#also this is My Canon and i choose the timeline

[novaursa]

Legacy (castle black)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Both the canon plotline and timeline have been altered to compliment the story. Consider plot holes to be magic.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: of bloodline

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal

The soft sound of waves crashing against the shores of Dragonstone provided a rhythmic backdrop to the day. The midday sun filtered through the narrow windows of your solar, casting fractured beams of light across the ancient stone floor. You sat at a carved table, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of a goblet as you read over a missive Tywin had sent from the great hall earlier that morning. Maelor lay in a cradle nearby, his quiet coos filling the room as he batted at the dangling dragon-shaped toys suspended above him.

It was a peaceful moment—a rare reprieve from the weight of duty that pressed upon you every day. But that peace shattered with the soft but deliberate sound of footsteps outside your door. You looked up as Varys entered, his movements graceful and silent, as though he were a shadow come to life. His face, usually a mask of calm neutrality, was grave.

“My lady,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “I bring news. Grave news.”

Your heart stuttered, an immediate sense of foreboding settling in your chest. You stood, your hands tightening into fists as you moved toward him. “What is it?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended. “What’s happened?”

Varys hesitated—a rarity for the spymaster. His gaze dropped for a moment before meeting yours, and you saw the weight of his words in his eyes. “It’s about Jon Snow… your—” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “The man you raised, my lady. The one you loved as a son.”

The blood drained from your face. “What about Jon?” you asked, your voice trembling now. “What’s happened to him?”

Varys exhaled softly, his hands folding in front of him. “He was betrayed, my lady. By his own men of the Night’s Watch. Stabbed to death… on the grounds of Castle Black.”

The room seemed to spin around you, the weight of his words crashing into you like a wave. You stumbled back, your knees buckling as you grasped the edge of the table for support. “No…” The word came out as a whisper, barely audible over the pounding in your ears. “No, he can’t—he can’t be gone.”

Varys stepped forward, his expression uncharacteristically sympathetic. “I am truly sorry, my lady. The news comes from a trusted source. It is true.”

Tears blurred your vision as you sank into the nearest chair, your hands trembling. “How?” you choked out. “How could they do this? He was their Lord Commander. He—he swore to protect them, and they… they murdered him?”

Varys nodded solemnly. “It seems his actions divided the men. Bringing the Wildlings through the Wall did not sit well with many of his brothers. They called it betrayal. And so, they turned on him.”

A strangled sob escaped your lips as you buried your face in your hands. The image of Jon—brave, strong, so much like the man you had helped raise—being struck down by the very people he had sought to lead and protect was too much to bear.

“I should have been there,” you whispered, your voice muffled by your hands. “I should have done something. Protected him. Warned him.”

“You could not have known, my lady,” Varys said gently, his voice soft but firm. “Jon Snow made his choices, and they were choices born of honor and conviction. He lived as he believed, and he died the same way.”

You looked up at him, tears streaming down your face. “And what does that mean? That his honor was worth more than his life?”

Varys hesitated, his gaze steady but kind. “It means, my lady, that he will be remembered as a man who stood by his principles, even in the face of betrayal. And that is no small thing.”

Your hands clenched into fists as you struggled to compose yourself, though the grief threatened to consume you. “He was… he was my son, Varys,” you said brokenly. “Maybe not by blood, but in every way that mattered. I raised him. I taught him. And now he’s gone.”

Varys bowed his head slightly, his hands clasped before him. “You gave him the strength to become the man he was, my lady. That is no small legacy.”

But his words were little comfort in the moment. The ache in your chest was unbearable, a raw, gaping wound that no amount of logic or reasoning could ease. You turned your gaze toward the cradle where Maelor lay, his innocent face oblivious to the pain in the room. The sight of him grounded you, reminding you that life continued even in the face of loss.

You wiped at your tears, your voice trembling but determined. “Thank you for telling me, Varys. I… I need a moment.”

Varys inclined his head, his expression understanding. “Of course, my lady. If there is anything you need…”

You nodded absently, your focus already drifting as he slipped silently from the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with your grief and the weight of the loss you had just learned to bear.

You rose unsteadily, moving to the cradle and gently lifting Maelor into your arms. His small, warm body against your chest brought a sliver of comfort, though it could not ease the ache in your heart.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I should have done more. I should have been there.”

The soft murmurs of the sea wind brushed through the narrow windows of Dragonstone, carrying with it the faint tang of salt and the ever-present weight of isolation. You sat near the large window, your gaze fixed on the horizon, though your attention was far from the waves that danced below.

Before you, on a padded mat strewn with soft blankets, Damon and Maelor played. Damon, nearly three years old, sat cross-legged, holding a small carved lion in one hand and a dragon in the other. He made them "roar" at each other with all the dramatics of a child. Maelor, just shy of a year, lay on his belly, his tiny fists grabbing at the dragon toy Damon occasionally waved above him. Their laughter, innocent and sweet, filled the chamber, yet it barely seemed to reach you.

Your fingers twisted a strand of silver hair as your mind churned, haunted by the news of Jon Snow's betrayal and death. His name lingered on your lips, unspoken but ever-present. The image of him—of the boy you had raised, guided, and loved as your own—stabbed by his brothers, left to die alone in the snow, was a torment you could not escape.

The heavy door creaked open, and Tywin Lannister entered, his presence commanding as always. He wore a dark crimson doublet trimmed with gold, and his expression, sharp and calculating, softened slightly as his gaze fell upon you and the boys. He closed the door behind him, the sound heavy in the quiet room, and stepped closer.

“You’ve been here all day,” he said, his voice low but edged with concern. “You’ve missed the council meeting.”

You didn’t look at him, your fingers still absently twisting your hair. “The council will survive without me,” you replied softly, your voice carrying a weight that hadn’t been there before.

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before shifting to the boys. Damon let out a triumphant roar as his dragon “defeated” the lion, while Maelor giggled and reached for the toy. Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he stepped closer, placing a hand on the back of your chair.

“I know what this is about,” he said, his tone measured. “You cannot let grief consume you.”

Your gaze flickered to him, finally meeting his eyes. “It’s not just grief, Tywin,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “It’s anger. It’s… guilt. Jon didn’t deserve to die like that. Alone, betrayed. He deserved better.”

Tywin’s expression remained impassive, though his gaze softened slightly. “The world does not often give us what we deserve,” he said. “You know this better than most.”

You turned away, your hands clenching in your lap. “He was a boy when I left Winterfell. A boy I raised, who trusted me. And I left him there. I thought I was protecting him, but… I should have done more.”

Tywin’s hand rested on your shoulder, the weight of it grounding. “You did what was necessary. You gave him the tools to survive, to lead. His choices were his own.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with unshed tears. “And now he’s dead,” you whispered. “Because of those choices. Because of… betrayal.”

Tywin was silent for a moment, his gaze moving to Damon and Maelor. “You cannot change what has happened. But you can ensure the future remains secure—for them.”

Your gaze drifted to your sons, their innocent laughter like a balm and a wound all at once. “And what of Jon’s future?” you asked softly. “What justice is there for him?”

Tywin’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly. “Justice, like legacy, is what we make of it. But it must not come at the cost of what you’ve built here.”

You didn’t respond, your thoughts swirling like the storm clouds that often lingered over Dragonstone. Your gaze returned to the horizon, and in that moment, a quiet resolve began to take shape within you.

Tywin lingered for a moment longer, his sharp eyes studying you. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned and left the room, his heavy boots echoing against the stone as the door closed behind him.

The chamber fell silent save for the boys’ laughter and the distant crash of waves. You leaned back in your chair, your hands trembling slightly as you exhaled. Viserion’s presence stirred faintly in your mind, the bond between dragon and rider stronger now than it had ever been. You could feel her restlessness, her growing awareness of your turmoil.

You rose slowly, crossing the room to where Damon and Maelor played. You knelt beside them, brushing a strand of hair from Damon’s face as he looked up at you with a wide grin. “Mama, the dragon wins!” he exclaimed, holding up the toy triumphantly.

You smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “The dragon always wins,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Damon returned to his game, and you scooped up Maelor, holding him close as he babbled happily. But even as you cradled your youngest son, your mind was elsewhere—far to the north, where snow fell and shadows loomed.

The room seemed to tremble as a low, resonant shriek echoed through the air. It was not loud, but it carried an undeniable power, a vibration that seemed to rattle the very stones of Dragonstone. Damon looked up, his eyes wide, and even Maelor quieted in your arms.

You turned your gaze to the window, your expression hardening as Viserion’s call reverberated through the night. It was as though she knew, as though she felt the decision solidify within you.

“I’ll avenge you, Jon,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. “I swear it.”

The dragon’s cry grew louder, echoing across the island like a war horn, and the storm over Dragonstone seemed to answer, its winds howling in tandem. The night had begun, and with it, the first steps toward vengeance.

The stillness of the night on Dragonstone was broken only by the faint howl of the wind and the distant crash of waves against the rocky cliffs. The moon hung low in the sky, its silvery light casting long, ghostly shadows across the ancient castle. The air was cold, biting against your skin as you pulled your cloak tightly around you, the hood drawn low to obscure your face.

Your footsteps were silent as you navigated the winding corridors and stairwells that led to Dragonmont, where Viserion slumbered. Each step was deliberate, your resolve solidifying with every quiet breath. The weight of your decision pressed heavily on your chest, but it was dwarfed by the fire of determination burning within you.

When you reached the open archway leading to Dragonmont, the heat hit you immediately. The cavern pulsed with warmth, the faint glow of molten rock illuminating the jagged walls. At the center of the cavern, Viserion lay coiled. Her massive form rose and fell with each deep breath, her tail curling around her like a protective barrier.

Standing at the entrance, as if waiting for you, was Ser Barristan Selmy. His white cloak billowed slightly in the breeze, and his expression was solemn but calm. He made no move to stop you as you approached, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword.

“My lady,” he said quietly, inclining his head. “You’ve made your decision.”

You nodded, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I have. I cannot stay here, not after what I’ve learned. Jon deserves justice.”

Ser Barristan studied you for a moment, his weathered face unreadable. “You know the risks,” he said finally. “Flying north alone, without support, into the unknown… It is dangerous.”

“I know,” you replied, your gaze unwavering. “But I must do this, Ser Barristan. For him. For myself.”

He exhaled softly, his hand falling away from his sword. “Then I will not stop you. But know this—I would have followed you into the fire, had you asked.”

A flicker of gratitude crossed your face, and you stepped closer, placing a hand briefly on his arm. “You’ve served me well, Ser Barristan. But this is a journey I must make alone.”

The old knight nodded, his expression softening. “Then may the gods watch over you, my lady.”

You turned toward Viserion, her massive golden eyes opening as she sensed your presence. A low rumble echoed from her throat, a sound that was both a greeting and an acknowledgment of your intentions. She shifted her great body, the ground trembling slightly as she unfurled her wings, the glow of the molten rock catching on her membranes.

You approached her slowly, your hand resting against her warm, scaled flank as you whispered, “It’s time, girl. We’re going north.”

Viserion let out a soft growl, her eyes narrowing in what almost seemed like understanding. She shifted again, lowering her body to allow you to climb the saddle that rested between her shoulder blades. You pulled yourself up with practiced ease, fastening the leather straps around your waist as you settled into place.

“Fly fast,” you murmured, leaning forward to brush your hand along her neck. “We have far to go.”

Viserion let out a resonant roar, the sound echoing through the cavern and beyond, shaking the very walls of Dragonmont. Her wings unfurled fully, their span massive as she crouched low, her muscles coiling in preparation.

Behind you, Ser Barristan watched in silence, his expression shadowed by both respect and worry. He gave a slight nod as Viserion leapt into the air, her powerful wings propelling her upward with a burst of heat and wind. The night sky swallowed you both as she soared through the open mouth of the cavern, the stars above glittering like cold fire.

In the great hall, Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the long table, his eyes fixed on the maps and reports spread before him. Around him, several lords and knights listened intently as he laid out his strategies. The talk was grim, centered on the looming threat of Daenerys Targaryen and her army of Dothraki, Unsullied, and her dragons.

“She will come by sea,” Tywin stated firmly, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “The Greyjoys will provide her with ships, and their rebellion will ensure they have nothing to lose. We must be ready to meet them head-on.”

One of the lords, a burly man with a thick beard, leaned forward. “And the dragons, my lord? How do we fight them?”

Before Tywin could respond, a low, guttural roar echoed through the night, vibrating the very air around them. The room fell silent, all heads turning toward the sound. A moment later, another roar followed, louder this time, accompanied by the distinct rush of powerful wings.

Tywin rose from his seat, his sharp gaze snapping to the nearest window. “Viserion,” he muttered, his expression darkening.

Jaime, who had been leaning casually against the wall, straightened, his golden hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Where is she going?”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his mind working quickly. “North.”

One of the knights spoke hesitantly. “Shall we send riders to—”

“No,” Tywin interrupted sharply, his voice cold. “This was her decision. She’ll face the consequences, but not now. Not yet.”

Jaime stepped closer, his brows furrowed. “She’s your wife. And she just flew off into the night with her dragon. You don’t find that concerning?”

Tywin’s gaze was like steel as he met Jaime’s eyes. “What I find concerning is the chaos Daenerys Targaryen will bring to our shores if we are not prepared. That is where my focus lies.”

Jaime opened his mouth to retort but was silenced by another deafening roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of Dragonstone. Through the window, they saw the golden shimmer of Viserion’s scales as she flew northward, her massive wings cutting through the sky like a knife through shadow.

Tywin turned back to the table, his expression hard. “The dragon is her weapon, just as this castle is my stronghold. She knows her path, and I will not distract myself from mine.”

But even as he spoke, a flicker of something unspoken crossed his face—worry, perhaps, or a grim acceptance of what was to come. Jaime watched him closely, his own thoughts clouded as the sound of Viserion’s roars faded into the distance.

Far above, you clung to the saddle, your eyes fixed on the horizon as the cold northern winds began to bite at your skin. Your resolve burned brighter than the stars above, guiding you toward the vengeance that awaited. Viserion, as if sensing your thoughts, let out another roar, her cry carrying across the sea like a herald of fire and fury.

The cold at Castle Black was relentless, biting through even the thickest furs as the dread within the Wall's ancient halls grew unbearable. The air was heavy with unease, the divide between the mutineers and Jon Snow's loyalists as sharp and icy as the winds that howled across the frozen expanse.

Within Jon’s quarters, where his body lay cold and still upon the wooden table, a quiet desperation filled the air. Ghost, Jon’s massive white direwolf, lay curled protectively near his feet, his glowing red eyes flicking toward the door at the faintest sound. Around the table, Davos Seaworth, Eddison Tollett, and several others stood in uneasy silence, their breaths visible in the frigid air.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Edd said finally, breaking the oppressive quiet. His voice was low but edged with urgency. “Thorne and his men are outside. It’s only a matter of time before they try to break through.”

Davos, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, nodded grimly. “Aye, but what choice do we have? There’s no running from this. Not with Jon still here.”

Ghost growled softly, his ears twitching as though he sensed something amiss. The sound sent a shiver through the room, drawing every pair of eyes to the direwolf.

“We need reinforcements,” Davos said, his tone firm but laced with frustration. “But who would come to our aid? We’re isolated, surrounded by men who’d rather see us dead.”

“We’re not alone,” Edd replied, glancing toward Jon’s still form. “Jon’s not just the Lord Commander. He’s a Stark, and the North remembers. There are men out there who’d fight for him.”

Davos sighed, his fingers brushing over the hilt of his sword. “That’s if we survive long enough to send for them.”

A sudden noise cut through their conversation—a faint, distant shriek that seemed to echo from beyond the Wall itself. The men exchanged uneasy glances, their breath hitching as the sound grew louder, more resonant, shaking the very walls around them.

“What in the Seven Hells was that?” Edd whispered, his voice barely audible over the rising noise.

Before anyone could answer, a deafening roar split the air, followed by a sound like thunder as something massive flew overhead. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the icy cold seemed to intensify as a distant crash reverberated through the castle.

Davos unsheathed his sword, his face pale but resolute. “Stay close. Whatever it is, it’s not here for pleasantries.”

Ghost stood, his hackles raised as he let out a low, menacing growl. The men tensed, weapons drawn as the sound of shouting erupted from outside. The muffled cries of the mutineers were punctuated by the clang of swords and the unmistakable terror in their voices.

“Something’s out there,” one of the men whispered, his hand tightening on the hilt of his axe. “Something big.”

Another roar shook the ground, this one closer and more visceral, followed by a heavy thud that rattled the walls and sent frost cascading from the ceiling. Ghost snarled, his teeth bared as he moved toward the barricaded door, his entire body stiff.

“We can’t just sit here,” Davos said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “We need to see what we’re dealing with.”

Edd nodded, his grip firm on his sword. “Agreed. Whatever it is, it’s got Thorne’s men rattled. Maybe it’s on our side.”

Davos moved to the door, his hand resting on the wooden barricade. He glanced back at the men, his expression grave. “Stay sharp. And if this goes sideways… protect Jon.”

He pushed the barricade aside with effort, the door creaking open to reveal the chaos outside. The courtyard of Castle Black was in disarray, men running in every direction, their cries of fear and confusion filling the air.

And there, in the center of it all, stood Viserion.

The massive dragon loomed like a creature out of legend. Her wings, partially unfurled, created an imposing silhouette against the night sky. Her eyes burned with an intelligence that sent a chill through even the bravest hearts.

The men of Castle Black were paralyzed with fear, their weapons clutched tightly but useless against such a creature. Some dropped their swords and fled, while others stood rooted in place, their faces pale and wide-eyed.

A figure dismounted from the dragon’s back, descending the saddle with practiced ease. Clad in a thick cloak of black and crimson, her silver hair catching the firelight, you stood tall and resolute, your eyes sweeping over the chaos with a calm intensity.

Davos and Edd stepped out into the open, their weapons lowered but their stances cautious. Ghost bounded forward, his growls quieting as he stopped short, his ears perking up in recognition.

“My lady,” Davos said, his voice carrying a mixture of awe and confusion. “What… what are you doing here?”

You turned to him, your expression hard but resolute. “I’m here for Jon.”

The words carried a weight that silenced even the chaos around you. As the men of Castle Black watched, unsure whether to see you as savior or threat, Viserion let out another roar, the sound shaking the very ground beneath their feet.

The North had felt fire for the first time in centuries, and it would never be the same again.

The icy wind howled through the courtyard of Castle Black, carrying with it the sinister air that clung to every man present. Viserion stood like a looming sentinel, her eyes glowing faintly in the firelight as they swept over the men assembled before her. Her massive wings partially unfurled, creating an imposing shadow that stretched across the snow-dusted ground. Every movement she made—every twitch of her tail or puff of smoke from her nostrils—sent ripples of unease through the mutineers.

You stood before them as you pulled your cloak tighter around you. Your violet eyes blazed with fury as they scanned the faces of the men who had betrayed Jon Snow, your voice cutting through the cold air like a blade.

“Bring them forward,” you commanded, your tone brooking no argument.

The crowd hesitated for a moment, unsure of who should move first, until Alliser Thorne stepped forward, his expression as hard as the ice beneath his boots. Behind him, Bowen Marsh, Othell Yarwyck, and the boy Olly followed, their faces pale but defiant. A few others shuffled forward as well, their guilt written in the stiffness of their movements and the way their hands twitched near their weapons.

Alliser’s gaze locked on yours, his jaw tight as he spoke. “You have no place here, Targaryen,” he said, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment. “The Wall and the Night’s Watch answer to no king—or queen.”

You took a step closer, the snow crunching beneath your boots as you raised your chin, your voice steady and cold. “The Night’s Watch answers to honor,” you said sharply. “To duty. Tell me, Alliser Thorne—was it honor that drove you to plunge a blade into Jon Snow? Was it duty that led you to murder the man who saved your lives?”

Alliser’s lip curled, but he stood his ground. “Jon Snow was a traitor. He brought Wildlings past the Wall—people who’ve killed brothers of the Watch, burned villages, slaughtered innocents. He betrayed us. We acted in the best interests of the Watch.”

“Betrayal?” you hissed, your voice rising as your fury spilled over. “You speak of betrayal when you stabbed a man who trusted you, who led you, who sought to protect you from a threat greater than your petty hatred? Do you even know what’s coming for you, for all of us?”

Viserion growled low, the sound reverberating through the courtyard. Smoke curled from her nostrils, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath her massive weight. Some of the mutineers flinched, their bravado faltering as they cast wary glances at the dragon.

Alliser sneered, his defiance unshaken. “You don’t scare me, Targaryen. This is the Wall. Your fire has no place here.”

You took another step forward, your voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “You think I need to scare you, Alliser? I could burn this entire cursed castle to the ground and turn you all to ash in a heartbeat.” You gestured toward Viserion, her eyes narrowing as if in agreement. “Or perhaps I could simply starve you. No supplies, no food, no warmth. How long would you last up here with nothing but your pride to keep you company?”

The crowd murmured uneasily, the reality of your threats sinking in. Even the most loyal of Thorne’s men shifted nervously, their hands twitching at their sides. Bowen Marsh’s face paled, and Othell Yarwyck glanced down at the ground, his resolve crumbling under your gaze.

Alliser opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, your voice like ice. “You will burn alive,” you declared, your words ringing through the courtyard. “Each and every one of you who raised a hand against my son. That is a promise.”

Viserion roared again, the force of it shaking the very walls of Castle Black. The torches flickered wildly, and the men cowered, their earlier defiance melting away like frost under the dragon’s breath.

Turning abruptly, you addressed Davos and Eddison Tollett, your voice softening but still carrying the weight of command. “Take me to Jon,” you said. “Now.”

Davos nodded, his face grim as he gestured for you to follow. Edd glanced once at the mutineers, his lip curling in disgust, before he turned to lead the way. Ghost padded silently at your side, his red eyes glowing with an intensity that matched your own.

As you walked away, the mutineers were left standing in the dragon’s shadow, their breaths visible in the cold air. Alliser Thorne’s defiance faltered for the first time, his gaze following you as you disappeared into the dimly lit halls of Castle Black.

The weight of your promise lingered, heavy and unrelenting. The men had no doubt that the fire you threatened to unleash was real—and that it would consume them all.

The halls of Castle Black were eerily silent, the usual sounds of men at work replaced by the faint echo of your footsteps. Davos Seaworth walked beside you, his face grim and solemn, while Eddison Tollett led the way, his shoulders squared despite the weight of the moment. At your side, Ghost moved silently, his massive white form a steady presence, his eyes fixed ahead.

As you turned a corner, a group of Wildlings, led by Tormund Giantsbane, came into view. They stood clustered in the shadows near the stairwell, their weapons still in hand, their expressions wary but curious. Tormund’s piercing blue eyes locked onto you immediately, his brow furrowing as he took in your presence, the dragon outside still fresh in everyone’s minds.

“Targaryen Princess,” Tormund said gruffly, stepping forward. His voice carried the weight of suspicion and curiosity. “You’re the one they’ve been whispering about.”

You stopped, meeting his gaze with your own, your voice steady but heavy with emotion. “I am. And I am here for Jon.”

Tormund’s lips pressed into a thin line as he studied you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded. “He spoke of you,” he said quietly. “Said you were the closest thing he had to a mother.”

Your throat tightened at his words, but you forced yourself to speak. “And he was the closest thing I had to a son at Winterfell. Let me pass, Tormund. I need to see him.”

Tormund’s gaze softened, and he stepped aside, motioning for his men to do the same. “Go on, then. But know this—we owe him a debt. Whatever you plan to do, we’ll stand by you.”

You inclined your head in gratitude, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

As you passed through the group of Wildlings, Ghost let out a low growl, his hackles raised slightly as he stayed close to your side. The anxiety in the air was thick, every step toward Jon’s quarters feeling heavier than the last.

When you entered the small room where Jon’s body lay, the sight before you was like a dagger to your heart. Jon was stretched out on the wooden table, his pale face still and peaceful, his dark curls framing his head like a crown. The bloodstains on his tunic were stark against the white fabric, a grim reminder of his brutal end.

Your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor beside him, your hands trembling as you reached out to touch his face. His skin was cold beneath your fingers, and the reality of his death hit you like a storm.

“Jon,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Oh, my sweet boy…”

Tears streamed down your face as you leaned over him, your forehead resting against his shoulder. “I should have been here,” you sobbed quietly. “I should have protected you.”

Davos and Edd stood silently by the doorway, their heads bowed in respect as they gave you the space to grieve. Ghost moved to the other side of the table, his low whine breaking the silence as he nudged Jon’s hand with his nose.

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, the weight of your grief pressing down on you like the cold of the North itself. Memories of Jon as a boy flashed through your mind—his shy smile, the way he’d look to you for guidance, the pride in his eyes when he’d achieved something he thought impossible.

Finally, you sat up, your fingers brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “They’ll pay for this,” you murmured, your voice trembling but resolute. “Every single one of them.”

The room seemed to grow colder, the air thick with an unspoken tension. And then, as if summoned by some unseen force, the door creaked open.

Melisandre stood in the doorway, her red robes vibrant against the shadowed hall behind her. Her expression was serene, almost otherworldly, as her piercing gaze swept over the scene before her.

“My lady,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of prophecy. “You mourn, but do not despair. The Lord of Light has not yet abandoned us.”

You turned to her, your tear-streaked face hardening as you met her eyes. “What do you mean?” you demanded, your voice sharp with both hope and anger.

Melisandre stepped into the room, her presence like a flame in the darkness. “Death is not always the end,” she said cryptically, her gaze drifting to Jon’s lifeless form.

The room seemed to grow even colder as Melisandre stepped fully into the chamber, her presence radiating an almost oppressive heat despite the icy air of Castle Black. Her red robes swayed with each deliberate step, the ruby at her throat glinting faintly in the firelight. Her gaze remained fixed on Jon Snow, her expression serene yet filled with purpose.

You, however, froze as a sudden, chilling voice echoed in the recesses of your mind. It was not your own but felt both ancient and familiar, laced with the weight of a truth long hidden.

"She is the one."

The voice sent a shiver down your spine, your breath catching as it continued.

"The one who sent the shadow to take what was yours. She sought the life of your unborn son—Damon. It was her hand that set the darkness upon you, but the old powers protected him. Protected you."

Your heart pounded in your chest, the memories flooding back. The night in the Red Keep when you were heavily pregnant with Damon—the unnatural chill that had crept into your chambers, the fleeting but horrifying image of a shadowy figure reaching for your swollen belly, and the deafening caws of ravens that had inexplicably swarmed the room, driving the shadow away. You had never understood the event, dismissing it as something random. But now, the pieces fell into place with sickening clarity.

Your body trembled with a mix of fury and horror as you turned to Melisandre, your voice low and trembling with restrained rage. “You,” you said, the single word cutting through the air like a blade.

The red priestess paused, her serene expression faltering as her gaze shifted to you. “I sense… anger in you, my lady,” she said carefully, though her voice carried a note of caution. “What troubles you?”

You stepped forward, your fists clenched, your violet eyes blazing. “It was you,” you hissed, your voice rising with each word. “It was you who sent that shadow after me. After my son.”

Melisandre’s eyes widened slightly, her composure slipping for the briefest moment. “Your son?” she repeated, her voice soft yet guarded.

“Do not feign ignorance,” you spat, taking another step toward her. “When I carried Damon, a shadow came to take him from me. I thought it was something else, but now I know the truth. It was real. And it was you.”

The air in the room grew filled with dread, even Davos and Eddison Tollett shifting uncomfortably, their hands instinctively moving toward their weapons. Ghost growled low, his red eyes locked on the priestess, his hackles rising.

Melisandre hesitated, her expression unreadable as she regarded you. Then, with a small, almost regretful nod, she spoke. “It is true,” she admitted, her voice calm but laced with something resembling remorse. “I sent the shadow.”

The room erupted with gasps, and your breath hitched as her words confirmed your worst suspicions. “Why?” you demanded, your voice breaking with a mixture of fury and anguish. “Why would you try to take my son? What did he ever do to you?”

Melisandre stepped closer, her gaze steady but no longer serene. “It was not personal,” she said softly. “It was necessity. At the time, I believed your child to be a threat to the great war to come. A child born of fire and lion’s blood, destined to reshape the balance of power. I believed his existence would disrupt the will of the Lord of Light.”

“Necessity?” you repeated, your voice trembling with outrage. “You call an attempt to murder an unborn child necessity?”

“I was wrong,” Melisandre said, her voice firmer now, though a shadow of humility crept into her tone. “I miscalculated. The forces protecting you—protecting him—were beyond my understanding. The shadow was driven back before it could fulfill its purpose. That night, I realized there was more at work than even I could comprehend.”

You took a step back, your breathing ragged as her words sank in. The sheer audacity of her confession, coupled with the cold detachment in her tone, made your blood boil. “You miscalculated?” you repeated, disbelief heavy in your voice. “You speak as if this was some minor mistake, like spilling wine at a feast. You tried to kill my son!”

Melisandre’s gaze softened slightly, though it did little to soothe your rage. “And yet, he lives,” she said, her voice quieter. “He was protected. Shielded by forces older than any of us. Forces that even the Lord of Light respects.”

Your chest heaved with anger, but something in her words gave you pause. “Forces?” you asked, your tone sharp. “What forces?”

Melisandre glanced toward the ruby at her throat, her fingers brushing it briefly. “I do not know their name, my lady. Only their power. Your blood—your son’s blood—it is touched by something ancient. Something beyond my sight.”

You stared at her, your fury mingling with confusion and unease. The room seemed to grow colder, the weight of her words pressing down on you like the icy winds beyond the Wall.

“I will never forgive you for what you’ve done,” you said finally, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you ever come near my son again—”

“I will not,” Melisandre interrupted, bowing her head slightly. “My actions were a grave mistake, and I have no intention of repeating them. But my presence here is not for him. It is for Jon.”

At the mention of Jon’s name, your focus shifted, the raw ache of your grief resurfacing. “Why are you here, then?” you demanded. “What do you want?”

Melisandre’s gaze flickered to Jon’s still form, her expression somber. “To serve the will of the Lord of Light. He brought me here for a reason, my lady. And I believe that reason lies with Jon Snow.”

Her words hung in the air, the silence in the room thick and unrelenting. For a long moment, no one spoke, the crackling of the hearth the only sound.

Finally, you turned away from her, your hands trembling as you moved to stand by Jon’s side. “If you think I’ll trust you after what you’ve done,” you said quietly, your voice cold, “you’re a greater fool than I thought.”

Melisandre said nothing, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before shifting back to Jon. Whatever she intended, you knew one thing for certain: her presence here was far from benign.

And whatever her Lord of Light intended, you would not let her—or anyone else—threaten what remained of your family.

[artensi]

Apologies for the delay

@luminousbright , I was your partner for the Precure Secret Santa! @precuresecretexchange

You mentioned Cure Empress as one of your favorite side characters and you better believe when I saw her name I was ecstatic!! I have a massive AU in my head about the legendary cures from DokiDoki if they were set in a modern timeline, and it’s genuinely one of the things I love most in the whole world (even though we don’t even know what Magician and Priestess look like!!)

So obviously, I had to draw Empress! I have my own headcanon design for her that has a lot less colors and though I considered using that design, I decided to just go for canon. It’s really hard making the colors look good together since they’re all so different, I hope I managed!

Here is the picture of Empress on her own

You also said you loved Pokemon! I’ve always been interested in Pokemon, but I have super low knowledge since I just never had the time to go into it. I decided I wanted to challenge myself by drawing a non-human object (something I’ve genuinely only ever done once or twice). I spent a while trying to figure out which Pokemon to draw, but I landed on Zygarde from Generation 6. I chose Zygard because it’s a Dragon/Ground type. Dragon because Empress’ fairy partner, Melan, is a dragon. Ground because I headcanon Empress to have earth as her element which she’s most powerful in. I actually forgot this wasn’t canon until recently… oops. I always thought she looked like an earth type because of her green hair, and the pink in her design somehow reminded young me of flower petals so it kinda stuck.

There were a few Dragon/Earth types to choose from, but I chose the one that looked the coolest and also because it appears to be the most powerful. The last legendary precures in DokiDoki were the only ones powerful enough to ward away the darkness for good (until a certain king decided to interfere), so Empress had to have been really powerful too! So the only Pokemon worthy of fighting alongside her would be Zygarde, since it’s super strong. I don’t know much about Zygarde since I haven’t watched much of Pokemon XY or XYZ nor played the games it’s in, so I hope I made it look ok!

Here’s the picture of Zygarde alone

I hope you like your gift ! I worked super hard on it, and it was really difficult to step out of my comfort zone and draw something that isn’t humanoid for the first time in forever.

Have a happy holidays! 🤍

[bumblingbabooshka]

Odd and Recent Planets

[danothan]

I like to think of halbarry as two gay men who haven't come to terms with their sexuality and complete denial bc of their trauma and bullying

like what you said in flashpoint paradox where in that timeline he got the support system and no trauma I think

I think it makes sense to me them being gay than bi/pan. etc

oh this could not have come at a worse time, i’m drawing the most bisexual halbarryisms in the world rn 💔

[koushirouizumi]

( Taichi's place-holder profile for my re-done Advs shrine is up! )

[vinelark]

Your WoH fic is one of my all time favorite fics (which I coincidentally reread yesterday) and I recently got back into Timkon hell for the first time since like 2017 so discovering your Timkon fic today made me super happy! Your works in every fandom have been consistently amazing! Whenever I see a work is by Sundiscus, I know it's going to be a good one. I hope you have a great day!

thank you so much!!! this is so so nice of you to say. i also love that you got dragged back to timkon after so long and get to read new content for them now. one of my best friends @90kon was into timkon ages ago and even tried to pitch them to me in like 2020 and it went right over my head, but now i get to witness their timkon renaissance too and that’s been incredibly fun. the gift (ship) that keeps on giving 💪

[crystalkitty1220]

Welcome back to tumblr! Hope you enjoyed your break

It was very stressful. Ended up failing the marking period for English, but not by as much as I was failing before. Could still pull up the overall grade by the end of the semester.

[robingivesmemagic]

lmao just realized both jason and terra in my au have a little "cutting their hair short after Going Through It" moment. they would be besties if the plot will ever allow it i think

[hollow-prey]

I'm not jealous of my f/o and their canon ex I'm not jealous of my f/o and their canon ex I'm not jealous of my f/o and their canon ex I'm not jealous of my f/o and their canon ex I'm n-

[satanfemme]

ended up censoring it quite a bit but lol. he got hit by a "fucked up dog guy" beam and it looks like the effects are permanent.

1975: normal human "girl" with anxiety issues 1977: pet puppyboy and surgical guinea pig 1979: slasher villain who's going to stab u to death forever and ever YAY

at some point around/just after the 1977 mark was when he fully experienced mind break and became Mutt. he doesn't have an official age at any point of this timeline cause that's not really a detail that matters to me, all I know is in 1979 he's in his 20s. he's also a good boy and hasn't done anything wrong ever (as long as u ignore the atrocities)

been working more on figuring out Mutt's backstory and I ended up drawing a "transition timeline" (slash updated ref sheet) for him. and I'm in love with him a lot

[freyadragonlord]

One of my favourite things about the end of The S-Classes That I Raised novel (major spoilers ahead),

is the realisation that the reason why Yoojin and Hyunjae's relationship looks so much like a love story at times is because it actually, honestly is.

Like, we know that sctir is a novel about love since the beginning, that's not surprising. Yoojin's capability for loving monsters (both literal monsters and the human kind) and the power of that love is at the centre of the plot.

But by the time you get to the end, you realise - and the author confirms this themselves in their final Note - that Yoojin's relationship and love for 2 specific people was the true core of the story, and what allows him to save the world in the end:

One is, of course, Yoohyun.

And that love is absolute; you cannot say that it's inevitable, cause we know Yoojin had to make a choice when he was a child between Yoohyun and his parents, and he almost chose his parents, but from the moment he decided to love Yoohyun onward, then it was unconditional and eternal. It's the love of a brother, but also the love of a parent and a caretaker.

And the other person is Sung Hyunjae.

And that love is not unconditional nor inevitable or absolute at all. It's not something that can be taken for granted. We actually see, because of how it ended between them before the regression, and thanks to the White Bird's power of seeing possible futures, that there were so many timelines where Yoojin and Hyunjae would have never come to care about each other fully (tho they are always at least somewhat interested in each other, because their personalities are actually really compatible).

But the White Bird also sees that the only possible future where the world is saved is the one where they love and hold on to each other. And that is how the story goes!

So, just like a romance novel, the necessary end is the one where they both love each other and accept that love. And it's not easy to get there! It's a slow burn.

From meeting to getting to know each other, appreciating each other's skills and intelligence, finding out they have fun together but still not trusting each other, to working on building that trust.

They go from a strong but superficial mutual interest to actually caring about each other as people.

Yoojin has to go through the self-doubt of feeling inferior and fearing that Hyunjae will lose interest in him. Hyunjae has to learn to stop pushing Yoojin away because he doesn't know how to handle having someone he cares about so much, and also someone that cares about him, because nobody in the world (except in part Song Taewon) likes Sung Hyunjae as a person, he is only ever admired from afar.

And in the end, after going through ups and downs and a few "break-up arcs", they make it. They accept their own feelings and each other's feelings.

And that's when Yoojin makes the choice to use the power that the transcendents gave him at the very beginning of the novel, to save Hyunjae. Not the world. Not even Yoohyun! Just Sung Hyunjae!

Yeah, the whole "gather 50 S-Class people", the very thing that gives the novel its title. That is not a power that is used to save the world!! It was meant to, but Yoojin is "selfish", and he will always choose to save the people close to him first.

And being able to love someone so selfishly gives Yoojin the power to save the whole world, too. As a bonus! A reward. Just a side effect.

So yeah. Is it romantic love? No. Canonically, there's almost no romantic love in the whole novel.

But is it a love story?? Yeah. Absolutely it is.

[calqlate]

THE LOVE & DEEPSPACE MLS AND THEIR KDRAMA ML COUNTERPARTS

INCLUDES: rafayel + sylus + xavier + zayne

WARNING(S): might be ooc bc i don't really keep up with the lore so there might be some inconsistencies (oops) (pls be gentle) (it's 10pm here and my brain is running on adrenaline) + contains some canon lore drops ig

MASTERLIST

NOTE(S): i will never stop inserting my fandoms into kdramas bc i love seeing worlds collide. anw pls partake in this brainrot with me 🤩

— RAFAYEL

ryu sunjae from lovely runner - they are both absolute losers for their respective lovers. i can picture rafayel in that one scene where sunjae was blowing kisses towards sol's house. no matter how hard his beloved tries to cut him out from their life to save him, he will always find his way back into their life.

jeong guwon from my demon - similar to sunjae, guwon is also another loser for his wife. (tbh i can imagine rafayel as a down bad simp for his lover; cue thomas sighing and shaking his head.) i can picture rafayel in the scene whereby guwon and dohee were doing that tango while fighting off their enemies too?!?!

lee yeon from tale of the nine-tailed - continuing the loser boy train, we have yeon as the final dude to add in this group. (specifically yeon from s2, bc the way he wanted to go back to his timeline so badly to see jiah matches rafayel's "the only person i'll ever love is my lover" energy.) their backstories also match in the sense that yeon never stopped searching for jiah and rafayel never stopped waiting for his bride.

— SYLUS

myulmang from doom at your service - not me choosing myulmang bc they both made contracts to their beloveds [clown emoji]. but nonetheless they're similar in the sense that they won't think twice about eliminating someone who hurts their lover.

shin wooyeo from my roommate is a gumiho - again, another contract situation. wooyeo is a "classier" version of sylus imo, and one who uses less pet names. if sylus were the ml in this kdrama, he would defo keep an even more watchful eye on his beloved so that she doesn't go about losing his fox bead. (aur naur iw to write a gumiho au for sylus now...)

lee youngjoon from what's wrong with secretary kim? - similar to youngjoon, sylus will never let his lover leave. they want to leave his mansion? he will try 101 (legal) ways to make them stay. they will find snacks they like in their room more often. they will find new (and expensive) clothes in their wardrobe. heck, even an all-expenses-paid vacation! he wants to keep them close to him; he's afraid of them upping him to leave.

— XAVIER

goo yeonjun from a time called you - like yeonjun, xavier has literally went back in time to save his beloved. he wants to see then safe and sound, and as long as they're happy, he's happy. as long as they're alive and breathing, he's fine with not being by their side. just watching them live their life is enough for him.

haru from extraordinary you - totally not projecting my all-time fav kdrama on him (or am i?) but xavier and haru have similar mannerisms and personality traits. yk how in the first few episodes danoh was dragging haru around and this guy just remained silent and followed along until one day he just started speaking? yeah that's the same with this guy. the person he likes could yap all day and he would willingly sit and listen.

moon seoha from see you in my 19th life - similar to seoha, xavier loves once in his life and he will only ever love his little star. he would never get over their death and if he's the one responsible for their death, he would be all the more upset with himself. he would throw himself into work all day and refuse to love again, thinking he shouldn't be able to fall in love ever again since he took his beloved's one chance of staying alive and happy away.

— ZAYNE

moon suho from black knight - they're both so overprotective of the one they love. the way suho essentially told sharon that haera is the only woman he would ever love is something i can picture zayne doing. if someone is out there trying to harm his beloved, you'd best believe zayne would do his best to prevent that from happening, even if it means giving up his own life.

lee suhyeok from bora! deborah - when zayne loves, he loves hard. like suhyeok, he's clumsy at expressing his affections, choosing to keep everything to himself and wait until he's 100% certain it's the right time to say whatever he wants to say. and sometimes, that can lead to disastrous endings (see also: suhyeok getting dumped on the same day he went to buy an engagement ring for his girlfriend). both men are careful to a fault, all the more so with their beloved because they're scared of losing someone precious to them again.

yoo jihyuk from marry my husband - zayne, like jihyuk, would willingly stand aside and watch the one he loves fall in love with someone else. he would be supportive and wouldn't try to fight for their affection. his motto is "if they're happy, i'm happy" and he can live being an unmarried old man as long as he sees them happy.

© CALQLATE. all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, repost, or translate my works on any platform.

[thefudge]

haven’t watched s4 of the umbrella academy but i know five and lila kissing there omg if only every tv show and book have listened to our weird ships…

okay so i spent the last few hours speed-running through this season and OH MY GOD not only did they pay attention to our weird ship, but it's like INCREDIBLE levels of fanfic!!! like, the YEARNING alone??? like, okay, the writers did the "stuck in a time bubble together" bonding/romance storyline, but what i loved about it is they planted the seeds early in the season with lila not only feeling stuck in her marriage but sneaking out and running into five and having fun with him sleuthing just like in past seasons!!! like, it's not just "we're only now seeing each other's potential because we're stuck in the subway" it's more like "we've always been kindred spirits and now we have some down time to really let that sink in". it feels like the culmination of their evolution from enemies to frenemies to friends to lovers??? like all that friction from past seasons finally coming to fruition. hell, at one point five even straight up tells her diego can't give her what she needs??? like, they're admitting they're happier together and fit better together, in and outside of the time loop!!! and i love love LOVE the writers for not doing the super tired switcheroo where, once lila returns to diego and her family she suddenly realizes the whole thing with five was a fever dream. NO!!! no no no, all the feelings are still there like AAAAH it's such good angst, because she keeps exchanging loaded and uncomfortable glances with five while diego is trying to hold her/kiss her??? and five looks SO upset??? it's ao3 levels of delicious drama!!!! diego even asks her if she loves five and she CANNOT deny it, and her whole family and kids are right there but!!!! they still have these feelings and i love how shameless the show is about it!!! one of the big subplots of the final episode is lila having to give up her family to sacrifice herself, but it's also framed as her choosing five and just sort of collapsing in his arms telling him she hates him for this??? and he says "i know"??? HELLO??? also just the yearning and pining even mid-apocalypse!!!! five can't focus on anything else except her, literally they're all about to die but their lil drama is still going on!!!! (complete with diego and five punching each other and rolling on the floor fighting over lila!!!!) it's SO good. also props to the five actor for truly LOCKING IN and just leaning so much into the yearning. every second he looks at lila it's like she hung the moon and he is dying to be with her. i JUSTTTTTTT and the fact that lila hates bracelets and she didn't wear the one diego got her for valentine's, but she wears five's???? and loves it??? and he made it out of all the scrap metal for her???? soooo many little moments like that!!! when he says "i aim to please" kneeling in front of her????? when he says "you know why" when she asks him why he kept the notebook with the escape plan from her!!!!! he just wanted to be with her forever in the greenhouse timeline GAAAAAH. like, this is now gonna be my standard for "non-canonical ships that didn't seem like they could ever have a chance but became canon anyway"!!! cuz usually we clock the chemistry and the banter and the connection but we have to make do with our lil AUs because we know the writers wouldn't dare. but they did!!! they did it this time!!! GOD BLESS i feel so validated in this chili's tonight!!!

[brucewaynehater101]

I feel like this is how the conversation between a Time Travel’ed Jason and Tim would go:

Baby Jason: I can’t believe my future self shot at me!

Tim: Happens to the best of us.

This leads to Tim telling Baby Jason all about Gun Batman. By the end of the talk, Baby Jason idolizes Gun Batman (in a way that’s like: “I don’t approve of the actions, but the fact that he did them is rly cool) and resents his future self for not being as cool. Cue:

Baby Jason: Why couldn’t you be as cool as Gun Batman?? Whyd you choose to succeed Joker of all people?

Big Jason: wtf

Baby Jason: You can’t even pull being a villain off well! It’s been a year and you’re still a small fry of Gotham!

Red Hood!Jason getting bullied by Robin!Jason is the crack we all need in our lives.

Also, it would be hella funny if Robin!Jason at like 13 developed hero worship for 20 something Red Robin. Tim regals all the shit YJ did (which is news to RH), talks about his fights as RR, shows off cool moves with his bo staff, and teaches R how to manipulate Batman. The kid finds this to be so cool, much to RH's chagrin.

RH has moved to begrudgingly tolerating and occasionally caring for Tim at this point. Yet, he can't help but feel like this is a form of revenge for the TT attack. Seeing his younger self look at Tim as if he hung the stars in the sky? Embarrassing as hell.

The only past version of himself that would be worse would be his 17 (or 19 canon sucks at timelines) year old self in that Party City Robin costume as he monologs.

[vigilskeep]

compelled by the Davrin/Sol/Lucanis dynamic you've been gesturing towards, would love to hear more on that relationship dynamic & how it officially came about

davrin is the ultimate fake idgafer whose correct enrichment is being so deeply long-suffering about whatever he loves in a way that makes it abundantly clear he cares so, so, so much all the time, just by the extent of what he is putting up with. if i want to maximise correct enrichment then giving him two idiot crow partners becomes not only possible but in fact inevitable

i’m hypothesising it as a gradual post-canon development. sol and lucanis are in love. sol and davrin are emotionally hitched together for life. god knows what the boys are doing but i’m pretty sure it’s flirting. these are the bare facts of the matter and at some point it is no longer in my hands whether or not they are also kissing. i didn’t choose this they’re just doing that

i like the idea of sweet and slow buildup that might be more awkward if they didn’t all know and like each other so much. sol and lucanis talk about it so they’re on the same page but theyre sort of fluttering about anxiously. davrin is a little bit uncertain about what the future of this whole thing would be, frankly not accustomed to expecting anything long term let alone with two people let alone these two people, but he is definitely aware of the effect he has and does let them suffer a little bit. Deserved. he should make them work for it actually. there is a lot of cooking happening (lucanis) and a lot of shiny gifts crow style (sol). as long as he doesn’t let them get too out of hand in their offers to kill for him i think he can sit back and enjoy this one for a minute. the others all catch him smiling about it though. NOT slick

i have a lot of stupid bits to do in this timeline. a favourite: sol and lucanis have had a shared room above the lighthouse dining room (affectionately nicknamed the crows’ nest) for ages, and one day the lighthouse decides to helpfully provide what its inhabitants want, as it always does, and moves the whole room above davrin’s. you’ve never been so uncertain how sol achieved anything against the evanuris until you’ve heard the desperation in their voice as they commit to saying, “it’s because we love. assan. so much. it’s probably reacting to how much closer we want to be to. you know. assan.” while lucanis chimes in with a “yes.” then reviews his contribution to sol’s efforts, decides this was inadequate, and adds, “exactly.”

we possibly need lucanis to get his head together and quit first talon before anything actually happens. davrin voice i’m not fixing that man he’ll fix himself if he knows what’s good for him. i have another take in my head lately about how that goes down so there is a sequence of events in my mind but you’ll have to give me a minute to flesh it out

[beingsuneone]

Memories & Delusions

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

SYNOPSIS: Jason Todd is dead, you have to remember that; even if the newest villain in town is both incredibly sexy and reminds you of the boy you used to love.

FANDOM: DC

PAIRING(S): Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

RATING: PG

CHARACTERS MENTIONED: Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Tim

GENRE/AU: fluff, different timeline AU (not mentioned in detail but the timeline is different than canon), canon divergence, reader is kind of like Stephanie so NOT Bruce’s kids but she does live in the manor.

WORD COUNT: 3.9k

WARNINGS: Swearing, mentions of blood and injuries.

A/N: I could fs do a part two to this ;)

DEDICATIONS: Myself for having this idea for more than two years and finally getting it out in writing in some way

CREDITS: N/A

“Jesus Christ! Who the fuck is this guy, Batman?” You exclaim, panting hard through your mask; whoever this Red Hood guy is… he really knows your team's weaknesses. It’s disconcerting.

Weirdly enough, he’s left you mostly alone.

Bruce shrugs from across the room. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

It’s a blur of movement as Red Hood tries to attack mostly Bruce, only attacking Dick or you if you get in the way.

He’s said almost nothing since this fight started.

After a few minutes, Bruce sends a signal and jumps out of the half destroyed building; Dick follows and jumps out shortly after.

Leaving just you and Gothams latest criminal.

You’re about to turn to jump again, when suddenly your wrist is caught in Red Hood’s hand.

The familiarity of it makes you gasp and freeze.

He stares down at you, intimidating and silent through his red helmet.

Returning his stare, with as much fiery energy as you can muster, you try to pull your wrist away; His grip is like iron and you can’t.

“Don’t get in my way, Y/n.” He says, making your heart drop with the use of your civilian name. “I won’t choose between you and my goal.”

Your back is rigid and you’re breathing has stopped… if he knows your name, that means he probably knows everyone else’s too.

Fuck.

He finally lets go, brushing past your stiff body.

You’re too shocked to follow him.

….

“He knew my name, Bruce!” You say, feeling panicked. “Do you know what that means?”

Bruce nods curtly. “It means you aren’t suiting up until we’ve taken him down.” You try to protest but Bruce holds a hand up to cut you off. “It’s not up for discussion.”

You fidget with the small red pendant hanging around your neck, something you do whenever you’re feeling too many emotions.

It reminds you of Jason, the first boy you’ve ever been in love with and also the last; Jason was also Bruce’s second adopted son.

Jason Todd died five years ago.

But when he was alive… There was something special about him. He was always so eager to help Bruce by being robin.

That was back before you had your own suit; really, you’d only gotten a superhero identity so you could hunt down the joker and get revenge for Jason, but Bruce had managed to convince you not to do that in the last five years.

Probably for the best, even if seventeen is too young for someone to die; even if having a strong bond ripped away from you before it could become anything still hurt so badly.

You follow Bruce down into the batcave. “What do we know about Red Hood? Do we have any idea how he originated? It seems like he just popped out of nowhere.”

Bruce contemplates his answer as he unlocks the bat computer. “All we know is that he would have had to fly under our radar for months in order to take over the whole underground drug ring.”

You over hover his shoulder, trying to see what’s on the screen below him. “I don’t understand how we wouldn’t hear anything about him? With that many people who work for him, you’d think one of them would mention something.”

He hums in response. “They must be terrified of him.”

Alfred inserts himself into the conversation and ushers you back into the main part of the manor. “Alright, Miss. Y/n, You’re officially off duty indefinitely.” He pauses. “Like Master Bruce said, it is safer if you disconnect yourself from your hero identity.”

You frown. “If he knows my real name, he probably knows where I live.”

“He also told you, quote ‘don’t get in my way’ end quote.” Alfred tuts. “He clearly has no intention of hurting you as a civilian.”

You huff and head up to your bedroom, feeling like you really need to be out there but not really knowing why.

You suppose you don’t know what to do with your time anymore, now that you’ve been superhero-ing for so long.

When was the last time you read a book? Or watched a movie, just because you wanted to? It’s been too long…

Your bookshelves mostly carry decorative encyclopedias and other books that would bore you to sleep, so you leave your room and head just down the hallway.

The door creaks as you push open and clicks when you push it shut; then, you’re left in the silence of Jason Todd’s bedroom. Unchanged and untouched from the last moment he was in here.

It’s a little messy but nothing out of the ordinary for a teenage boy; the bed was never made, and his clothes were ever put in his drawers despite them being washed.

There’s books pulled out and just scattered in places, schoolbooks, comic books, novels… finally you spot what you wanted to find.

It’s a very old and very worn copy of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, something the two of you used to read together when you’d sneak onto the roof of the manor at nighttime.

You’d watch the stars and one of you would read the book out loud, until eventually you both would pass out and give Bruce a heart attack the next morning.

Maybe it was time to revisit that tradition, even if you were only reading to yourself.

Bruce and Alfred are in the Cave so you find your way into the roof and lay back. The shingles are definitely more uncomfortable without Jason to lay on, but it’s still a nice feeling nonetheless.

Just the act of laying under the stars with that book in your hands, makes you feel a kind of warmth that you haven’t felt in years.

You close your eyes and take a long, deep breath of night air; It’s fresh and ever so slightly damp, but in a way that makes you feel nice. The cold nips at your body in all the right ways.

Unfortunately, all bliss is momentary, and someone clearing their throat makes you jump a couple centimeters upwards.

You’re met with the bright red helmet of Red Hood.

“Pride and Prejudice, huh?” He says casually, though you're pretty sure he has a voice changer on, which makes his voice sound more irritated than it probably is.

You back up a few inches. “Bru-” Red Hood slaps a hand over your mouth before you can finish yelling for help.

You squirm in his grip, but he just maneuvers you so that your back is to his chest and you can barely move which makes your body lock up again— you can’t help the feeling of familiarity that settles in your stomach, or the way your body reacts to his.

Worst of all, he smells just like… no, it must just be where you are.

Jason Todd is dead.

And yet.

“Relax, Y/n, I’m not here to hurt you.” Something about him makes you listen and you relax your body. He kind of half-scoffs in response. “Are you done?”

You nod as best you can. He releases you.

“Who— why are you here?” You say, trying to ignore the fact that everything about this masked man reminds you of Jason.

Your chest rises and falls irregularly as he stares at you.

His head snaps away randomly. “Why should I tell you that?”

“Don’t answer my question with a question.”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

There’s a look of defiance shared between the two of you, or, at least, on your end. You can’t actually see his face so you’re really just assuming.

You spin away and blow out a labored breath. “God, I must be going insane…” Even the way he talks with you sounds like Jason.

“You’re so short, you look like a bunny who lost its carrot.” He says with a laugh.

“I do not!” You exclaim angrily, your mouth dropping open. “Okay, that’s it, I’m calling Bruce.” Your hand slips into your pocket to pull out your phone, and just as it's out of your pocket, Red Hood grabs your wrist; he traps it in one spot and yanks the phone from your hand.

He gently sets it on the ground. “Tell that fucker whatever you want, but wait until I’m gone.” The tone in his voice sends a chill down your spine. He seems so angry…

With that, he leaves, taken the same way that you took off the roof.

You stand there until you hear the roar of his motorbike, and then you finally retreat from the roof with the book clutched tightly to your chest.

…..

“I’m going with you, Bruce. You can’t stop me.” You say, already moving to try to grab your suit.

“No, you’re not.” He says sternly, blocking your path. “You need to stay out of this fight.”

You raise your eyebrows in challenge. “I’m going whether you let me wear that suit or not.” Bruce apparently doesn’t like this because he frowns even harder than before. You continue, “You can’t go alone. Dick is out of town and Tim is at school. Let me come.”

“You forget I did this by myself for quite a while before I adopted Dick.” He says firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Bruce doesn’t need your help, you know that; helping him isn’t your real goal.

Ever since the rooftop incident with Red Hood you’d gone into some sort of obsessive spiral over his similarities to Jason.

You feel like you need to talk to him again, touch him again… just to see why he’s so familiar; you feel insane.

The deepest parts of your brain scream at you that it’s not just similarities, that he really is Jason but… he can’t be; you watched them bury Jason’s body.

“There’s something else going on with you.” Bruce says, basically sizing you up.

You stiffen, which unfortunately gives away your next lie. “There’s nothing going on with me.” No excuse comes to mind so you don’t say anything more.

Bruce pauses for a beat.

“This has nothing to do with Red Hood.”

“Okay? Why would that matter?” You say dismissively, but also way too fast. “I don’t think keeping me locked up at home helps anyone.”

He sighs and finally caves. “Fine, you can come.”

…..

You aren’t sure how this situation devolved so quickly, but your communications got cut off a while ago and you haven’t been able to find Bruce or navigate very well through the rubble.

You’re bleeding heavily from a few different cuts and you’re pretty sure you sprained your ankle.

The faint cackle of the Joker makes you dive under a fallen piece of concrete, because if he comes this way he’ll surely kill you.

But the laugh recedes so you crawl out and sit against it instead.

You’re just about to start sobbing from the pain when you hear footsteps again; you go silent and try to move but you don't allow that.

You see a flash of red, and then Red Hood turns a corner into your line of sight.

“Christ’s sake, Y/n.” He mumbles. “What happened?” He approaches and drops down so he’s sitting on his feet, he stares for a moment, and you assume he’s assessing your injuries.

“You can’t call me that— here.” You hiss when he presses a finger against your ankle.

He stands up and takes both your hands, completely ignoring what you said. “Up. But don’t stand on your bad ankle.”

You grip his hands and stand up, holding your bad ankle in the air; Red Hood scoops you up bridal style not a moment later.

You squeal. “What are you doing?”

He stops walking and turns the face of his helmet directly toward you. “I’m taking you back to my base so I can help you get fixed up.” He interrupts you before you can speak, answering the question you were going to ask. “Batman isn’t here anymore, he went to follow after the Joker.”

It’s a rough walk to his bike, and it lasts for about ten minutes; ten awkward minutes of you being carried by Red Hood.

Red Hood who’s supposed to be a criminal and your enemy. Red Hood who brings you more comfort than he should just because of who he reminds you of.

He settles you onto the bike, pulling out an extra helmet before he speeds off.

…..

“Jesus, you sprained your ankle really badly.” He curses, performing whatever medical procedures as you hiss and whine at the pain.

He’s already stitched and/or dressed any of the open wounds you had and he saved the worst for last.

“Okay,” he says absent-mindedly. “I can’t do this properly with this thing.”

He reaches for his helmet but you stop him. “You’re taking your helmet off?”

He hesitates, then nods slowly. “I have to. If you don’t want to see, then shut your eyes until I’m done.”

You nod and squeeze your eyes shut.

He sighs softly and gets back to working on your ankle.

…..

“I swear to god, Bruce, it’s him. Red Hood is Jason.” You say, purposfully making your voice flat and void of emotion. “He has to be.”

Bruce just stares.

And stares.

Sympathetically, softly. But he stares.

“Jason has been dead for a long time, Y/n, and you know that.”

“No— I know, but he can’t be— that has to be him.” You back up into one of the chairs in the batcave, trying to calm your racing heart; you still try to keep a calm outward facade.

“What makes you think he’s Jason?” Bruce asks.

You weakly gesture at nothing with your hand. “Just look at him. He’s— everything about him is the same.”

Tim snorts from the computer. “The running drug rings and murders?”

“Not appropriate, Tim.” Dick says flatly and Tim’s face falls quickly.

You don’t blame him, you probably would have made a joke like that too.

Shaking your head, you stare at the floor past Bruce. “They sound the same, they talk the same way, they look similar— hell, they even smell the same.”

Bruce’s brows furrow. “How do you know what he smells like?”

“Uh…” you stall. “You know, close combat.”

Apparently, he drops it even though he clearly doesn’t believe you, because he asks another question. “We’ve never seen Red Hood unmasked, how do you know they look similar?”

You shrug. “They just do. There’s just something about him. I haven’t been able to shake the feeling for a while.”

It’s silent again for several long moments.

Then Bruce shakes his head absentmindedly.

“Jason is dead, Y/n. No matter how much we miss him, he can’t come back.”

But he’s wrong, he has to be.

Because no one is that similar to someone. You’re sure of it.

……

Your cheeks are wet and your eyes are starting to become raw from you rubbing at them.

Sobbing pathetically on the rooftop of the manor because you had to be reminded about a death that happened a long time ago is not the highlight of your day.

It’s stupid, going from sure of yourself, to telling yourself you’re so stupid for ever thinking it could be true in the first place.

There’s footsteps beside you, but you don’t look up. You don’t care enough to see who it is.

You fidget with the necklace around your neck as you sniffle into your knees.

Something clicks and then hisses as if air pressure is being released before you hear a tiny thud, and then someone pulls you into them.

You know who it is now.

“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly. You know you could look up and confirm your suspicions at any moment but you just can’t bring yourself to do it.

It’s not true, after all, because it can’t be. It’s not possible.

You shrug against him. “I’m reopening old wounds for no reason.” You pause. “Why do you trust me?”

He’s silent, contemplative for a while. “You’re you.”

You laugh dryly. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“You haven’t even bothered to look have you?” His hand strokes lines in your hair. “You could. I don’t think I’d mind.”

“I don’t want to know.” You say, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m not ready for that.”

He nods, you can feel the movement through his body, even though it’s subtle.

You sit, wrapped up in his arms for a long while before he clears his throat softly and asks, “what old wounds have you been reopening?”

Your eyes well again, but you choke back the tears. “An old… friend, I guess. He died.” You start to pull back but you don’t look at his face.

Instead, you bury your face in your hands again. He lets you pull back. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

You shrug. “It was a long time ago, he just meant a lot to me— and it’s really hard because you remind me so much of him.”

He makes a sort of strangled sound and then clears his throat again but more rough this time. “Why do you say that?”

His voice sounds even more similar without the helmet and voice changer. This man is going to be the death of you. Maybe literally. “I don’t… I don’t know. It’s just everything.” You shake your head and laugh sardonically. “It’s driving me insane.”

“How did he die?” His voice is darker than before, and there’s a sort of undertone you can’t place.

“Brutally.” You stop, take a deep breath, and offer only a bit more context. “The Joker.”

He hums. “The Joker‘s alive and ruling this dumb city.” He pauses. “How do you think your friend would feel about that?”

“Probably about the same as I do. Sick.” You run a hand through your hair, purposefully trying to avoid seeing his face. “That’s why I became a hero, you know. I wanted to kill the joker because he killed Ja- um, my friend.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“People stopped me before I did something I couldn’t come back from.” You say, wrapping your arms around your legs. “I hope the joker suffers a terrible death, but I don’t think it should be by my hands. He wins if I spend the rest of my existence regretting it.”

Red Hood picks up his helmet and clicks it back on. “Right.” He stands and stares down at you. “I have to leave now.”

You shudder at his sudden coldness, and stand abruptly. “Okay, I— um, goodbye…?” You want to smack yourself at how unsure you sound. “Did I say something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “I just don’t know why you would ever regret ridding the world of someone like The Joker, that’s all.”

Stiffly, you nod and wipe your hands on your pants.

“Sorry about your friend.” He finishes, before leaving you alone on the roof again. “Too bad I didn’t know him.”

Basically, crushing any hopes you might’ve had that he was Jason.

……

This is an atrociously stupid idea, you know; driving directly into the den of Gotham's biggest drug lord is the smartest thing to do.

But Gotham's biggest drug lord is Red Hood, and you’re fairly sure he won’t hurt you. Mostly.

His lackeys though, don’t seem so forgiving.

“Who the hell are you?” The man who barks the question at you, is raggedy looking and has the worst, most distasteful tattoos you’ve seen in your life.

“I’m here to see Red Hood.” You amend quickly, “I’m a friend of his.”

“Yeah, right.” The other guard says, a bulky looking woman who is also insanely beautiful… unsettlingly so. “A fragile little thing like you, friends with our boss… please.”

You scoff. “Trust me, I’m not fragile.” Stopping, you contemplate whether it’s a good idea to start something, considering your ankle is still healing. “Just call him.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever.”

An old phone hangs on the wall and she picks up the receiver and quickly dials a number. “Hey, I have a woman here who says she’s the bosses friend— her name? I have no clue— Oi, what’s your name?” The woman barks at you.

“Y/n.”

“Her name’s Y/n.” She’s silent for a minute while we all wait, then she hangs up the phone aggressively and yanks your arm into her grip. “Lucky. Let’s go.”

The corridors are a bit confusing to navigate, but you’re mostly just following the woman, who seems very familiar with them.

After ten minutes you reach a door, it matches almost every other door, but it has ‘boss’ written crudely on it in spray paint.

“You’re on your own from here.” She says gruffly before stomping away.

You take a moment to collect yourself before you knock, and the door swings open before you can even finish knocking.

“Why are you here?” Red Hood sounds breathless behind his mask, as if something winded him. “How did you remember how to get here?”

“I’m… actually not sure.” You chuckle quietly to yourself as Red Hood pulls you inside.

He sits down at a desk after pulling a chair out for you to sit in. “Again, why are you here?”

Your heart seizes for a moment as if the reason why you’re here hit you all over again. “I want you to show me who you are.”

“Are you sure?” Red Hood questions slowly, his body locking up. “You’re not going to like it.”

You nod curtly. “Yes, I need to know.”

He takes a deep breath and stands up, coming right up close to you. Far enough that you could see his face clearly but close enough to have your knees buckling.

He reaches up and presses a button you can’t see. The helmet hisses and opens, he pulls it off.

And your jaw drops.

Standing there, in grown up glory, black hair, green eyes that used to kill you, is Jason Fucking Todd.

“You’re— You’re not— dead.” You stammer, almost reaching out to touch him before you yank your hand back.

You’re so irrationally angry and also relieved and devastated all at the same time.

Jason sets the helmet down. You can’t decide whether to hug him and never let go or slap him for waiting so long to tell you. “That’s a… complicated story.” He pauses. “I promise I’ll tell you that story but I just— can’t get into that right now.”

You nod slowly. “Okay… that means I can get fucking pissed now.”

You’ve clearly confused him when you wrap your hands around his waist and squeeze tightly while also cursing him out. “I can’t believe you waited this long to show me.”

You can see the smart-ass comment on the tip of his tongue but he bites it back. “I knew you’d find out eventually.” His eyes caress your body and there’s a look of longing lingering in his eyes; he seems to be contemplating something. “Fuck it, I’ve been waiting too long to do this.”

You barely have time to react as Jason lowers his face down to yours and kisses you; As soon as you realize what he’s doing, you kiss back.

His hands go to rest on your hips, as you slowly get pushed back into his desk behind you. When you hit the ledge of if, Jason lifts you onto its surface, and pulls back.

“I’ve wanted to do that since we were kids.” He says quietly.

You gently touch your lips, almost in disbelief. “I’ve been wanting you to do that since we were kids.”

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