up on with a book or sketchpad when Alfred scolded you for pacing the halls like a restless cat. Your knees threaten to buckle.

Jason’s still beside you. Silent for a beat, his blue eyes scanning your face like he’s cataloging every fracture in your armor.

“You good to sit?” he asks finally, voice stripped of its usual cocky charm, softer, older, gentler.

You nod, throat tight, and collapse onto the bench. The box lands beside you, your arms falling limp at your sides as exhaustion crawls under your skin like a sickness.

Jason leans against the backrest, arms crossed, one leg kicked out lazily in front of him. But his gaze never leaves you.

“I thought you’d punch him,” he says after a moment, like it’s some normal conversation.

“I thought so too,” you rasp, voice barely holding steady. Your fingers twitch, nails biting into your palms.

Silence settles between you, heavy and humming with unsaid things. The garden is quiet, save for the rustle of leaves in the warm Gotham breeze and the faint chirp of birds that have somehow not abandoned this cursed place.

You bite your cheek, hard, tasting iron at the back of your tongue. The weight in your chest grows unbearable.

“He had no right to keep them,” you whisper, more to yourself than him. “Those letters—those words were mine, Jay.”

Jason nods, slow, his eyes dark with understanding. He tilts his head, letting the silence stretch, giving you room.

It cracks something in you. Your walls cave in on themselves, and the words spill out, raw and broken.

“You’re my family,” you breathe, voice cracking on the confession. “And I love you. I love all of you. But you’re— you’re terrible.” You swallow around the knot in your throat, eyes burning, vision swimming with tears you’ve tried so hard to swallow. “You’re all terrible.”

Jason’s brows pull together, faint lines creasing between them, but he doesn’t interrupt. He exhales slowly, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah. We are.”

“It’s not fair,” you choke, the sob clawing its way up your throat, unstoppable now. Your hands cover your face, shoulders shaking, breath hitching as it pours out of you, ugly and too real. “It’s not fair— I was here. I was here and I tried— I tried so damn hard to make him proud. And he— he just—”

You can’t finish the sentence. It shatters in your chest before it reaches your lips.

Jason exhales softly, the sound rough at the edges. Then, gently, he shifts, his hand reaching to curl around the back of your neck, tugging you toward him.

You resist for half a second, pride prickling. But you’re exhausted. Hollow. And there’s something in Jason’s touch — that stubborn, protective, reckless love he’s always carried for you — that breaks you down completely.

Your forehead bumps against his shoulder. You curl into him, tears spilling freely now, staining the worn fabric of his jacket. His hand stays at your nape, grounding you, his other arm curling protectively around your frame.

“I know,” he murmurs, chin resting against your temple. “I know, Birdie.”

“It’s not fair,” you croak, rubbing your palms over your eyes, as if that can stop the burning. “It’s not fair that I spent years begging for you all to see me, to just—just be there. And now you’re all here like you never left. Like you didn’t forget me.”

Jason tilts his head toward the sky, his lips twisting like he wants to argue, but he can’t.

You don’t let him. The flood’s coming now, and you can’t hold it back.

“You died, Jason.” Your voice sharpens, cuts through the garden like glass underfoot. “You died, and it ruined me.”

His head snaps down to you, breath caught in his throat.

“I was fourteen. I was fourteen and you were dead and no one—no one even noticed that it broke me.” You glare at him through the blur, the tears slipping, unwanted and hot. “And then you came back, and you—you didn’t come to me. You stayed away. You built walls. You left me behind again.”

Jason’s throat bobs. “I didn’t know how to come back to you.”

You shove your hands into your hair, tugging hard at the roots like it can ground you, like it can make you stop shaking. “I waited for you.”

“I know.”

“You were my favourite person,” you choke, the words ragged and small. “You were my brother and you were my best friend and you just—just left.”

His breath trembles out of him like a cracked apology.

“I didn’t mean to leave you,” he says, and his voice sounds like it’s breaking. “I didn’t mean to die on you.”

“But you did. I needed you,” you whisper, voice fraying apart at the edges. “I needed you and you— you just disappeared.”

Jason’s hand tightens slightly at the back of your neck.

“I know,” he says again, pained and low. “I’m sorry.”

You stay like that for a while. Your breathing slows, the storm inside your chest quieting to a simmer, though the ache never fully leaves. Jason lets you cry, lets you shake, doesn’t rush you to pull yourself together like the others always do.

hated myself for staying away from you when I came back. I thought—I thought you’d hate me for what I became. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

Your breath shudders out, a laugh cracked in half by grief. “I’ve always seen you. Always.”

He finally, finally looks at you, really looks, his eyes raw, his walls caved in.

“You were the only one who ever really saw me,” he admits, a little too late, a little too soft.

Your ribs collapse under the weight of it. “And you left me anyway.”

Eventually, you straighten, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your sweater, sniffling quietly. Your throat is raw, your eyes glassy.

Jason watches you, patient, still.

“Not exactly the grand return I wanted,” you mutter bitterly, half a laugh, half a sob.

Jason snorts softly. “No one expected you to waltz in all sunshine and rainbows, Birdie. You’re still a Wayne.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch faintly, the first ghost of a smile threatening to break through the grief.

Jason taps the box at your side. “You keeping those?”

“Yeah.” You brush your fingers along the worn cardboard, the ache settling in your chest like an old friend. “They’re mine.”

“Good.” He pushes off the bench, offering his hand. “C’mon. You’ve caused enough drama for one morning.”

You hesitate, eyes flitting to the Manor behind him. The looming walls, the endless expectations, the memories stitched into every corner.

Jason squeezes your hand gently.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promises, eyes steady, blue and familiar. “I’ve got you.”

“. . . You’re not allowed to leave me again,” you mumble, voice raw.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

You kick at his boot, just enough to make him huff a little more. “Promise.”

His gaze flicks down to you, and there’s something fierce, something broken in the way he answers. “Promise.”

And you believe him. You have to.

Even if it’s not fair. Even if you still want to scream. Even if the ache never quite leaves.

You love them.

They’re terrible.

But they’re yours.

You don’t eat dinner with the rest. You don’t have the energy to push yourself into another room where their eyes would watch you like you’re some fragile puzzle they’re trying to solve. You don’t want to play at the table, pretend you belong there just yet.

The library is quiet, save for the low, steady crackle of the fire devouring its own weight in the hearth. Shadows climb the walls, curling over the spines of leather-bound books, tracing old portraits, creeping across the floorboards like they know this house better than anyone ever could. You don’t bother to look up when you hear the door open. You already know who it is.

The sketchbook rests on your lap, half-finished lines scrawled across the page—limbs bent in motion, a face tilted in anguish, the sharp angles of a cathedral stitched into human skin. You’ve been working on it for hours, your pencil dancing through the strokes like your hands know grief better than your head does.

Lines bleed from your fingers, chaotic and gentle all at once, spinning a face you can’t quite hold in your head, features that slip just as you start to form them. Maybe it’s Jason’s nose. Maybe it’s Bruce’s jaw. Maybe it’s no one.

Bruce says nothing as he crosses the room. His footsteps are quieter now than they were when you were a child. Lighter. Older. Worn thin by years of carrying everything and everyone but you.

You still don’t look up.

The cushion beside you shifts when he sits, the same space on the same old couch where he used to read to you, back when things were simpler. Back when you thought love came in the shape of bedtime stories and scraped knees bandaged with rough, clumsy hands.

A porcelain cup clicks gently against the coffee table. You glance at it, finally, the faintest twitch in your brow when you notice the color of the tea, the faint aroma curling toward you.

“Raspberry,” Bruce says quietly, settling back into his seat, eyes fixed on the fire. “Three sugar cubes.”

You stare at the cup, steam curling like ghosts into the dim light, and then at him. His jaw is sharp in the flicker of flames, his mouth set in that unreadable line. You don’t thank him.

For a while, neither of you speak. The silence settles, heavy and familiar, stitched together with old tension and years of too much and not enough.

You sip the tea anyway. It’s perfect. Just how you’ve always taken it. It only makes you angrier.

Bruce leans his elbows onto his knees, watching the fire like it holds all the answers he never found in you. “You used to climb onto the piano bench before you could even walk properly,” he says, voice low, rough with memory. “Alfred was terrified you’d fall. But you never did.”

You don’t interrupt, fingers tightening around the sketchbook, pencil still clutched between them like a weapon.

“You’d sit there,” he continues, “banging on the keys with your little hands. No sense of melody. Just noise. But God, you looked… happy.”

Your jaw locks. You keep your eyes on the flames. Let him speak.

He exhales slowly, shoulders heavier than you remember them. “You always found ways to make your presence known.”

You laugh once, quiet and bitter. “Didn’t seem to work very well.”

You can feel his eyes on you, waiting, holding, but you keep your gaze fixed on the flame. You don’t want to see his face. You don’t want to see the weight he carries, because it’s the same one suffocating you.

“I do not forgive you,” you murmur, voice soft but sharp enough to draw blood. The fire crackles, swallowing the quiet like kindling.

His eyes don’t flinch. His mouth doesn’t twist. He just nods, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. “I know.”

The admission sits heavy between you, thick as the smoke curling from the hearth.

For a long time, the only sound is the breathing of the house itself. Old beams creaking. The pop of burning wood. The distant hum of the world outside, too far removed from this broken little moment.

Bruce’s voice, when it comes again, is quieter. Almost lost to the flame. “Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?”

You blink, startled by the words. His eyes drift back to the fire. “Alfred said that,” he adds, lips curving faintly at the memory. “When you were a baby. You’d cry in my arms and quiet the second I’d hold you close. Clung to me like you never planned to let go.” His throat works. “I didn’t know then how much I’d… ruin that.”

You stare at the flames, but your mind drifts elsewhere—to the old halls of this house, to the forgotten rooms and creaking stairwells, to the years spent watching the people you love blaze bright for the world while you flickered, silent, unseen.

The halls, the rooms, the garden paths—they carry your shape, your scent, the laughter you left behind. But it’s not you who haunts them. It’s them who haunt you, the people, the memories, the versions of yourself that used to dream inside these walls.

You are not a house haunted by a ghost. You are a ghost haunted by a house.

Every corner of this place still echoes with pieces of you. The forgotten toys buried in the attic. The old recital photos tucked between bookshelves. The faint scratch on the bannister from your first Huntress grappling hook, never sanded out, never fixed.

And yet, it was never your home the same way it was theirs.

You breathe in deep, the warmth of the tea settling in your hands, doing little to thaw the cold buried deep in your chest.

“I’m tired,” you say at last, the words stripped bare of all the fight. “I’m so tired, Bruce.”

His eyes soften. His posture shifts, the wall of Batman faltering, the edges cracking just enough to let the father show through.

“You don’t have to stay,” he tells you quietly. “Not if it hurts you.”

You snort under your breath, shaking your head. “You all made that decision for me already.”

His jaw clenches. You don’t let him argue.

The fire burns, and the house breathes, and for a little while, you both just sit there, surrounded by everything unsaid.

“He was right,” Bruce adds, voice low, fractured at the edges. “Nothing in my life has… undone me the way you have.”

Your chest twists, breath catching, vision blurring faintly at the corners. But your expression doesn’t break. Not in front of him.

You sip your tea again, letting the warmth sting your throat, drowning the lump rising there.

The room stretches long with silence. The fire burns. The shadows breathe. The ghosts stay quiet, for now.

Neither of you apologize. Neither of you move. But for the first time in years, you sit in the same room, quiet together. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

For now, you let the halls remember you again.

For now, you let the ghost haunt its house.

You blink once, twice, before your lids drop against your cheeks — exhaustion pushing you into silence, into sleep, into the soft surrender of someone who trusted again.

In the flicker of the firelight, you drift. Eyelids flutter as you realize you’re curled on the sofa — the sketchbook clutched loosely, the fire dimming, the tea unmoved. Bruce’s silhouette stands guard in the shadows, and you breathe — finally — like you’re safe.

[letthemkook]

🂱 ACE jeon jungkook (one)

18+

Pairing: Yandere!Crimeboss! Jungkook × Detective!Reader

Themes: Obsession, power imbalance, cat-and-mouse tension, psychological warfare, forced proximity, dark seduction, corruption

Genre: Dark romance, crime thriller

Warnings: Dubious consent, manipulation, possessiveness, graphic language, coercion, criminal themes, stalking, dark erotic content, emotional degradation, SMUT

“He was just another criminal on your list — cold, untouchable, dangerous. But the moment you walked into that room, Jungkook forgot every crime he ever committed and started planning a new one: making you his.”

part two

—————— 🂱———————

He wasn’t just a rumor on the streets — he was the kind of name whispered in locker rooms and back alleys, in morgues and in the untraceable lines of cartel accounts. No fingerprints. No face. Just stories. Gruesome ones. A man who could vanish in the blink of an eye and reappear in the form of another dead informant. Another burned-out safehouse. Another officer “gone rogue.”

Jeon Jungkook.

Your first case as lead investigator was small — an arms deal gone wrong in Busan, two bodies in a warehouse, both shot through the heart. What caught your attention was the precision. Two shots, one for each man. Bullet casings wiped clean. No signs of forced entry. The cameras had been cut thirty seconds before it happened.

The only trace left behind was a single white playing card on the floor, bleeding into the pooling crimson beneath the bodies.

The Ace of Hearts.

There’s a moment in every detective’s life where things stop being about justice — and start being about survival.

Your moment came in the form of a manila folder, dropped onto your desk with a thud and a muttered, “Good luck.”

You didn’t look up right away. Just stared at the stamped name across the top like it might bite.

No face. No verified voice. Just a trail of shattered lives and dead witnesses. His file was thick. Thicker than any you’d seen. Most of it redacted. Every page screamed warning, even the pages that said nothing at all.

Drug trafficking. High-tech weapons. Political blackmail. A hundred aliases. But one signature — left behind like a calling card, stained in red.

Some said he was born into the criminal world, son of a now-erased syndicate boss. Others believed he carved his empire himself, a ghost who learned how to hack his name out of the shadows. Either way, no one had ever seen him. Not clearly. The only known image was blurry, snapped through shattered glass mid-explosion.

He looked young. Too young to be behind so much blood. But something about the tilt of his head, the laziness of his posture, the way he stared directly into the lens — it made your skin crawl. Like he knew he was being watched. Like he wanted to be.

You were officially assigned his case as lead profiler. The youngest ever brought onto the division. You didn’t ask why they gave it to you. Maybe they thought you were expendable. Maybe they thought he’d underestimate you.

——————-

They brought him in at 3:17 a.m.

You were already waiting — coffee long cold in your hand, eyes glued to the monitor as grainy footage played on a loop. A blacked-out car. A familiar walk. He’d exited the vehicle like he didn’t have a care in the world, shoulders relaxed, hands in the pockets of his long dark coat. Even with a team swarming him, Jungkook didn’t flinch. Didn’t fight.

He smiled.

The bastard smiled like he was right on time.

“Are you sure you want to be the one to interrogate him?” your commanding officer asked as he handed over the file. “He’s not like the others.”

“I know.” You didn’t say the rest: That’s exactly why I have to.

You’d been tailing him for six months. Always one step behind. Surveillance footage here, wiretap audio there. The pieces never quite added up. No matter how many hours you poured into his case, the deeper you dug, the more he vanished — like smoke curling just out of reach. He wasn’t a man. He was a myth.

Until now.

You took a deep breath before stepping into the room, heart hammering with anticipation and a dread you didn’t want to name.

And there he was.

The second interrogation started before you stepped into the room.

You could see him through the mirror.

Jeon Jungkook — uncuffed, seated loosely in the chair, one leg stretched out like he owned the ground beneath it. He wasn’t doing anything. Just staring at the empty seat across from him. Like he knew you’d be there soon. Like he’d been waiting.

When the door opened, he didn’t turn.

But when you walked in — when your heels clicked on the concrete and the air shifted around your scent — he moved.

His head turned slow, then his eyes lifted.

And they devoured you.

Not with awe. Not with admiration. With hunger. Sharp, unrepentant, and barely contained.

The cuffs had been reattached at your request — short chain, anchored to the table.

You sat down without flinching.

But your hands tensed on the file.

He didn’t say anything. Just kept watching.

His gaze flicked over your eyes, your lips, your throat. A slow drag. Calculating. Carnal. Every inch of your body felt cataloged, peeled back layer by layer — and not in a scientific way. No, this wasn’t a profiler’s stare.

“So it’s you,” he said, voice low, thick like honey laced with poison. “The little shadow.”

Your spine straightened. “Excuse me?”

Jungkook chuckled, leaning in like you were sharing a secret. “You’ve been on my trail for half a year, detective. I knew someone was watching me. But I never expected you.”

His gaze dropped — slow, deliberate — tracing your form, lingering where it shouldn’t.

And then he smiled like something divine had clicked into place.

“God,” he murmured, “you’re beautiful. They didn’t put that in your file.”

It was the kind of look men wore before they ruined something soft.

“Jeon Jungkook,” you said calmly, forcing your voice steady. “Do you know why you’re here?”

His tongue slid slowly across his bottom lip.

You looked down. You had to. Even one more second of eye contact and you might’ve flushed.

“We have a forged ID. You were in the passenger seat of a car linked to last month’s arms deal. The driver was seen leaving a drop site in Gangseo. You’re being held while we investigate further.”

No response.

You tried again. “Do you deny knowing the driver?”

His mouth twitched at the corner. Not a smile. Something more base.

You knew, without looking up, that he was still watching your mouth.

“You understand this is serious?” you continued.

Still no words. But you could hear his breathing. Controlled. Deep.

He wasn’t ignoring you.

He was soaking you in.

You glanced up again, only for a second — and there it was. The glint. The flicker of movement, the jerk of his fingers against the cuffs. He wanted to reach for you.

The way his gaze had locked between your lips and your collarbone… it was like instinct was fighting him with every breath.

The cuffs were the only thing stopping him from moving.

He shifted slightly, and the chain strained.

The sound was loud in the silence.

“You’re not going to say anything?” you asked, voice sharp now, snapping to protect your own pulse.

His throat worked once.

And then, finally — “You were just a name on a screen until five minutes ago. Now that I’ve met you I feel like I’d burn down the world to keep you looking at me like that.”

Your heart stilled.

He didn’t say it with fondness. He said it like a man crawling through a desert, finally reaching water.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t dare.

Jungkook leaned forward until the cuffs yanked him back with a quiet metallic click. His smile curled slow — dark, knowing, primal.

You wanted to move. You should’ve moved.

But you didn’t.

Not even when he said, softer now, “What perfume is that?”

You opened your mouth to answer, then stopped yourself. You were not here to play. You were not here to entertain fantasies.

But something told you this man had already started building them.

The rest of the interrogation went nowhere.

He answered nothing. Said little. But his eyes never left you. Not even once.

You left feeling like your body had been touched without ever being reached. Like your bones would remember this encounter long after the bruises of his gaze faded.

You needed a break. A shower. Silence.

You got none of those.

Instead, five hours later, you were summoned to the deputy chief’s office.

“He’s being released,” they said flatly.

Your mouth dropped open. “What?! On whose orders?”

“Everything we had is gone. Witnesses walked. Evidence scrubbed. Whoever’s backing him has reach. Judge signed off five minutes ago.”

You were still arguing when the elevator doors opened downstairs.

And there he was.

Jeon Jungkook, fresh clothes, no cuffs. Walking out as casually as if he’d just finished a spa day.

But when he saw you — he paused.

Paused like the sight of you had just punched the air from his lungs.

Then he smiled. Not politely. Not smug.

Like was about to devour you.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

But he crossed the distance slowly, calculated, until he stood just close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. The same way a man might pass someone at a crowded bar — only this wasn’t crowded. And it wasn’t by accident.

His eyes dragged across your face. No shame. No mask. Just heat.

Then, as he passed, his voice ghosted behind you:

“Next time… you won’t have a table between us.”

And he was gone.

_____________

You told yourself it was over. That he’d disappeared back into whatever empire he ruled from the shadows. That he had more important things to do than fixate on the woman who couldn’t even get him charged with a forged ID.

But logic didn’t help when you looked over your shoulder too often in grocery stores.

Didn’t help when you kept locking your door twice, even though you’d never forgotten once in your life.

Didn’t help when you kept waking up in the middle of the night with your heart racing — from nothing.

From something.

From whatever was now living in the silence.

Because the truth sat deep in your gut, heavier than you could admit even to yourself.

Jungkook had looked at you like you were already his.

And men like that didn’t forget.

You went back through every note in his case file. Every surveillance photo. Every redacted line of intel. You looked for signs that he’d ever taken an interest in one of his investigators before — any woman, any name, any pattern.

But there was nothing.

Nothing but the way he had looked at you across that interrogation table. Like he hadn’t just noticed you. Like he recognized you. Like the universe had finally handed him a shape he’d been waiting to see — and it just happened to be yours.

Attention from a man like Jeon Jungkook felt like heat under your skin. Like a fuse had been lit somewhere deep in the walls of your life, and now you were just waiting for the spark to reach the core.

He wasn’t making a move.

And that’s how you knew he was serious.

You started carrying a weapon off-duty. You started varying your commute. You memorized exits. Not because anything had happened.

But because you felt it.

Like breath on the back of your neck in an empty room. Like the echo of footsteps one beat behind yours on a quiet night. Like an eye watching through a scope you couldn’t see.

And now he knew exactly what you looked like when you weren’t behind a badge.

_______________

You didn’t want to go.

But your friends insisted.

“You’ve been working nonstop,” Hari said, looping her arm through yours. “You’re barely sleeping. You’re paranoid.”

I have reason to be, you wanted to say. But you bit your tongue.

“Just one night,” Minji added. “We’ll dress up, drink too much, dance a little. No cops. No crime scenes. Just fun.”

So you gave in.

The club was new. Lavish. Private. The kind of place where you didn’t walk in unless your name was on a list or your dress cost more than your rent. You didn’t ask how your friend got the hookup — some cousin-of-a-cousin situation, she claimed — and you didn’t push. You were too tired.

Too worn thin.

The second you stepped through the velvet-draped doors, it hit you: the money. The power. The heat.

It wasn’t a place people came to unwind.

It was a place people came to be seen.

Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling. Music pulsed low and dark, more bass than lyrics. Everything gleamed — marble floors, glass staircases, sharp-dressed men and women with too much perfume and too few inhibitions.

You felt out of place immediately.

Still, your friends pulled you to the bar.

“Something expensive,” Minji told the bartender, grinning. “She’s a cop. She needs it.”

You didn’t correct her. Not anymore. You weren’t sure what you were now.

You took the drink. Sipped. Smiled when they cheered.

And for one moment — one brief, suspended moment — you let yourself relax.

Until you noticed something.

A man. In the far corner. Near the VIP mezzanine.

Watching.

You looked away. You looked back.

He was gone.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Just nerves. Shadows. The trick of a crowded room.

But the unease grew. You scanned the layout — exits, guards, mirrors angled too carefully.

And then it hit you. All at once. The subtle perfection. The impossible security. The air of controlled chaos, polished to an art. The Ace of Hearts on every wall.

You’d studied this style before. In reports. In background intel.

And then you knew.

This place wasn’t just owned by someone like Jungkook.

It was his.

You stood so suddenly your barstool scraped back.

Your friends blinked. “Whoa—hey, are you okay?”

You were already walking.

The hall toward the private wing was guarded, but no one stopped you. Not one hand lifted. Not one voice called out.

Like you were expected.

The hallway grew darker. Quieter.

You turned the corner too fast — heart pounding, fists clenched — and slammed into someone.

Hard.

You stumbled back. Hands reached out.

Caught you.

You looked up—

—and froze.

Jungkook.

He wasn’t dressed like he was last time. No cuffs. No chains. A white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top covered by a black suit blazer with the matching trousers, expensive watch glinting, a ring on one finger you’d never seen before.

But his eyes?

Exactly the same.

Still dark. Still quiet. Still piercing into yours like they knew something that could end the world.

He didn’t speak.

He just looked at you.

And for the first time, you couldn’t look away.

Not because of fear. But because you saw something worse. Satisfaction.

Like this moment — you here, alone, in his domain — had already happened in his mind.

Like he’d imagined this exact scene a hundred times.

“Did you follow me here?” you breathed.

His head tilted slowly. “No,” he murmured. “You came to me.”

You stepped back. “I didn’t know—”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t have to.

The hallway seemed to shrink around him.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” you whispered, pulse racing.

And then came the smallest smile.

“Not waiting,” Jungkook said softly.

“Planning.”

You didn’t move at first.

When Jungkook said planning, you froze. Not because of the word — but because of the way he said it. Calm. Measured. Like this wasn’t a surprise to him. Like tonight, this hallway, this very breath between you, had all gone exactly the way he knew it would.

“I’m not here for you,” you said, but your voice cracked halfway through.

He raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

Your fingers clenched at your sides. “Let me go back to my friends.”

“I didn’t stop you.” He leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket. “You came this far.”

You swallowed. “We shouldn’t have come here.”

But even as you turned to leave, his voice stopped you. Quiet. Controlled.

“I wouldn’t go back that way.”

You turned slowly. “What do you mean?”

He tilted his head, eyes dark and steady. “Do you know who the man is sitting two tables behind your friend with the ponytail?”

Your stomach dropped.

“You’ve been watching us?”

“I always watch what’s mine.” He took a step forward — not fast, not loud. Just close enough that you felt it. “And what I want.”

You tried to swallow the panic in your throat. “You wouldn’t hurt them.”

“No,” he said simply. “I wouldn’t.”

And then his voice dropped.

“But other people might. People who owe me things. People who’d do anything to earn back my trust.”

You stared.

Jungkook didn’t look away.

He wasn’t gloating. He wasn’t bluffing.

He was warning you.

“I don’t want to see your friends in a tabloid headline,” he said softly. “Not when you can stop it.”

You didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

He stepped back then — gave you space — and nodded toward the stairs at the end of the hallway.

“I just want to talk. Upstairs. Just us.” A pause. “Ten minutes.”

He let that linger.

Then: “Unless you’d rather go back and roll the dice.”

You hesitated.

And that hesitation was all it took.

You followed.

The club blurred behind you. The bass dropped away. You heard nothing but your own heartbeat echoing in your ears as you followed him up the glass staircase and down a private corridor lined with black marble and gold trim.

He opened a door. Waited.

And you stepped inside.

The second it shut behind you, he moved. Fast.

You didn’t even have time to turn before his hands slammed against the door on either side of your head — caging you, pinning you, his body pressed full against yours.

The click of the lock was the last sound you heard before you felt him.

Breath hot against your neck.

Hands skimming your waist, possessive but slow

His lips found your throat before you could reply — warm, wet, desperate. Kisses turned to nips, his teeth grazing sensitive skin like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss you or mark you.

And God, you hated the way it lit your nerves on fire.

He kissed just beneath your ear. Down the side of your throat. The curve of your shoulder. His grip tightened on your hip.

“I’ve thought about this,” Jungkook murmured against your pulse. “Every night. Every time I closed my eyes, it was this. You. Right here.”

You sucked in a breath — not from fear, not from resistance.

From the heat.

The terrifying, suffocating heat of being wanted like this. Devoured like this.

“You should hate me,” he whispered. “I know you do.”

His hand slid higher, curling against the side of your neck, not squeezing — holding. Like you were something delicate. Like you were already his.

“But you came,” he said. “That’s all that matters.”

He kissed you again — harder now, teeth dragging.

And you knew this wasn’t about seduction anymore.

It was about claiming.

And he wasn’t going to stop until every inch of you remembered who you belonged to. Your body was frozen.

Not by choice.

Not entirely.

You weren’t sure if it was fear or instinct or the terrifying awareness of how close you were to destruction — but you couldn’t move.

Not with him that close. Not when you could feel how real his hunger was.

His voice ghosted over your skin.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he said, quiet and rough. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else since that room.”

You flinched, but he smiled like it was affection.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered. “Are you scared of me?”

You didn’t answer. He didn’t wait.

Suddenly, his hands found your thighs, gripped tight, and he lifted you — clean off the floor, like you weighed nothing. Your arms flew around his shoulders on instinct, legs locking around his waist, and then—

Then you were on the bed. Still wrapped around him.

His mouth crashed to your shoulder as he pressed you down into the mattress, still clothed, but pressed so tightly you could feel every twitch of his body.

“I need you,” Jungkook muttered, voice wrecked now, desperate. “Right now. Can’t wait. Can’t—”

He was unraveling. Coming apart at the seams from the fantasy he’d waited too long to touch.

And that’s when you knew you had one shot.

You forced your body to relax. Gave a soft, breathy hum near his ear. Let your fingers smooth along the back of his neck.

“Jungkook,” you whispered sweetly. “Let me take care of you.”

That made him still.

You shifted your hips gently beneath him, fingers brushing his jaw. And when his head lifted just enough, you leaned in and gave him the softest kiss on the lips. Barely there. Just a taste.

He melted.

Eyes fluttering shut, mouth parting slightly as if he didn’t know how to handle that kind of softness.

You smiled.

“Good boy,” you purred, brushing your lips across his. “Let me worship you a little.”

Another kiss, teasing, light, just enough to keep him drunk on you. Then down his throat. His collarbone. His chest.

His hips jerked slightly.

You smirked.

“Sensitive,” you teased. “Didn’t expect that.”

He growled under his breath, but you slid your fingers down his chest slowly, tenderly, like you were tracing a masterpiece.

You kept your voice honey-sweet, just enough to stroke his ego. “You’ve been patient with me, haven’t you, Jungkook?”

He nodded, breath shaky.

“All that time watching. Waiting.” You dragged your nails over his shoulders. “It must’ve been so hard.”

“Every fucking day,” he rasped.

You kissed him again — etting your lips barely part against his, teasing the tension. He moaned into your mouth, hips pressing harder, arms trembling as he held himself above you.

When you pulled back, his lips chased yours instinctively. And that was when you knew you had him.

“You dont understand what it’s been like,” he murmured, voice low, thick. “Knowing your name. Your face. Having to wait.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth — soft, reverent — and your hands curled into fists, not from fear, but from restraint.

Because if you wanted to survive this, you couldn’t play defense.

You had to seduce the devil.

So you tilted your head slightly, lips brushing his jaw. “Then why wait?” you whispered. “You’re the one who locked the door.”

That made him pause.

His eyes darkened, pupils expanding, lips parting just a little. You brought your hands up slowly, grazing the sides of his chest, kissing down his neck and unbuttoning his dress shirt, then trailing them down, down, until your fingers curled into the belt at his waist.

“Tell me,” you said softly, “is this how you imagined it?”

He swallowed.

“I bet it was filthier in your head,” you teased, nails dragging just slightly. “Harder. I bet I was already begging. I bet you thought about me choking on that big, big cock.”

“Don’t,” he warned, voice shaky.

“Don’t what?” You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Say what you want me to say?”

He hissed under his breath. His whole body leaned forward slightly, chasing the heat of you, and you knew then: you had him.

Of course you did.

Because in his mind, this was always inevitable.

His eyes devoured you like he didn’t know where to look — your mouth, your thighs, your hands as they slowly found his shoulders. His shirt was completely unbuttoned now, revealing the toned hard skin of his chest, and his abs.

His eyes were now fluttering shut, mouth parting slightly as if he didn’t know how to handle that kind of softness.

And while he was distracted—you moved.

Quick, fluid, practiced.

You rolled your hips, shifted your weight, and in one smooth twist, flipped the both of you.

Now you were on top, straddling him.

He blinked in dazed surprise, chest rising and falling, letting you guide him like a man under spell.

You pushed him to lay all the way down, and he groaned, head falling back, and you took that opportunity to press soft kisses along his throat. Each one slow, teasing, calculated. You dragged your lips along his jawline, whispering between them.

“Thought about this too, didn’t you? When I walked into that interrogation room? I bet you touched yourself to it.”

His breath hitched.

“You didn’t want to hurt me. Not really,” you lied, sweet and syrupy. “You just wanted to know what I taste like.”

He nodded, barely breathing.

And then your hand slid down between you — slowly, confidently — and palmed him through his pants.

The sound he made was broken. Half-groan, half-whimper, head falling forward to your shoulder as his hips arched into your touch. His hands found your waist — not gripping, just holding. Like he thought he finally had you. Like this was real.

“That’s it,” you whispered against his throat. “You like being touched, don’t you? Bet you’d let me do anything right now.”

“Yes baby, don’t stop—,” he gasped. You smiled against his skin.

And then you pulled back.

Your hand moved fast — a sharp, sudden strike straight to his groin, the heel of your palm hitting hard through the expensive fabric.

He choked out a grunt, body curling forward in reflex.

Before he could recover, you shoved him back onto the bed.

A ragged, wounded sound tore from his throat as his body curled toward the pain.

And you ran.

You bolted from the bed, flung the door open, and didn’t stop to look back. His cursing rang in your ears, low and strangled, full of disbelief and pain and fury. The sound of it should’ve satisfied you.

But it only fueled the adrenaline in your blood.

You barreled down the stairs, through the corridor, chest heaving. The music from the club below pounded like a heartbeat.

Your friends were still at the bar.

“MOVE!” you shouted, breathless, just as the guards began turning your way.

You slammed into a standing table, sending bottles, glasses, and bodies flying.

A blur of chaos.

It gave you seconds.

Just enough.

You grabbed your friends, who were still too stunned to scream, and dragged them toward the side exit as shouting broke out behind you.

And when you burst into the alleyway and sprinted into the street—

You knew one thing.

You escaped tonight.

But the look on Jungkook’s face as you left him breathless and in pain?

He wasn’t going to forget it.

And he sure as hell wasn’t going to forgive it.

So you kept running.

Ignoring the part of you that wanted to finish what you started back in that room.

[i-yap]

Fights between bruce and y/n

bro is so paranoid, he knows everything about you . Everything , and when u find out he extensively stalked you, it prolly didn't sit well. with tim he stalks cuz he loves you. bruce has really serious trust issues and he stalked you to make sure u wont uh lets say steal his sperm and train your kid in the league of shadows .

he sucks at communication . like he will not explain why he does what he does and struggles to talk. Especially in like aggressive confrontations , he'll just go silent and batman persona like . so once you both calm down and sit in a secluded but calm place all alone he will prolly explain his pov. just be gentle with this giant please

hates nonsensical activities, sorry but its facts. he will give you his card take your friends for shopping but bruce has to run a company and the justice league and ( his kids if its batdad au) whats the point of trailing behind you while you look through clothes like? he isn't into fashion, he thinks you look pretty in everything. you guys get to spend no quality time why not just spend those 2-3 hrs taking you out for dinner after ur done shopping?

doesn't really get how expensive gifts can make someone uncomfortable. he is sort of used to gold diggers or rich women. so when you refuse diamond necklace cuz it isn't even a special occasion wtf brucie, I cant just take that , he wont get it. He prolly wont stop either. Will for sure end the argument with" this necklace has now belonged to you and no other woman deserves to wear. so throw it out if you don't want it but I am not taking it "back to the store" or whatever that means"

he is so smart, sometimes forgets that everyone else is not. he thinks its cute when u get super confused but you feel dumb and it'll take a genuine conversation where he tells you that he thinks your the smartest, kindest and most interesting person he has met and IQ or hacking skills or whatever has nothing to do with it.

getting him to retire.

[lavandulawrites]

Astralis Desires

Chapter 3: Through His Eyes

Various HSR men x reader

It was rather fun writing the different POV’S. I can’t wait to share more chapters with y’all! Let me know if you want to be apart of the taglist!

Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 4

Synopsis: Two Yanderes have already fallen head over heels for you.

Masterlist Astralis Desires Masterlist

Warnings: yandere, written in the POV of Dan Heng and Welt, Dan Heng is a simp

Word count: 1939

Dan Heng’s POV

Dan Heng had never been in love. He had found actresses, models and women he had met through his travels pretty, but he had never developed feelings for any of them. The idea of love was foreign and something he only allowed himself to think about when he dreamt about a faceless woman at night. He had been lonely since he crawled out of his egg and realised the world still hadn’t forgiven his past self misdeeds. When he had joined the Express Crew, he had gotten friends for the first time, but his loneliness still lingered like a dark shadow. It had him awake at night and it followed him whenever he went.

Dan Heng had read a fair amount of romance novels and mangas in secret and he was filled with longing. He wanted someone special in his life. Someone he could protect and love. He needed someone who could feel the void in his heart.

When he saw you almost gotten torn apart from a beast, he had flung his spear as hard as he could through the creature’s head. His frozen heart had finally started beating and the world colours finally became visible. A unfamiliar feeling filled his chest and overflowed his senses. His icy blue eyes followed your every movement and it felt as if he was going to die if he looked away from you. You were so beautiful it hurt.

“Are you alright?!” March rushed to your side and gave you a quick look over. He swore to himself that if you were hurt, if even so much as a tiny hair on your head had gotten damaged, he would hunt down every single one of the Antimatter Legion’s pets and kill them with his bare hands.

You nodded. “I’m fine” you forced a grateful smile “Thank you for saving me.”

Your voice was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard and he found himself wanting more.

“Oh, don’t thank me! It’s Dan Heng you should thank!” she gestured towards the black haired man. Dan Heng could only stare at you has his heart hammered against his ribs.

“Thank you, Dan Heng. I really owe you one” you said with earnest. God, he was going to die. Your lips uttering his name was the greatest blessing he had ever experienced and he found himself puzzled by his uncharacteristic behaviour.

He nodded with a short movement. “You’re welcome. I only did my job” he tried his best to give a nonchalant response, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“We should get moving!” March waved her hand at you to follow.

You gave them your name and Dan Heng couldn’t help but repeat your name in a mantra. Your name sounded like that of a goddess. One the way to safety, you encountered Arlan. He had gotten injured while fighting the monsters. Every time the boy talked to you, an icy anger formed inside Dan Heng and ran through his veins like poison. His draconic instinct to protect was loud as it tried to take over his mind.

The group of five stopped by a a control room in order to check the surveillance footage. As Dan Heng got past the firewall, he noticed a digital trace of an unwelcome guest. Someone had hacked the system an hour before. The researchers really should upgrade their security. It must have been the Stellaron Hunter that went by the name Silverwolf, he thought to himself. Worry crept over him at the thought of that guy. Surely he wouldn’t be at the space station? It wasn’t his style after all…

“Oh, I forgot to ask you [Name]. Did you see anything suspicious before we came and rescued you?” March asked you. He stilled his movements so he could hear your response.

“I did actually. I met a tall woman with dark pink hair. She was telling me to not get in her way.”

Kafka. Shit. “Sounds like a Stellaron Hunter” Dan Heng said as he resumed his typing.

“A Stellaron Hunter…” your voice was filled with concern.

“Sounds like you saw Kafka. So did Caelus” March replied.

The chair Dan Heng sat on suddenly scraped against the floor in a fast motion. His eyes found yours in a blink of an eye and he wanted to drown in them. “She didn’t do anything to you, right? She didn’t hurt you?” his voice was low as he tried suppress his anger. If the Hunter had harmed you, he would personally make sure she was arrested as soon as possible and punished for her sins.

You instantly shook your head. “No, she didn’t. She left as fast as she came.”

He could feel March eyes on him. He turned to her and was met with a small smirk. He abruptly turned back to the computer.

The sound of feet drumming against the makeshift bridge filled his ears as he ran towards the lift. A cloud of dark mist clouded his vision and a group of monsters appeared through it. The biggest of them reared like a horse and sat its sight in you. You froze beside Dan Heng as the monster lunged for you. Dan Heng’s body was quicker than his mind as he pulled you back by your collar, causing you to lose your footing. His spear blocked the arrow that was sent your way and saved you from your doom. His arms wrapped around you as they prevented your fall. They pulled you closer like a hungry boa and he allowed his nose to be filled with your lovely scent.

“Are you alright?” Dan Heng whispered against your ear. His usually stoic voice was breathy and brimming with a thick mixture of emotions. He could feel your heart beating against his arms. How adorable.

You nodded, your ears bright red. “Yeah, thank you” you whispered back.

He gazed at you for a second, one that felt as it stretched out for eternity, before he snapped back to the monsters.

A mechanical bussing shot down as a drone with razor-like propellers slashed through the beasts. Green blood splattered across the bridge and onto your face. In a blink of an eye he had dragged you across the bridge and into the elevator. As everyone mad e it inside you clutched your stomach. Your skin was pale and your forehead sweaty.

Caelus looked at you with a concerned expression. “Are you good? You look pal-“

He got interrupted by the sound of you spilling out all your lunch on the floor. You mumbled a “I’m so sorry” as you wiped your mouth. Dan Heng wanted to reach out and stroke your back in a comforting manner, but decided against it.

“Never mind hehe…” Caelus scratched neck awkwardly.

March rushed to your side and handed you a mint. “Thanks” you muttered weakly.

The group met up with Himeko and they introduced you and Caelus to her. Dan Heng could tell that she had taken a liking to you and the fact made him happy. As he and the others talked with Asta, he made sure to keep you as close to him as possible. Hopefully you had realised how dangerous the world could be. The good thing was that he could protect you from it, if you let him.

March and Caelus left to talk to the researchers while Dan Zheng and you remained. Himeko and Asta were busy talking to evacuate other’s and left you and him to your own devices you had taken a seat at a Ben h and were twiddling your thumbs as you waited. The action was cute. He had been staring at you for multiple minutes, it he did not care.

“So… Have you guys had any similar experiences?” you broke the silence.

His eyes lit up for a millisecond, before he composed himself. “Yes. Though every journey is different” his word may be few, but his voice was soft.

You nodded “I can imagine. Must be both exciting and scary.”

“Perhaps, though you get used to it” he shrugged. He was silent for a few seconds before he spoke up. “Are you alright? No injuries or something? Even if they’re small you should tell me” a slash of worry distorted his features. If everything were to happen to you he did not know what he might do.

“Im alright” you shook your head. As if you had noticed his raised brow, you added: “No really. I’m fine.”

He left it at that and adverted his gaze to the rest of the space station. Relief flooded his senses and he let out a breath he didn’t know he had held. He decided to ask Himeko if you could join the Express over text. It was obvious to everyone that you weren’t happy working at the space station. If you became a Crew member, he wove able to keep a close eye on you. No harm would ever fall upon you.

Welt Yang’s POV

Welt had lived a long life. He had a lot of different experiences in various areas. He had had a few girlfriends throughout the years and he had loved them. Though he had craved a different type of love, a love that was deep er and more raw. That was not something they could provide to him. He knew love was something that would happen when one least expected it, but he couldn’t help but fantasise about it like a teenager would. It was almost embarrassing how he would longingly look at couples when he was out and about.

When he first saw you hiding behind a vending machine as he neutralised Caelus’s power, a warm fuzzy feeling bloomed in his chest and he knew then and there that he had to make you his.

Welt was standing beside the Express when you and Dan Heng found him. His face lot up at the sight of you and he smiled. “I’m Welt Yang. It’s nice to meet you” he reached out his hand.

“I’m [Name]. It’s nice to met you as well” you shook his hand. Your hand was soft and small compared to his big hand. He didn’t want to let go, but it would be rude to hold your hand any longer.

“I have spoken with Himeko and she invited you to stay on the Express. If you want to, naturally” Dan Heng had asked Himeko if you could stay on the Express, but that was a detail you didn’t need to know. He glanced at Dan Heng as the black haired man nodded in gratitude.

Your eyes widened at his words. “Oh wow.. I hadn’t expected that. Well- I would need to resign from my job and all that. And I would need to bring my stuff- if that’s okay of course” you rambled.

Welt bit his tongue in order to silence his laugh. Your rambling was rather cute. “We can help you” he suggested.

“I would appreciate that” you smiled and his heart skipped a beat. You were like a burning star that brightened up his life.

“Alright, then. I would like to join the Express” you said determined after a short while of silence.

Welt looked at Dan Heng as the two men seemed to come to a silent understanding. From a Yandere to another, it was easy for them to see th effect you had on them. Welt had never imagined to share a Darling, but he didn’t mind sharing you with Dan Heng. Two Yanderes made the chance of any harm happening to you smaller.

[ainaslastnerve]

OMG HI CAN I PLS GET A FIC OF TELEMACHUS X ANTINOUS' YOUNGER SIBLING!READER PLSSS I LOVE THE WAY YOU WRITE HIM

Not Quite Hate

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: In a palace rotting from within, Telemachus and Antinous’ younger sister are enemies bound by tension and fire. After a brutal fight and a quiet, intimate moment, her daring challenge ignites something in him. Now, haunted by her words and drawn to her defiance, Telemachus stands on the brink of change, where hatred begins to blur into something far more dangerous.

Pairing: Antinous' younger sister!Reader x Telemachus

Warnings: none!:3

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The halls of Ithaca’s palace buzzed with opulence and poison—perfumed rot behind gold-washed walls. Tapestries swayed in the draft like ghosts, soaked in the stench of spilled wine and stolen meat. You drifted through it like smoke, Antinous’ younger sister, draped in silk and silence. Born of nobility, forged by fire, you moved like a blade hidden in velvet. Your brother had taught you that gentleness was weakness. Eurymachus reminded you daily why softness died in this place.

And Telemachus?

He was just another boy playing king, wearing his father’s crown in shadow only. Spoiled, sullen, and far too clean for war.

“You could at least try to look grateful,” he muttered one evening, as you crossed the megaron barefoot, the wine-stained floor cool beneath your feet.

You stopped. Turned. Your voice sliced through the din. “Grateful for what? That your halls reek of rotting grapes and my brother’s laughter?”

His jaw clenched. “Your brother is a leech.”

“And you,” you hissed, stepping into his space until the tips of your sandals brushed his, “are a coward. Your father’s bones are still floating in the sea, and you sit here letting wolves piss on his grave.”

The flicker in his eyes—anger, shame, something older—flared like a match. He hated how you stood there, unmoved. Like a queen born wrong. Like Helen, but with venom in your mouth instead of roses.

Antinous rounded a column with a wolfish grin. “Careful, sister. You’ll bruise the prince’s delicate pride.”

Behind him, Eurymachus let out a bark of laughter, half-choked by wine. “Let her. At least one woman in this house has teeth.”

You didn’t flinch. But Telemachus did.

Three days passed. The suitors were still in full glutton. Another shipment of livestock had arrived—stolen from some poor island family—and by midmorning they were already drunk, fingers greasy with fat, mouths slick with lies.

Outside, under a bleeding sun, Telemachus trained like a man possessed. His tunic discarded, fists taped, sweat soaking his chest. He hacked at the straw dummies until his palms bled. His blade slammed into their bellies with punishing rhythm, over and over and over, until straw and rope hung in tatters.

You watched from the edge of the yard, arms folded, a shadow among columns. He noticed you. Of course he did. “Come to mock me again?” he panted, strands of hair clinging to his forehead.

“No,” you said coolly. “I came to see if you still fight like a child.”

He didn’t pause. Just sheathed the blade and strode toward you, eyes burning. “At least I fight,” he snapped. “You just hide behind Antinous, like a snake behind a lion.”

The slap landed before either of you processed it. Loud, echoing off stone. His head jerked to the side. Blood beaded along his cheekbone where your ring had caught.

To his credit, he didn’t hit back. But he didn’t step away either. And then—

Antinous saw. From across the yard. And Antinous didn’t care for anyone touching his sister. Not even the son of Odysseus. He was on Telemachus in three strides. No words. Just a punch that cracked the prince’s jaw sideways, spit and blood flying.

Telemachus reeled, then surged forward with a roar, driving his fist into Antinous’ ribs. The suitor grunted but didn’t go down. They crashed into each other like bulls, fists flying, bones colliding. Telemachus landed a blow to the side of Antinous’ head. Antinous responded by slamming his knee into the prince’s gut, folding him like paper.

No one moved. Neither did the other suitors—most began to gather, goblets in hand, entertained. Eurymachus leaned lazily against a pillar, grinning like a vulture. “Finally,” he muttered. “Something worth watching.”

You didn’t blink. You’d seen worse. Caused worse.

Antinous grabbed Telemachus by the hair and drove his face into the dirt. Telemachus choked, came up spitting blood and sand, eyes wild. He swept Antinous’ legs out from under him, and the two rolled, snarling, into the dust.

“You think you’re a man just because your father was?” Antinous sneered, swinging again. “You’re still that sniveling little shit who cried when Odysseus sailed away!”

That did it.

Telemachus let out a guttural roar and slammed his elbow into Antinous’ nose. A sharp crack followed—a break. Blood poured freely now, thick and dark down Antinous’ lips and chin.

Eurymachus raised his goblet lazily. “Careful, prince. Men like us don’t forget when you draw first blood.”

Even then, you didn’t move. You watched Telemachus rise, chest heaving, knuckles cracked and raw, eyes feral.

That night, you found him slumped against a pillar in the outer hallway, bathed in lamplight. His tunic stuck to his skin with blood and sweat. One eye was nearly swollen shut. His lip split. A smear of dried blood stretched across his neck like a wound someone forgot to clean.

You stepped toward him without a sound.

“I didn’t need you to fight for me,” you said, voice like cool water over coals.

He didn’t look at you. “Didn’t do it for you.”

A beat passed. Then, rough and low: “He crossed a line.”

“So did you,” you murmured. “But you never cared before.”

“I care now.”

That stung. More than you expected. You folded your arms across your chest, silk brushing your skin like armor.

“Why?”

His head turned slowly. His gaze met yours—exhausted, dark, unguarded. “Because every time I see your brother’s face, I remember this was my home first.”

You stepped closer, your perfume sharp and cold like myrrh. “Then take it back.”

The air thickened. His bruises shone dully under the flame of the nearby torch. His chest rose and fell as if each breath hurt. He looked at you again. Really looked. And you didn’t look away.

For the first time, the silence between you wasn’t a weapon..

Later, Telemachus lay in his chamber, the room dim with moonlight. He stared up at the cracked ceiling. The pillow beneath his head was stained red. He couldn’t tell if it was Antinous’ blood or his own. His hand throbbed with every heartbeat.

He should have been thinking about weapons. About tactics. About vengeance.

Instead, he kept replaying the way you looked at him—not with softness, but with challenge.

Like you believed he could be more than what he was. Your words whispered in his mind: “Then take it back.”

He muttered to himself, “What is she doing to me..?”

But your scent lingered on the folds of his memory. Your slap still burned on his skin. The way you moved, so calculated. So dangerous.

You were his enemy.

You were the only one who didn’t pretend he was already a king. And maybe that was why he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Because despite everything… He wasn’t sure he hated you anymore.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

HII IM BACK !! SO SORRYY.. YALL REALLY SEEM TO LIKE MY TELE FICS HUH??? tysm for 27 cuties !! LOVE Y'ALL

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

[merakiui]

Babe hear me out, HEAR ME OUT! MERA! Purge AU with the twisted wonderland boys! Like in this au when purge happens the yandere is legally allowed to kidnapped their darling, by all means necessary(no killing darlings however) and the government notifies the darling a week before the purge happens and darling is allowed to fight back or do whatever hebksvsjsbiasnuekw HEAR ME OUT🥺 Mera!

🐼

:O omg that’s so yummy,,, poor darling. >_< you’re probably so stressed out planning your moves way before the event even happens. There are so many unspoken rules that crop up during that 24-hour period. You can’t trust anyone. You’re on your own. It’s every person for themself. Even your kind neighbor could be colluding with the person who means to kidnap you. You’ve always thought yourself safe from the eyes of any secret admirers, but that hope dwindled away the moment you received the government-approved notice in the mail. :(

By any means necessary. Maybe your yandere wants to personally pay you a visit and take you themselves. Someone like Floyd or Rook who loves the thrill of the chase and will stop at nothing to have you in his arms. Or Jade who adores the way you look over your shoulder, not suspecting a thing while he lurks just close enough to make out the panicked rise and fall of your chest. Or Idia who keeps to the shadows (the comfort of his room), but has hacked security cameras and is texting your phone as an unknown number, telling you just how bad you are at this. It’s almost like a survival game and he’s watching you make all the wrong choices. Cater’s much the same. Stalking you through your phone, sending you little messages and pictures of you taken at all angles that you have to wonder where he really is.

Or a clever yandere like Azul or Jamil or maybe even Kalim who happens to run into you and seems so trustworthy. He’s running from his potential kidnapper, too. What say the two of you team up? There’s strength in numbers, after all! :) but something’s not right… you can feel it in your marrow. This man is not to be trusted, and you’re right to think so when it becomes clear he’s less and less of a victim.

Or a yandere who employs other means to have you to himself. Malleus who sics Sebek and Silver on you, his two most loyal guards. Oh, it must be so terrifying for a magicless, mostly defenseless person to come face to face with two very strong bodyguards, trained in both magic and physical combat. >_< and if you manage to escape them there’s still Lilia, who’s always waiting to pop in and startle you.

Or a yandere who takes a softer approach. Maybe you hurt yourself and here comes kind stranger Riddle, offering you medical help from the very organized first aid kit in his bag. Or Ruggie who offers you a snack because you clearly need it. He gets it; this situation sucks. He’ll sympathize as if he isn’t five seconds away from dragging you off into captivity.

Skully who can finally make good on all of the promises he’s left in his love letters to you, each one that’s gone unanswered. But he knows you’ve read them. You’re just shy and that’s okay. When he comes to whisk you away like a true prince, you’ll understand there’s no need to be nervous. He shall love you forever. <3

[barufisher]

i do think that for me personally. there is no version of taash's storyline that i can get down with except one where they reconnect with their qunari side. my main problem with their arc is that it perpetuates this idea that someone has to "choose" one culture, that they have to turn their back on parts of their identity in order to be the right kind of trans (the white western kind) and all of it just makes me so viscerally uncomfortable. and to be clear this is not me like... trying to make anyone feel bad, there are parts of taash's story that i personally connect with as well, like there is nothing wrong with the way taash does gender in general and there's nothing wrong with it resonating with people. it's when we put it all together in context within the game that it becomes a problem for me.

we know the qun does not have the same ideas around gender as the rest of thedas, we know that their identity, including gender, is connected to their duty. and so it doesn't make sense that taash's mother cares about them wearing dresses. why would she care about that. i'd ask if we've ever even seen any qunari in dresses but i'm pretty sure we've only seen three qunari women total and two of them are in veilguard and are scholars wearing what i personally consider a robe. the third is in trespasser and is ben-hassrath, and is definitely not wearing a dress. if anything, their mother should be concerned about the fact that they fight, since the whole point of leaving for rivain was to avoid taash being designated as a soldier. and to be fair, we get this a Little bit with the fire-breathing. but everything else about shathann's disapproval doesn't make sense in-universe.

and we also already know about the aqun athlok, which shathann even tries to bring up but the game shouts her down because....? i get that shathann is meant to be overbearing and kinda shitty, but this is not the way to do it. all this does is imply that aqun athlok is "wrong" and not as progressive as this other identity that rook has to teach taash about (and that also isnt even specific to rivain, or related to them connecting to their rivaini culture. it's the shadow dragons that teach them all of this along with rook. in general transness and the nonbinary identity are not integrated into the world in any meaningful way which makes it feel even worse). there are various cultures that have their own specific gender identities that do not adhere to the gender binary, and taash should have been given the chance to connect to their own culture in this way. and even if they really wanted to make it so taash just didn’t feel right with aqun athlok, that identity still should have been properly discussed as an option and handled with respect, rather than so carelessly thrown aside as “wrong” (though again not a depiction i would personally like but it would still be better than what we got).

and just. i really disagree with the idea that gender identity under the qun is More Rigid than elsewhere. it’s different, as we know from comments from iron bull and sten-- and we could argue in circles about inconsistencies with the things they say, obviously there have been retcons previously in an attempt to better develop the qunari beyond what we see in origins and da2, but i think this kind of development is a good thing, and is exactly why the regression with taash irritates me so much-- but when we look back at characters like warden tabris, dorian and his father and tevinter's obsession with bloodlines, the entire experience of playing f!hawke in da2 (and also da2 literally has a whole subplot about women being murdered for like 3 years and no one cares. these games just have a misogyny problem lol) and even tarquin in veilguard commenting about how his father forced him into being a soldier because he's a man(!!)-- there is a lot of rigidity, expectations, and violence around gender throughout thedas. but for some reason these rigid gender ideals and a lot of this gendered violence is held up as the status quo and not challenged at all by the writers in the way the qun repeatedly is. the exception being dorian (though you're still incentivized to forgive his father), but a lot of the characters in tevinter-- magisters, templars, the literal black divine-- are still allowed complexities and to be the good guys working with the shadow dragons, a grace not given to any qunari character besides iron bull (who ultimately still has to leave the qun or die later). i’m not trying argue that the qun is perfect and can never be criticized-- i like the flawed characters and societies within dragon age. but the qunari also deserve to be given the same depth, complexities, and engagement as everyone else, too. and it’s worth pointing out that it’s always the qun that’s depicted as backwards for the same harmful “rigidity” every other culture in the game reinforces.

and ultimately with the way the game inserts this very modern, anachronistic, and condescending language in a poor attempt to be as "correct" as possible to "teach" the player, while simultaneously writing such a careless, racist arc about their culture kinda just , makes me feel like they were actually trying to imply that one identity is more correct and progressive than the other. or, if nothing else, it's a bias that got amplified due to their unwillingness or inability to engage with taash's character beyond using them as a mouthpiece for corporate "representation."

there absolutely are people out there that are like taash, who don't necessarily have or want a connection with certain parts of their culture, and maybe they do identify closer with one aspect of it over another. this is all fine! this happens in real life, everyone has different relationships with their identity and heritage, there is no universal experience, and people are allowed to write about their own. but the thing is. this is dragon age. and taash was written by weekes. and both dragon age as a whole and weekes specifically has a repeated pattern of racist writing when it comes to depicting the qunari. and taash's quest along with the way the antaam are portrayed-- faceless, voiceless, basically naked bodies for you to kill-- makes this a series of poor choices that i don't feel generous enough to excuse.

and it sucks. so bad. that this happened. i want to like taash so bad. but.... man.

anyways if you read this far you should read this article, which is far more eloquent than anything i could write and really dives into the whole "civilized versus savage" binary that we see in a lot of fantasy RPGs and is really epitomized in taash's quest-- in dragon age, it's always the qunari and dalish elves versus a (usually white and/or human) andrastian:

[punkinspice]

(progress so far. At least its colored now hehe)

BUT!!!! HEADCANON TIME!!! (under the cut)

What if!!! GUN caught Rouge trying to steal something valuable of theirs, and as punishment, put a permanent, tracker, bracelet on her that also zaps her (like a shock collar) to make sure they keep an eye on her and make her do their dirty work for them.

Meanwhile Shadow is out hunting for his other inhibitor and GUN is trying to get to it before he does, so they send in Rouge to go after it first, all the while telling her how dangerous he is and to be so careful, and it feels like they're sending her out like fodder.

Just as Rouge finds the ring, she gets stopped by a very desperate and mad looking Shadow and tells her to give him the ring to her, that he doesn't want to hurt her, but he'll do what he has to. Meanwhile GUN is screaming in Rouge's ear to return back to them asap. So Rouge has to make a choice, and she chooses to give the ring to Shadow.

The two decide to team team up because they both have beef with GUN. Rouge to get this stupid tracker off of her and get her freedom back, and Shadow to get the answers that he needs and deserves.

Rouge asks Shadow how he intends to get these answers, other than with violence, and tells him that she can help him hack into whatever system he needs. So they infiltrate GUN, teleporting and hijacking their way into everything. Rouge finally gets the key for her tracker from Rockwell, after a little fight, and is free!

Shadow then teleports the both of them into the deepest parts of GUN and Rouge is hacking and bypassing firewalls and codes like its nothing, until they find what Shadow is looking for, and that's when Shadow starts to learn what he might be and where he's from.

They also learn that there are more answers at a secondary more secret GUN base, and Rouge at this point is way to invested in this guy, so she also chooses to go with him there and help him.

After sneaking into the second GUN base, they go deeeeeeep underground, and discover that they're keeping the remnants of the meteorite that had encased Shadow all those years ago. It's also being guarded by a viscous tank of a robot that tries to take them out but Rouge manages to get an override on him and shut him down.

That robot of course being Omega, a robot GUN made using some of the blueprints they took from Robotnik after shutting him down. Omega listens to Rouge and Shadow planning and discussing things, and realizes he also wants to join them.

Besides, Shadow seems to be apart of the same biomaterial of the thing he was programmed to guard so he would still be technically be following out orders. (he's also bored as heck and feels like wasted potential)

so they all 3 team up and maybe end up going to space and fighting aliens, or the aliens come to them WHO KNOWS WHAT COULD HAPPEN NEXT, BUT JUST THINK OF THE POSSIBILITIES

[girl-of-many-fandoms]

Collateral Hearts

Pairing: Captain John Price x oc

Summary: When a brutal attack targets a hospital, ex-military sniper Leah Price is forced out of hiding—and back into the world of covert warfare she left behind. Calling in the only contact she trusts, she crosses paths with her estranged husband, Captain John Price. As bullets fly and buried wounds resurface, Leah must decide if she’s ready to fight not just for survival—but for the man who once let her go.

MASTERLIST

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

🪖🖤🪖🖤 🪖🖤🪖🖤 🪖🖤🪖🖤 🪖🖤🪖🖤 🪖🖤

Leah Price hadn’t fired a weapon in five years.

Not since she and John split. Not since the endless nights filled with waiting, worrying, and watching him choose war over her. She’d buried that part of herself—alongside a gold ring, an old rifle case, and the name she no longer wore on her dog tags.

Now, she went by Leah Carter. Trauma nurse. Quiet. Efficient. Detached. A ghost with a stethoscope.

That was, until tonight.

The hospital had gone eerily silent. Not the sterile, tension-filled quiet she was used to—this was deathly. The power cut out first. Then came the static over the radios. And then—gunfire.

Controlled. Surgical. Too damn precise for a robbery or random violence.

Leah moved fast, ducking beneath the nurse’s station as shadows filled the hallway. Her mind recalibrated in seconds, training kicking in like a reflex. She reached for the supply closet and cracked it open, retrieving the trauma shears, a needle, and her old locker in the basement—an item she’d never thought she’d need again.

Her sniper knife.

A flash of memory burned through her as she wrapped her fingers around it. John’s voice, low and hoarse from a mission: “You’re the best shot I’ve ever seen, Leah. Deadlier than me. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She tucked the blade into her boot, heart steadying.

Someone was hunting her. Not the hospital. Her.

There’s only one person she could turn to for help.

And only one person might know where he was.

She yanked the emergency satellite phone she kept locked away for absolute emergencies. Dialed the one number no one else had.

“Laswell,” came the terse, alert voice.

“It’s Leah,” she said. “I need an exfil.”

There was a pause. Static. Then: “Holy hell. Leah—how the fu—Never mind. I’ve got you. I’ll ping a nearby team. Hold tight. Are you armed?”

Leah glanced at the knife, then at the unconscious security guard’s pistol she’d picked up.

“I am now.”

—————————————————

Somewhere in Eastern Europe, the 141 was midway through a debrief when Laswell’s voice broke through the comms.

“I’ve got a priority exfil request. Hospital in London’s under siege. You’re the closest. Civilian target—code classified. Captain, it’s related to you.”

Price’s head jerked up.

“What did you just say?” he growled.

“I said, this is connected to you, John.”

Gaz frowned. “Since when does Price have civvies callin’ for rescue?”

Soap chuckled. “What’d you do, Cap? Piss off an ex?”

Price’s silence said more than words.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed behind the mask. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Price ran a hand through his beard. “She wasn’t supposed to be in this world anymore.”

“Who?” Gaz pressed.

Price clenched his jaw. “My wife.”

“You’re married?!” Soap nearly choked.

“Estranged,” Price muttered. “And if she’s calling Laswell, it’s worse than we think.”

—————————————————-

Back at the hospital, Leah moved like a ghost through the halls—clearing rooms, tending to survivors when she could, but keeping her focus on survival. Her white scrubs were stained with blood—none of it hers. Yet.

She shot clean, crisp—three men down with stolen sidearms. Tactical gear, insignias stripped. Mercs, or worse.

She hacked into the hospital’s surveillance room, scanning for their breach points, mentally logging escape routes and supply caches. Her breath stayed calm. Her eyes, colder than ice.

She was no longer Nurse Carter.

She was Sergeant Leah Price again—callsign White Rabbit. The one that vanished in the snow before the shot even rang out.

———————————————

141 breached the perimeter 23 minutes after Laswell’s call. The hospital was a warzone. Bodies littered the halls. And at the center of it—

“There,” Ghost said, pointing to a figure crouched near the third floor stairwell, pistol raised.

“Civvie’s armed,” Gaz noted.

“No,” Price muttered, heart thundering. “That’s no civvie.”

He stepped forward, and Leah turned at the sound.

Her gun was up in a second. Then her breath caught.

“John?”

The world seemed to freeze. Fire alarms blared in the background. Glass shattered somewhere far away. But all Price could see was her—bloodied, bruised, still beautiful and alive.

“I thought you were done with this life,” he said hoarsely.

She holstered her weapon slowly. “I was. But they didn’t get the memo.”

“You look good,” he murmured.

She scoffed. “I look like hell.”

Soap, peeking in, whispered to Gaz, “Bloody hell. She’s got balls.”

Ghost snorted. “And she’s better with a sidearm.”

Leah eyed the men warily. “Your new crew?”

“They don’t know about you.”

“Clearly,” she said with a smirk. “Nice to meet you, boys. Thanks for the assist.”

“You had all the fun to yourself, we just got the ones you missed.” Gaz said, wiping the sweat that coated his forehead.

“No surprise there,” Price said dryly, stepping toward her. “We’re getting you out. You’re coming with us.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Not until I know who sent them, they came for me.”

🪖🖤🪖🖤 🪖🖤🪖🖤 🪖🖤🪖🖤 🪖🖤🪖🖤 🪖🖤

Note: thanks for reading everyone. This is my first ever work for COD MW, let me know your thoughts as well as if you’d like to be tagged in future posts to follow Leah and John’s story.

[jyoongim]

Hi!

I really love the outcome of the Prisoner Human Alastor and Police Reader the one i request and i really love the story of it🥹 Thank you so much for making it🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

I have another request :3 (Please do take a rest if you needed)

I would like to request another Human HusbandYander!Alastor x Wife!Reader

Belive it or not Human Form of Alastor is Making Giggle and kicking my feet

The story is about reader finding out that her husband being the killer of the town and try to run away from home but eventually Alastor caught her and fuck her in their bedroom and saying things like Obbsesive person would say.

Like for example "Mon cher, Are you trying to get away~?" "Didnt you said you love me no matter what am i my dear?"

So like i have a breeding kink :>

So alastor is breeding or making her pregnat his belove wife to carry his next geneartion and told the reader "You will never leave my side Cher,you will be taking care of our baby and stuck in this house forever with me~" and maybe some yandere stuff like saying he would cut off Reader feet if reader tries to run again. My english is bad but you can correct my words if anything is wrong with it :<

THANK YOU SO MUCH AND I REALLLLLLLYYYYYY LOVE YOUUURRRRRR WOOOOORRRRKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

MWA MWA🫶🏻

I also have other things in my mind but i will save it for another request 🫶🏻😊

Yandere!husband human Alastor x wife!reader

themes: yandere behavior,  possessiveness, breeding kink, noncon, threats, mentions of pregnancy

Note: I like yandere but have never written it before so I’m sorry if its not your typical crazy obsessive lovesick personality!

———————————————————————————————

You whimpered as the bedroom door rattled. Loud banging made you curl into yourself, hoping the door held.

”Dearest open the door, we can talk about this” a muffled voice said behind the door. 

“N-No! Stay away! I don’t want to talk!” You shouted, frantically packing random clothes in a bag.

Several thuds sounded against the door before it went quiet.

Thud!

Thud!

CRACK!

You froze. Did he just…

”You think I’m gonna let you out this house to tell a soul? Haha my dear don’t be stupid” Alastor hissed as he hacked at the door, the wood splitting open.

You shuffled to the back of the closet, closing the door, listening as the door groaned at his assault.

You heard the lock click and the bedroom swing open.

Alastor huffed, throwing the axe down.

His eyes scanned the room, he knew you were in here.

He walked around slowly, footsteps making the floor creak.

He stopped when he heard something.

Shuffling. It was subtle but he heard it and it was coming from the closet.

You watched as his shadow flitted about the room from the crack at the bottom of the door.

A soft knock made you jolt

”Darlin we can do this the easy way or the hard way and I promise you wont like it. Your choice” his voice brawled, toying with the knob.

You whimpered and pressed yourself against the wall.

The door swung open and everything that followed happened in slow motion.

Alastor covered in scarlet blood, a sharp smile on his face as his eyes narrowed on your shivering form. He growled as he got a hand on you, grunting as your fight or flight kicked in. You tried to kick and claw at him, but your husband was stronger.

“No!No!No! I’m sorry Al! please!please!” You cried as he wrangled you onto your shared bed. He held your hands fast in his as he used his weight to pin you down.

Alastor huffed, finally pining your wrists and lowering his face to yours, his ragged breath fanning over you.

”You never chose the easy way out darlin. I thought I taught you better than that” he said, smiling down at you.

Fear radiated in your eyes as he kissed your plump cheeks, making you flinch when he went to kiss you on the lips.

”A-Al…!” You tried to turn your head away but your husband wasn’t thrown off by your action.

”You vowed to love me no matter what. Thick and thin, for better or worse. You said you’ll love me no matter what my dear. Did you lie before God?” 

You trembled as you watched with wide eyes as he nudged your legs apart, slotting his hips against yours, grinding into your clothed heat.

You tensed as he chuckled “But don’t worry baby you can’t lie to me”

Your lip wobbled “Y-You’re the liar. All those huntin trips, the late nights. You’ve been pickin people off and just coming home like nothin ever happened! You’re sick! A sick bastard with no love for no one” your eyes narrowed angrily as he smiled lovely at you.

”Oooh baby but I do love you, just like how you’ll always love me”

You didn’t grasp the meaning of his words in time as Alastor pulled your panties to the side.

”A-Al n-no don’t don’t please” you tried to close your legs, pushing a free arm against his chest.

Your husband cooed at you as he pushed your thighs apart and lined his cock up against your slit and face contorting as he pushed through the rim of tight muscle.

Your back arched involuntarily as he grinded his hips into yours.

Soft, strained moans left your throat as Alastor slammed his hips down into you. 

Tears rolled down your face as the man, you thought you knew, had his way with you.

Your cunt burned at each thrusts, trying to accommodate the brutal assault leashed upon it.

Thick, scarlet blood clung to you as Alastor covered your body with his, caging you against the bed.

”fuck you always take me so well baby” he whispered down to you, watching you try and squirm away from him. Your pretty big eyes focused on his; they were swollen from tears, fear, betrayal and mistrust swirled in them.

”Ill let you in on a little secret darlin”

His pace picked up as a wicked grin crossed his face

“You ain’t got nowhere to run. Where would you go? Who would you tell huh? You think anyone would believe that I’m the terror of this town? Nooooo baby they wont”  he licked a tear from your cheek as he angled his hips into that sweet spot that always made you melt.

Your toes curled as delicious tingles ran through your body.

”and they’re never gonna know you know why?” A sharp thrust had you biting your lip to contain your moans.

Alastor grabbed your face, mushing your cheeks as he pounded your poor pussy. He let out a soft grunt, nose scrunching “because you’re gonna be my good little housewife and be stuck taking care of house and babies.”

Your eyes widened.

Babies? You’d be damned if you give a murder a child.

You tried to hook your feet into his hips and push, but he wasn’t having it

You started to thrash but that only encouraged him too further bury himself within you, pushing deep as if he wanted to penetrate your very cervix.

”A-Al no! P-please anything but that please! I don’t-Ah! I don’t want a baby” you choked out as your pussy clenched around him

”You’ll look so sweet round with my child. What ya say darlin? Hehe its not like you have a choice anyway.” He snickered.

Harsh thrusts had you jolting as you cried, frantic as your husband forced your orgasm from you.

A loud squeal filled the room as your back arched.

You shook as you cummed around him, sobbing as he worked your sensitive walls.

”That’s a good girl, yeeeessss that right, fuck! Take my cum Take it take it baby” his hips slammed into yours and with a groan his cock twitched before you felt the warm feeling of his cum.

Alastor grinded his hips into yours, riding out both your orgasms.

You panted as you looked at him with glossy eyes.

He smiled softly as he wiped away at your tears.

You tensed as you felt his hips start to move again

He chuckled

”Ill never let you leave darlin, not when you gonna be having my baby”

[youngsadlesbian]

Honey your Morrigan Fics give me life‘! Would you be willing to write injured Reader x Morrigan? Some hurt/fluff with sightly angst but a happy ending nonetheless. Love your work 💗

GOLDEN PROMISES

pairing: mor x reader

summary: after a near-fatal battle injury, you wake to find morrigan at your side, refusing to lose you—no matter what it takes.

a/n: hope you like it <3

word count: 1k

warnings: minor injury but mostly fluff.

The battlefield was chaos.

Blades clashed, magic burned through the air, and the scent of blood and death was suffocating. You barely had a second to breathe before another enemy was upon you, a brute of a male with Illyrian leathers and dead eyes—a traitor who had abandoned Rhysand’s court to fight for the enemy.

You ducked under his blade, twisting just in time to plunge your dagger into his ribs. He choked on a gasp, eyes wide with shock, before crumpling to the ground. But there was no time to think, no time to process.

Because you heard Cassian roar your name.

You barely turned before a wave of magic slammed into you.

Your world turned white with pain. It was like being hit with a battering ram, the force of the blast lifting you off your feet and sending you flying straight into a pile of shattered stone.

Something cracked. You weren’t sure if it was the rock or your ribs.

You tried to move, to push yourself up, but a sharp, agonizing pain burned through your side, knocking the breath from your lungs. Too much. Too fast.

The battlefield blurred—figures moving, shadows shifting. You thought you saw Azriel’s siphons blazing, Cassian hacking through enemies like a storm of steel and fury, and Rhysand’s power consuming a row of soldiers in a wall of endless darkness.

And then—gold.

A flash of golden hair, of sunlight cutting through the carnage.

Morrigan.

You didn’t know if you whispered her name, but you felt her magic reach for you, like a familiar touch wrapping around your skin.

And then, everything went dark.

\*/

The pain came first.

A deep, pulsing ache spread through your body, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Your mind was sluggish, struggling to piece together what had happened. The last thing you remembered was the battlefield, the blast, Mor’s golden hair—

Now, you were waking up somewhere warm.

Soft sheets. A plush mattress beneath you. The scent of something sweet—vanilla and citrus—lingering in the air. Morrigan.

“You’re awake.”

The voice was quiet, but full of relief.

Slowly, you forced your heavy eyelids open. And there she was.

Morrigan sat at your bedside, golden curls spilling over her shoulders, her brows furrowed with something that looked too close to fear.

You tried to push yourself up, but pain flared hot in your ribs.

“Don’t,” Mor said instantly, her hands on your shoulders before you could protest. “You need to rest.”

You groaned, flopping back against the pillows. “Did we…win?”

Mor glared. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

You attempted a weak smirk. “So… yes?”

She huffed, rolling her eyes, but you caught the way her hands trembled slightly as she pulled back.

“What happened?” you asked, voice hoarse.

Mor exhaled sharply. “You almost died, that’s what happened.”

You blinked.

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, but her golden eyes never left you. “You took a direct hit from magic. When I found you, you were barely breathing.”

“I’ve had worse.”

Wrong thing to say.

Mor’s expression darkened, and her voice was quiet, but sharp as a blade. “Don’t you dare joke about that.”

Silence.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the situation.

Someone had cleaned you up, dressed your wounds, wrapped your ribs with expert care. Your leathers were gone, replaced by a soft, oversized shirt that smelled faintly of Mor’s perfume.

Your eyes flicked back to her.

She caught your look and rolled her eyes again. “Don’t make it weird. You were bleeding all over yourself, I wasn’t going to let you sleep in that mess.”

A chuckle slipped from you—bad idea. It made your ribs protest painfully, and you grimaced.

That worry in Mor’s face was back in an instant.

“I’m fine,” you tried.

She scoffed. “You were unconscious for almost two days.”

Before you could respond, the door creaked open.

“Ah, finally awake?”

Cassian.

The General of the Night Court strolled into the room with his usual easy swagger, but there was something softer in his gaze when he looked at you. Concern.

Behind him, Azriel followed silently, shadows curling around his shoulders.

“I see Mor has been hovering,” Cassian mused, smirking.

Mor whipped around. “I have not been—”

Cassian raised a brow.

Mor scowled but didn’t argue.

Azriel sighed, stepping forward. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a mountain,” you muttered.

Cassian snorted. “Close enough. You took a serious hit out there.” His expression turned more serious. “You scared us.”

You swallowed. You weren’t used to people caring like this.

Mor’s golden eyes shined with something unreadable.

“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Azriel said simply.

You nodded, still a little dazed from all the attention. This wasn’t just relief. This was genuine fear that they had almost lost you.

Rhysand and Feyre appeared in the doorway next, the High Lord and Lady looking equally relieved. Feyre smiled softly, arms crossed. “Don’t do that again.”

“I’ll try my best,” you joked.

Rhysand smirked. “Good.”

You met Mor’s gaze again. She was still watching you like she hadn’t let herself breathe until she saw you awake.

Cassian clapped a hand on your shoulder, careful of your injuries. “We’ll let you rest. But don’t think we won’t be keeping an eye on you.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

As they all trickled out, Mor hesitated. She didn’t move.

Silence stretched between you.

Then, softly—“I can’t lose you.”

Your heart stopped.

For a moment, the pain didn’t matter. The battle, the bruises, the aching bones—none of it mattered.

Because Morrigan—the Morrigan—was afraid of losing you.

Slowly, carefully, you reached for her hand. “You won’t,” you promised.

Mor swallowed hard, her golden eyes shining in the candlelight. And then, with a small, tired sigh, she finally let herself relax.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

You smirked. “And yet, you love me.”

She huffed a soft laugh, but didn’t deny it.

Instead, she squeezed your hand once more before shifting onto the bed beside you, curling up next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Go to sleep,” she murmured.

You smiled, letting your eyes drift shut.

You were safe. You were home.

And with Mor beside you, you knew everything would be okay.

[alalaya2]

Tim Drakes Sleep Habits Save The Earth

13 Finally in the Base

Willam briskly walked to the front door, he didn’t run as running brings the wrong sort of attention. He nodded at a few coworkers he passed on his way but didn’t stop to talk like he would normally. It was the most stressful walk to the front gate he had ever done. The base was the main headquarters for the GIW it was also the largest with 13 basements and 3 stories high the Security office was in the middle of the ground floor with a back up security office on sub floor 4 if Ghost ever attacked and the base was compromised. It was important to get to the Heros before they broke any of the outside door. That would start a lockdown sequence and while he had no doubt that he would be able to hack in and disengage the…

Something in the air shifted and he Ducked in time for a Wingding to go flying over his head. Doing a half roll he sprung up to fight to come face to face to an angry Nightwing. Seeing that the heroes were already in the building he spread out his hands in surrender. Seeing Nightwing ready to pounce on him he started to talk fast.

“If you’re here for Phantom he is in sub level 7, room 713. The other Ghosts are on sub levels 6,8, and 9. Sub Level 10 is for chemical analysis they will not keep Ghosts there. 5 is for organic experiments but the main Doctor is out of town so there shouldn’t be anyone there. Sub level 4 is where you will need your Hackers as that is where the back up security hub is at and where the nastiest security systems can be activated. Sub level 1, 2, and 3 are technology and weapon development and testing. Leve 1 is where the main security office is Frank is there and will help any of you get in and level 2 and 3 are Offices.” Willam took a deep breath as he somehow managed to get that all out without pausing.

Nightwing blinked, not that anyone saw it with his mask, if he didn’t grow up with speedsters, he might have had some trouble understanding everything the agent had just told him. “O, did you get everything he said?”

“It checks form what I was able to access some files are giving me some trouble, so I didn’t know the exact room Phantom was in.”

William fidgeted a little. He knew that Nightwing was talking to Oracle as he had heard about her work before he figured it would be better to explain why he was helping now before he was asked. “My Babby was in Auschwitz she told us what happened to her and my family. Once me and Frank realized what was going on we started to help in small ways to keep the ghost safe.”

“That was one of the worst things I have ever seen in the world of man. It puts my mind at easy to see that the world of man is learning from the past” said Wonder Woman

William nearly had a heart attack as he spun around. He had not seen nor hear Wonder Woman and a woman with black feathers sneak up behind him. For a Large woman she was surprisingly quiet on her feet “My Babby spoke Highly of you, she even met you when you helped free the camp her name was Ruth Goldberg.”

“Toots, she still lives?” Wonder Woman exclaimed a little surprised.

“Yes, and if I didn’t help you, I would never be able to look her in the eye again.”

“Do you have a key card to the power grid?” asked Nightwing.

“Yes, but you would do better getting into the secondary security hub first to cut the power if you use the main one it will work for about ten minutes then activate the more fatal measures.”

Nightwing looked at something over Williams Sholder “You got all that RR?”

For the third time William was nearly startled into an early grave as Red Robin appeared out of the little shadows in the corner of the hallway. “I’ve got it if you would mind taking me to the secondary hub your friend Frank helped me upload a Program to open all the doors.”

“How the Hell did you all get in here so fast?”

“Speedsters” all the heroes said at once.

“Everyone huddles around me. They didn’t make the floors and walls outside the cells phase proof, so I’ll be acting as an elevator and even if they had they have yet to come up with a way to stop Death.” Morrigan gave a toothy smile as she grabbed Willams shirt as the others huddled around her not letting him really think about what she had said meant.

While The infiltration Crew was heading down to Sub level 4 and 7, the others were getting into place avoiding cameras and knocking out any agent they accosted. They were waiting for the, all clear signal for the security to be taken down before going all out, nobody wanted to deal with potential hostages. Hence why they were being slightly cautious with their initial attack.

There was a sight crackling of an intercom turning on. “This is Red Robin from the Justice Leage you are breaking Interplanetary Law you have 1 Minute to surrender before you will be taken in for questioning. Those that do not surrender will be taken in with extreme precedence, this will be your only warning.

Fright Knight looked at his sister “Your young Knight works as fast as Pharo Tucker impressive.”

Lady Gotham preened “My Knights are the best in their chosen fields.”

“Minute is up if you haven’t surrendered you asked for it. JL, Lanterns, and people of the realms you are free to commence.” Red Robin turned off the power.

The Heroes attacked, it was one of the most brutal fights the JL had been in without it being an active invasion. Many of the heroes had helped get the Meta protection acts to pass and several of the treaties that allowed Earth to participate in Galactic politics and trade this was a slap in the face for everything they had done. Not to mention the fact they were torturing a child king somewhere in this building. A lot of the heroes were spitting mad.

The Agents who had not surrendered were lucky if it was just one bone that was broken, and some might have said that death would have been kinder but in this case they wouldn’t. Death was just as mad at them as the living for what they had done.

Morrigan, after dropping off Red Robin and William too get control or the security room and Wonder Woman to Guard them started to head to sub floor 7. They were able to get to level 5 but was not able to go intangible past level 6. The GIW were morons but some of them did have brain cells to rub together sometimes. The Elevator was shut down so, the stairs it was and of course 713 was on the opposite side from the stairs. It gave her a chance to use her blackthorn shillelagh on the deserving agents at they got in her way to her family out or all the people on this rescue raid she was the only one with enough strength and bonds to summon Frostbite and Clockwork to Phantom once they are able to get in the room.

Nightwing looked like he was Flying as he danced around the halls using his escrima stick to get any agent that dared to try and get back up after one of her hits. “I thought Death used a scythe.”

Morrigan shifted to doge a blast “I do but I’m trying not to kill them. Phantom will have to deal with the paperwork of me taking souls before they are meant to move on, and I am meant to be kind. These morons will not be getting any kindness from me anytime soon for life makes you suffer.” She emetized this point by breaking an agent’s femur before knocking them out.

“Come on we are almost at his room” Nightwing pointed at the room number reading 711.

The distraction cost them as a bolt hit Morrigan in the hip taking a good chunk out of her leg and torso. Her scream was like a banshee’s scream nocking out the men in from of her. She Growled in pain “That’s it no more nice Death!”

“Mamó!” Nightwing exclaimed rushing over to her side taking out a med kit to try and patch the bleeding. It was then that he noticed the sound he looked around trying to find the source of the sound of wings. It was different than the sound of the bats in the cave but whatever was making the noise there was a lot of them. The caws of crows started a few moments after the sound of flapping wings.

Morrigan form started to warp. There were millions of black feathers, teeth, claws, a few to many eyes and skeletal/ feathered hands. Nightwing knew enough about gods to know not to look at their true form turning his head to look at her from the corner of his eye. One of the many feathered hands grabbed him as he tried to resume first aid. “Leave it I’ll heal soon and we need to secure Phantoms room he needs one of his Fraid or extended Fraid with him as soon as possible. It will take more than a shot to Kill Death. My Crows will get the rest of them”

“Are you okay to be moved?”

Morrigan snorted “Of course I can move” and to prove a point she shifted taking Nightwings hand to get up getting herself into a more mortal friendly form and hobbled forward to the room. The blackthorn shillelagh shifted into the scythe Nightwing had been asking about not even 15 minutes earlier. Agent O and K were in the room with Danny, and they were going to be facing the courts of the Dead before the day was out.

Walking up to the only close door on this floor Morrigan Braced herself as she kicked the door down balancing herself on a half regenerating hip. It was not a pleasant sensation, but she knew Nightwing would not have been able to get the reinforced door down. He was still a baby Liminal and most of his developing gifts went to flight and flexibility. Unlike his younger brother Jason who was developing durability and superhuman strength.

With a slight grunt of pain as her foot connected and opened the door Nightwing threw a smoke bomb in once the door opened. Letting her feathers form a parody of a short cloak she stepped into the room scythe gleaming in the light and smoke. “Kevin Mark Borden and Oscar Adams you have committed crimes agents Death and Time you will not escape from me!”

Oscar tried to shoot her but, she was expecting it using the flat of the scythe they deflected the blast back to them. It ended up hitting Kevin causing a burn on his suit and arm. Most GIW had been around ectoplasm enough to start to develop as Liminal meaning that not only had they committed a crime on the family of the endless they had also committed treason on their tentative statice as a member of the infinite realms. Taking two daggers from her pocket and threw them at them, they had a similar curse on them as the Soul Shredder except instead of the nightmare realm they would be sent to the dungeons of the Kings keep.

They vanished as the knifes hit their center mass Nightwing made a sound of distress. “Don’t worry I didn’t kill them I sent to a cell to await trial.”

“You had those this entire time and didn’t use them?”

“I have a limited supplies and they deserved it” Morrigan shouted over her shoulder as she raced over to Danny. She hissed as the shackles burned her as she tried to free him. “Nightwing I need you to get this off him they are hurting him and I can’t get them off myself.”

Nightwing ran over to the table taking the lock-pick out of his belt and started to open the shackles and muzzle. “Hey Kid just hang on we will have you out in a few.”

Morrigan watches this and talks into her coms “we have the kings room secure let us know when we’re in the clear to get the retrieval team in.”

Previous, A03, Next

[nikoofdeath]

The justice hall

Papyrus ans flowey from skeleswitch fight. Only happens if one kills only sans / other wingding clan members and no one else.

Below is a short story for this

Skeleswitch run 20, true neutral, no more Heirs. Objective? Kill sans, Papyrus ans flowey.

The sun dipped behind the sharp peak of mount Ebott, casting long ominous shadows across the small settlement.

Warm rays still touch the stained glass of the long decorative halls of the castle. Monsters have been in this valley for almost 40+ years, more than enough time to build cottages, castles and towers to keep the monster kind safe from the demons within and the humans beyond the deep dark woods tangling around the valley.

Least that was true till about 3 years ago.

Six humans. Six human children. Came and started killing monsters of a blind frenzy.

Nothing like the king and queens fallen down child. No..these children were unnatural.

How could humanity do this to their own youth? Their powers were wrought through pain, they were living weapons.

Still, Queen Toriel had tried to reason with her husband, but rumor has it the two have started sleeping in separate wings. Though dont tell anyone I told you that.

But all that was a distant thought as the seventh human stood in front of Papyrus.

He didn't know if he should believe the flower at first, when they came claiming Sans had died. But when he had summoned her Gaster blaster and saw how it was..melting. He knew it had to be true. . .

Finding her bandana was the icing on the painful cake.

Now he stood in the very halls he and she used to play with Asriel, Chara, Alphys and Undyne.

No other monsters have died, only those of his ex clan…only those bearing the mark of the wingding clan. So this was personal, this was his fathers doing no doubt, so why bother Undyne or the king with this..

If she heard he was doing this she would call him insane, tell him to stop. If he told Asgore he'd rally the other guards and come to his aid, eye for an eye.

But no, he had to do this, alone- well, mostly. The flower from before claiming to be not only the long fallen Crown prince Asriel but also his sibling Chara Dreamurr had insisted on joining.

Papyrus wasn't sure if he believed them, but they acted alot like the two childhood friends he knew. All the same edge and chaos. It was almost soothing fighting side by side with them, even if they were delusional.

The petals were shades of red green and gold, their vines were long with yellow thorns and clear cuts and damage to them. Torn wilted leaves cling to its stem as the flower fights to live.

Flowey, was what it called itself now. The body of the two spirits it hosts.

Markings of stars sit on its open face. Much like the prince and eyes with fire and determination Like the human.

A dirty spirit and crude tongue of speech. Loud and loyal.

“Human..frisk was it?” Papyrus spoke first, his hand over a transparent command box. Orange glows around his fingers as he types and copies commands out.

He's gotten fast at this in his 15 or so years of having the ability, you had to be to keep up the facade of it being magic and not a little..quirk.

His head was held high but a shadow covered his face. He had his sister's bandanna tied to his arm, and has taken off the cloth that normally covers his cracked broken eye.

Both sockets glowed expectedly as he tried to see just how cruel this human was. Were they loud like the justice soul, or more patient and quiet.

His eyes flick up from the box as the human steps into the light.

Slow, silent, deliberate. Their hand over a box simpler then Papyrus but still of the same nature..it read a simple “execute command” upon it. They were waiting to strike.

They are small, unassuming. Their hair is brown and hacked into a sloppy haircut as if they did it themselves with the long chipped sword they carry.

Eyes shut as if to remain blind to the evils and good they may or may not do. A long sheer scarf lays over their shoulders the same color of gaster's magic. Which only intrigues the skeleton, and makes it easy to assume even more this was a personal attack. His father had done something. And for his father's shadow he must suffer.

The dust of his sister remains on their short sleeve tunic, standing out pure white with flakes of blue magic against the purple fabric. Old brown blood stains the sleeves of the shirt and around badges that bind their torso and arms.

Mud and dirt cling to their pants as if they've fallen a few times in trying to get here.

The hall was washed in pale gold light, the stained glass depicted their Gods, the reaper, the life giver, the trickster, the muse, the historian, and Papyrus personal choice of deity the black smith. Each one had their eyes on the fight, the eyes of which seemed to glow with the setting sun.

Life resembled the queen, it was who she was named after. The trickster was a fea monster with skeleton feasted and a canine form, goddess of hunt and tricksters. The historian had many forms, but was depicted like titans of old in this stained glass. The muse looked most like the dogs and tummies who run around, an artist, writer and music God. And finally, the blacksmith. Tall, shrouded In a dark hood. The last of the old gods but first in the new age. The Alpha and omega. Long, boney tail, repressed with red and black. Chains woven into the stained glass design. A silent God. for craftsmen and fighters, for those demanding respect.

There were other gods, yes, but these were the ones this wing honored.

The pillars of the hall were made of old beige stone and wrapped in green and gold vines.

Some vines from the flower mix in, but he doesn't dare disturb the altars below the stained glass, the long dripping wax pooling below was sacred. Even the twin souled flower knew better than to disrespect the gods.

Large candle chandeliers loom above twisting designs to look like wings and flowers with chains glittering in glass links. Waiting to be lit by the Queen and kings fire magic. Each candle had a different color wick due to the young prince's fascination with alchemy.

The distant sound of a violin echoes through the halls,a faint and dull, playing faint tunes from SANS and a trousle of bones starts to grow as Papyrus thinks of his sister. Music was deeply intertwined with the soul, with the mind. If one was smart they could read any monster or human just by ear..

Slowly the tune for final joins in as a small flower claws its way from the worn tiles. Getting cut in the process they shake themselves off a look of rage in their eyes.

“You Fu**ed up!” the more feminine voice laughs as vines shoot up closing the exits. And the flower leans their head back to cackle.

“Prepare to die!” A more mask spoke when they leaned forward to shake their head shrugging their leaves as if they were arms.

The human was unphased. Not moving other then to glance back, glance at the stained glass, then back to Papyrus who stands at the ready.

“Why, why did you kill her? She did nothing” Papyrus stepped forward. His armor clinks as he moves. The grip on his broken bone staff tightens. “She was INNOCENT!”

He sent the command he had been typing and two Gaster Blasters spawn in.

One was a pure white with pale blue markings of stars and moons, it had spine parts fading and dusting. It's maim head was melting as it cried magic tears. Horns curled back and dipped as it looked with scared betrayed eyes.

The other was nothing but rage. Darker more stained bone, bright pink and blue markings with a broken horn. The darker blaster lowers itself to allow flowey to climb on and wrap itself around it.

The flower as it's lofted summons a shower of friendliness pellets as the two co take over with a deep dark grin.

They will do what they can to avenge their friend.

“Got nothing to say? Very well then. Tonight, justice shall be served even if I die trying!” Papyrus steps back looking at what once was his sister's blaster, a sad look flickers on his face as he pet it one last time.

He turns quickly and takes a swing as the blasters fire.

And then, only then did the human leap to attack. . .

[icrypop]

hey!!!!! Its me again!!! Wanted to ask for a reader who acts like art the clown from terrifier w/ Yan sbg cuz I just watched the 3rd one at the movie theater, basically reader is just autistic asf and doesn't rlly talk, they can they just don't, and they also kill the phantoms in extreme gruesome wnd sadistic ways, also instead of laughing at the phantoms normally while she tortures and kills them she acts like a mime and does the action of laughing or being surprised( Art the clown does this too) reader also draws extremely disturbing pictures of hacked and mutilated dead bodies, (+ Yan parents and maverick too, if you can><) also reader is pretty much frickin immortal, just like Art, if y don't know who art the clown is just search him up bur I'll put in a pic of him for u!

Hope this helps! I understand of u can't do it tho!

TERRIFYER READER x YANDERE SBG

SBG Gang and parents, ft. Maverick

Warnings:

TEHE okay I had to get some help from a friend who's seen them all so I hope I did this request justice :') ANYWAY, working through requests, im sorry it's taken so long, life got crazy and I forgot I had tumblr for a hot minute.... Requests will be getting answered, thank you guys for the paitence <3

-Writer Icy♡

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

Reader's Traits:

Non-verbal communication: Reader rarely talks, preferring exaggerated mime-like actions to express themselves, mimicking laughter or shock in eerie, exaggerated gestures.

- Phantom Slayer: Reader kills phantoms in gruesome, sadistic ways—severing limbs, performing mock surgeries, or creating scenes reminiscent of horror artwork.

- Artistic Outlet: Reader draws grotesque depictions of mutilation and death in their sketchbooks, which both fascinate and horrify those around them.

- Immortality: Reader sustains grievous injuries but never seems to succumb to them, making them an unstoppable force in the Phantom realm.

- Dual Persona: In the real world, Reader is quiet, strange, and intensely focused on their art, drawing people in with their mysterious aura.

---

Yandere Gang's Reactions:

Ashlynn:

- Protective Fascination: Ashlynn is utterly entranced by your unpredictability and your silent demeanor. Your artistic abilities, though morbid, make her feel like she’s the only one who truly “gets” you.

- Defense Mode: She often steps in to explain your behavior to others, shielding you from criticism or fear, even as she secretly revels in how unsettling you are to everyone but her.

> Snippet:

Ashlynn knelt beside you as you sketched yet another grotesque image of a dismembered phantom, her eyes flicking between the page and your blank expression.  

“You’re incredible, you know that?” she murmured. “Keep drawing, I wanna see it when you're done.”  

When you mimed a theatrical bow in response and nodded, she chuckled softly, her fingers brushing against yours. “Don’t ever change.”

---

Tyler:

- Adoration Bordering on Obsession: Tyler is captivated by your silent strength. He finds your phantom-slaying methods disturbingly beautiful and sees you as a perfect partner in their fight to survive.

- Jealousy: He can’t stand the thought of others being drawn to your mysterious charm and often positions himself as your shadow, claiming to be your protector.

> Snippet:  

Tyler watched, spellbound, as you silently mimed cutting your throat in response to a phantom’s attack, then dismembered it with terrifying efficiency. When it was over, he approached cautiously, placing a hand on your shoulder.  

“What a badass,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Your just lucky no one’s scared of you” 

---

Taylor:

- Playful Curiosity: Taylor adores your eccentricity and miming antics, treating you like a puzzle she’s determined to figure out. Your gruesome kills intrigue her more than they scare her.  

- Defender in Public: Taylor is quick to defend you when others question your drawings or your unsettling behavior, even if it sometimes unnerves her too.

> Snippet:  

“Seriously, this is brilliant,” Taylor said, holding up one of your sketches. “I mean, yeah, it’s creepy as hell, but… who else could think this up?”  

When you pantomimed shock, holding your hands to your cheeks, she burst out laughing. “See? Like, c’mon not even horror producers can make this like they do!” She giggled as you pretended to blush, blowing a playful kiss before going back so scribbling intestines strewn across the page.

---

Aiden:

- Unsettling Connection: Aiden is the only one who truly matches your darker energy. He’s both disturbed and enamored by your methods, seeing you as someone who understands the chaos within him. You both enjoy shredding through phantoms and smiling like little maniacs. You’ve gotten a couple frightened looks from Logan from time to time.

- Possessiveness: Aiden doesn’t let anyone get too close to you, guarding you like a treasure he’s unwilling to share.

> Snippet:  

Aiden leaned against the wall, watching as you silently dismembered another phantom with surgical precision. “You’re terrifying,” he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk.  

When you mimed laughter, he stepped closer, brushing a hand against your arm. “Terrifying… and mine.”

---

Ben:

- Unwavering Devotion: Ben is your biggest cheerleader, seeing your quiet nature and violent tendencies as proof of your uniqueness. He’s completely enthralled by your duality—terrifying in the Phantom realm but calm and composed in the real world.

- Silent Support: He doesn’t question your methods or your art, instead offering quiet comfort and encouragement whenever you seem withdrawn.

> Snippet:

“You’re talented.” Ben wrote, flipping the notebook around as he watched you finish off another phantom. You glanced up, halting you’re movements to dismember the phantom slowly. When you mimed a shy smile, he grinned back and scribbled down a quick and messy, “You’re crazy and talented.”

---

Logan:

- Controlled Admiration: Logan respects your abilities and your artistic mind but worries about how far you might go. He’s fiercely protective and always keeps a watchful eye on you, even when he struggles to understand you.

- Conflict: He occasionally clashes with the others about your well-being, insisting that they need to help you find balance rather than enable your darkest tendencies.

> Snippet:

Logan stood over your shoulder, peeking at your latest sketch, his jaw tight. “It’s amazing, but… is this really what you want to focus on?”  

You tilted your head, miming a shrug before turning back to your work. His hand rested on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “Just don’t lose yourself in all this, okay?”

---

Parents' Reactions:

- Adoration for Reader’s Unique Skills: 

  The parents are endlessly impressed by your unmatched ability to deal with phantoms. They view your gruesome methods as a necessary evil, marveling at how you can handle what no one else can.  

- Hyper-Protectiveness:

  They grow obsessively protective of you, taking every precaution to ensure your safety both in the real world and the Phantom realm. They may even suggest or enforce stricter boundaries on your interactions with others, including the gang, to maintain control over your safety.  

They are fiercely protective of your unique abilities, often stepping in to defend you from others who might criticize or misunderstand you.  

- Justification of Behavior:

  They believe your artistic depictions and sadistic tendencies are simply a reflection of your brilliance and the trauma of the Phantom world. They see it as a necessary outlet and refuse to allow anyone, even the gang, to question or judge you for it.  

They see your quiet demeanor and gruesome art as a sign of depth and creativity, choosing to support you unconditionally.  

- Direct Involvement: 

  The parents actively support your behavior, providing you with tools, materials, and even strategies for taking down phantoms. They may also subtly manipulate the gang, ensuring that their focus stays on protecting you rather than trying to "fix" you.  

- Fear of Losing You:

  Seeing how much danger you put yourself in while fighting phantoms, they secretly harbor a deep fear of losing you. This fear often manifests in obsessive planning to keep you safe, including discussing ways to trap you in the real world or even the Phantom realm to monitor you closely.  

---

### **Specific Opinions:**  

- Admiration Cloaked in Denial:

  Your parents admire your strength and efficiency, but they rationalize your sadistic tendencies as a coping mechanism rather than addressing it. They refuse to see you as anything but perfect.  

- Pride in Your Independence: 

  They often express pride in your independence and ability to protect yourself, even as they secretly plot ways to make you more reliant on them emotionally and physically. 

---

Your parents’ actions and opinions fuel the already intense dynamic with the gang, creating a volatile environment where everyone is vying for your attention and control while claiming it’s all for your safety and well-being.  

Maverick:

- Maverick is intrigued and slightly unnerved by your behavior but ultimately respects you as an ally. He’s in awe of your ability to keep the phantoms at bay and often seeks your advice on survival tactics to which you do your best to show all the while silently laughing when he falls on his ass a couple of times. It’s an…experience to say the least.

---

Your sadistic, efficient methods make you a key player in the group’s survival. The gang grows more and more dependent on you, their possessiveness increasing with every phantom you kill. In their eyes, you’re their protector, their artist, and their soulmate all in one. Nothing—not even death itself—will take you away from them. 

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you know of games where acquired 'detriments' (such as scars and traumas) give players unique benefits rather than being seen as strictly detrimental?

Preferably ones where its not just "Get a bonus when this causes a problem"

Theme: Helpful Detriments

Hello there, I had a question similar to this back in 2023, so I’m going to redirect you to my Curses recommendation post first, because there might be something there that fits what you’re looking for. Then we can top off that list with a few more!

When I think of this kind of thing, I think of three categories: horror, the paranormal, and cyberpunk.

External Containment Bureau, by Mythic Gazetteer.

External Containment Bureau is a game of paranormal investigation and bureaucracy using a lightweight, hackable version of the Forged in the Dark design framework. You play as trained agents of the External Containment Bureau, an organization tasked with the study, identification, and containment of paranormal phenomena.

The Bureau authorizes agents to make use of these phenomena to give yourself incredible powers (so long as the proper forms are in order). But take care: using paranormal energies inches you ever closer to joining the ranks of the paranormal yourself. Will you transcend humanity in the line of duty? Play to find out.

ECB gives your characters special paranormal powers during the course of play, and whenever you take enough resonance (ECB’s Stress mechanic) you mark another one. Your character can take up to 3 powers before things get tricky: mark enough resonance to get your 4th power and you are no longer a playable character - you get promoted, demoted, or transcend past mundane existence. If you were to hack this system, I think you could flavor these powers and abilities to make them feel more like curses - in fact, I think Congregation, by DM Rawlings, does something like this.

Urban Shadows, by Magpie Games.

The streets bleed shadows as the supernatural politics of the city threaten to swallow you whole. Will you die a hero—a savior for those who have never had enough—or live long enough to become the villain? Will you fight the darkness…or give in for power?

The choice is yours. 

In Urban Shadows, your characters are constantly wrestling with the opportunity to be really shitty people in exchange for Corruption. Each character has a special move that entices them, such as the Spectre’a move “witness a scene and do nothing” - which gives you corruption. Mark enough corruption, and you get more powerful - like the Spectre’s Telekinesis ability.

Of course, the more Corruption moves you have, the faster you take corruption, and once you’ve maxed out your Corruption limit - well, your character isn’t really a hero anymore, are they? (Which is why the GM gets control of them, and you make a new character.)

The link above is for the 1st edition. The 2nd Edition Quickstart is a teaser of what's coming soon.

Heart: The City Beneath, by Rowan, Rook & Decard.

Heart: The City Beneath is a complete tabletop roleplaying game about delving into a nightmare undercity that will give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of – or kill you in the process.

It is a dungeon-crawling, story-forward tabletop RPG from the designers of Spire that focuses on what characters have to lose in pursuit of their dreams in the chaotic darkness beneath the world.

Heart is known for many things: its juicy setting, its utilization of the classic dungeon crawl, its body horror… but the horrifically gorgeous descriptions of the characters are what we’re here for. Watch your characters slowly hollow themselves out and give themselves over to whatever dark power has given them unique abilities. These characters will get more and more powerful… until they reach the final session, where everyone goes out in a big blazing, gory mess.

The Fallout system also gives the GM a chance to give characters interesting trauma and wounds, but they also could help generate interesting Beats that players want to work toward in order to level up. I think mechanically, this recommendation might have a loose connection to what you’re looking for, but thematically it might still be close.

Doll.Bod, by curatrix-ribston.

In a City of neon lights and shimmering pools of acid rain, the world ends a little each day. Hunger and sickness walk the streets like the ripper in the tales of old, taking those that the system casts aside. 

There is a way out. When you've got nothing else, you can always mortgage your body. The corpos have use for an object's flesh, for those they can augment without having to care for those pesky regulations. They're just playing with dolls really.

Dolls that they send on the jobs you can't actually send your employees on. They're not comitting crimes, just making creative use of their property.

That's what you are now. Their property. Maybe, with time, you can be something else entirely.

Let’s talk about Doll.Bod.

You are really cool cyborgs, with really deadly abilities and useful skills. You each have special abilities like the Razor-grrl’s skin razors that can cut at the slightest touch, or the Seamful, whose blood can heal herself every time she gets hit. The catch is: you don’t have control of your body. Your body has been sold, and the corporation that bought it is using it as they please. In play, this is often represented by other players at the table making decisions for you about what your character does - with safety tools in place, of course.

Not only that, your own special abilities harm your character in certain ways - for instance, The Razor-grrl can’t engage in physical intimacy with anyone, because she’s likely to hurt them, while the Gargoyle can’t turn her eyes off - until they short out, that is.

Other Games I Talk About Ad Nauseum...

Apocalypse Keys has a Ruin track similar to that of Urban Shadows, giving your characters more and more powerful abilities that encourage their descent into monstrosity, constantly pushing them towards ending the world. It’s not necessarily a bad thing either - sometimes the more satisfying outcome is tearing down the whole organization and rebuilding anew.

Those of Us Who Know Better has superheroes whose power always comes at a cost. In one way, you could see this as a detriment with a bonus (having to do certain things to get access to special powers) although I acknowledge that it might be a bit of a stretch.

Numenera has a lot of random mutations that can happen to you if you choose to use the random tables at the back of Destiny, and the Rusthaven expansion has some other abilities that come with both benefits and setbacks.

[theender36]

I got some thoughts on Sonic 3 that I wanna talk about so

⚠️ Spoilers for the movie Sonic the Hedgehog 3 (2024) ⚠️

Love that the riff from Live and Learn is used as a leitmotif for Shadow but also Maria was playing it on her guitar which is sad and now I'm picturing Shadow playing that riff in his head all the time

Right before Shadow busts out of containment his heart monitor starts going and then stops which I'm interpreting as his heart beating so fast it doesn't register

They didn't outright say it but Gerald is the one who hacked into GUN to revive Shadow. I don't think they addressed how he got out of prison but he probably built something in his cell

I love the running gag that Ozzie the golden retriever resents Sonic

Loved the joke about Sonic's security system (nunchucks) still working (hit himself in the face again)

Shadow has always been a foil for Sonic but the movie fully realizes the potential of that dynamic in my opinion. They both have a loneliness deep inside from losing someone they loved but Sonic was able to move on and find more family. Shadow hasn't had that chance yet

They used the "Talk about low budget flights" line!

The credits said they used the City Escape music but I must have missed it

Wild that they gave Shadow a gun and a motorcycle again and made it work this time. It probably has something to do with him doing the Akira slide up the side of a building

The CG animation really shines in this movie. I kept looking at how good the reflections in their eyes were. And the fight scenes just had so much slick movement and speed while also properly conveying what was actually happening

When the egg-drones show up, you assume they're going after Team Sonic. But Gerald is controlling the drones so they were definitely gunning for Walters

A Traveling Wilburys song during the flashback was a surprise to be sure but a welcome one. However, I will nitpick the fact that the song End of the Line came out in 1988, which would have been 14 years after Shadow was locked away

Biolizard cameo as the kaiju in the movie Maria and Shadow are watching

Eggman says something about having some unknown quality that makes him "totally undesirable to all possible genders" which suggests to me that he has tried dating loads of people with various gender identities (Woah, he's pansexual! I didn't know that!)

You may ask why the plot treats G.U.N. keeping the other key to the Eclipse Cannon like it's a bad thing. For one thing, the Robotniks are gonna try to steal it, and for another, I don't think a secretive yet fallible military organization having access to a doomsday weapon is a good thing

The concept of G.U.N. keeping a vault that has no records of it so that people can't visualize it to use Warp Rings is very cool and almost SCP-esque

Big fan of Shadow's solution to a telenovela love triangle being for the woman to just kill the two men vying for her affections

Love the subversion of a fight between Sonic and Knuckles with Knuckles instead relenting because he trusts that Sonic will do the right thing in the end

That being said, Knuckles desperately needs a flying island to keep the Master Emerald safe because Wade just ain't gonna cut it

There are a small handful of moments where I think Jim Carey did a really good job of dramatic acting. In particular, the final flashback to Maria's death where he manages to really show the loss and heartbreak Gerald experiences despite wearing a goofy prosthetic

Gerald turning ice-cold to Eggman when he says "You're no Maria"

So glad they did a DragonBall-style Super fight between Sonic and Shadow. If you're gonna make a movie with a bunch of CGI, you might as well go a little nuts with it

You may ask "how are Sonic and Shadow breathing in space?" The same way they do in the games babeeeyyyyy

Shadow and Gerald really wanted to kill the whole world and themselves. And once the Cannon was charged, Shadow didn't care anymore. He was totally willing to let Sonic punch a hole in his chest

Of course, Sonic comes to his senses and is willing to talk with Shadow after sparing him. I love that what changed Shadow's mind was remembering what Maria told him about the stars. That even when they're gone, their light still shines

They literally Lived and Learnt

I wish the Live and Learn sequence wasn't interrupted by Gerald giving Eggman an over-the-knee grandpappy spanking but what can you do

I'm glad that Tails and Knuckles weren't just sidelined for the third act. They show up to save Eggman, help redirect the Cannon, and then save Sonic. Would have been really awkward if they made such a big deal about teamwork only for Sonic to wrap up the conflict on his own

Tails is really chill about Eggman stabbing his grandpa in the butt and launching him into a giant bug zapper

Eggman comes to terms with his own loneliness and is willing to sacrifice himself to save the world not just because he wants to rule it but because he has someone to care about

Missed opportunity for a "Sayonara, Shadow the Hedgehog"

I know it's still a family friendly movie but it's odd that Tom got kicked by an enraged hedgehog moving at the speed of light and all he got was an arm in a sling

The mid-credits scene got me hyped. I can't wait to see who they have voicing Amy. And I like the decision to have an army of Metal Sonics

I hope the next movie explores more about where the animal characters come from because we really don't know much. I'm guessing whoever is behind the Metal Army is from there

Post-credits scene, of course Shadow lived but I'm hyped to see what direction they take that in. Are they gonna do the amnesia thing or will he just be stranded somewhere?

I know that using Chaos Control requires an emerald and the movies established that the Chaos Emeralds are held within the Master Emerald but it sucks they never said it except for in the Shadow Generations DLC. So uh 0/5, do better