#both what he suffered and others' around him

[verstappenf1lecccc]

What was I made for?

please note that this work tackles the mind of a mother in postpartum depression, if that’s not your cup of tea please don’t read it.

you had always heard the saying sad mothers raise bad children. what you didn’t expect was your husband slapping you in the face (not literally) by saying those exact same words to you.

if anyone ever asked you where you’d find yourself after 5 years you sure as hell would not believe that it would be in the arms of a formula one driver married to him with a baby on the way.

When you had met lando he was still deep in his party ways and clubbing habits, slowly but surely he grew out of it and became more of a boyfriend then a fiance and then finally a husband.

When you saw the positive pregnancy test you almost freaked out. Kids were not on the table at all with lando always being half way across the world due to his job and you not wanting to raise a child till his career calmed down a bit.

Fate had other plans for the both of you it seemed.

Lando’s first reaction was of shock and disbelief he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he would be a father. It seemed so strange that he would be responsible for a little soul.

Once the initial shock wore out he was up and about getting things ready for the baby.

This is when you started slipping more and more into your head and away from your husbands eyes.

It almost seemed like lando didn’t see you as you and simply saw you as a vessel that was carrying his future baby.

You didn’t want to sound ungrateful but it was like you had lost your own identity.

Unfortunately that would only worsen as the baby came.

Little Charlotte Norris arrived after grueling hours of pain and suffering. She was such a precious thing so small and innocent and yet when you saw her you didn’t feel a thing.

It felt sickening, how bad of a mother were you to not feel the joy and happiness when looking at your own child. If lando could do it so could you.

You felt like a monster unable of loving your own flesh and blood.

Things worsened for you unfortunately.

Everyone who ever came to visit only bothered asking about the baby and how she was no one once bothered to ask if you were okay. You didn’t look okay it was obvious yet everyone swept it under the rug including your husband.

Your deep hollow eyes and sore body was ignored by the man who vowed to be with you through thick or thin. It was a slap in your face when your daughter preferred to be with your husband over you. Charlotte had a problem latching to you correctly and would cry out of hunger, each high pierced cry would make you feel more and more like a failure. your own daughter hated you.

When lando came back he immediately noticed the screams of his little angel yet ignored once again the crumbling figure of his wife. you couldn’t help the tears that left your eyes when lando snapped at you for keeping his precious daughter crying and away from him.

That’s when you died on the inside.

A part of you simply couldn’t do it anymore.

With each pill your heart numbed itself from the pain and your mind went foggy. You felt at peace finally being able to keep the two people you loved the most in this world happy.

Lando wouldn’t have to worry about you anymore and your daughter wouldn’t have a sad mother who would raise her. Everything seemed like it would work out all without you.

[valenteal]

Okay I actually really hate this take I’m sorry. Anakin was not possessive or selfish and that’s not what the Jedi taught him.

The way I think of it is that Jedi pursue inner peace by disconnecting themselves emotionally from situations, they feel empathy in a very detached way. That’s what having no attachments means. It’s in the word. The Jedi are Detached from reality as it is perceived by humans.

The Force gives Jedi a glimpse of what it is to be a 4th dimensional entity with consciousness no trapped in a single moment in time. So to a certain extent they don’t actually perceive time linearly and thus do not feel they’ve lost something because it still exists in the past.

So now that we’ve established that yes Jedi are detached from the present let’s move onto the more problematic statement about selfishness and possessiveness.

It is not selfish to want unconditional love. That’s basic human nature. Anakin, a person who clearly suffers from borderline personality disorder which comes with symptoms such as fear of abandonment, an unstable view of the self, devaluing or overvaluing relationships to the point placing of one’s self-worth entirely in another person’s hands, and more, literally needs unconditional love and support. And he developed this disorder in large part because of the Jedi order and the way they treated him. He was simultaneously considered the “chosen one” and considered a burden or a problem. He had to change everything about the way he thought to fit the prescribed mold of what a Jedi should be, and he was held to higher standards because of his perceived “chosen one” status and people were disappointed when he failed to meet them. I know from experience how truly awful it is to be told “i know you can do better” in a disappointed voice when you’re honestly trying your best.

And that’s not even touching on how in Phantom Menace he created strong bonds with both Qui-Gon and Padmé only to have both of the ripped away right after he’d left behind everything he knew and loved. After the movie he was around nothing familiar or comfortable. He didn’t know Obi-Wan and he knew that Obi-Wan hadn’t actually wanted him as an apprentice or even in the Jedi order. So he was surrounded by a bunch of people who all thought he didn’t belong and only let him stay because of a dead man’s wishes. He was NINE and being told that everything he ever learned was wrong and backwards and leads to being evil and that he needs to be perfect for anyone else to think he belonged because even the smallest mistake would just confirm their preconceived beliefs about him.

And that’s not even mention Sidious’s manipulation. Anakin never would have become anything like Vader without Sidious leading him.

Also! There is a difference between possessive and protective! Anakin is protective! He has lost so much he’s clinging desperately to what he has! He wants to protect the one good thing in his life. He doesn’t try to control Padmé, they actually have a very healthy relationship, it’s the situation that’s toxic. Anakin doesn’t view Padmé as a possession, I don’t know why anyone would think that. Oh wait the Clovis arcs. Right. Those exist and other people actually consider them canon. That’s a whole ‘nother rant about writing that I’m not going to get into here. But let’s make this one thing clear, Clone Wars Anakin and movie Anakin are 2 totally different characters psychologically because of the awful reception of the prequel trilogy when it came out.

"no attachments" in SW literally just means "don't be selfish and possessive". that's it. that's all there is. doesn't mean jedi can't have friends and loved ones. they can. just. don't be possessive and selfish about it. don't murder thousands of people in an effort to save one.

[tune-on-in-folks]

Day 19! I think this one is a little sweet. A bit short and fast, but sweet. Human Alastor for the win!

Tags/Warnings: Phone sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, discussion of murder, murderous intent, murderous ideation, fem!reader, abuse mention, reader's husband is abusive. Word Count: 1,735

When Alastor first met you it wasn't by accident, nor coincidence. Instead it was due to his meticulous planning. You were married to a very affluent man. A man who used his wealth for anything but good. His reputation had preceded him, and Alastor was certain that anything and anyone that man associated himself with, was also tainted. Which is what he had thought of you and was precisely the reason he had orchestrated your ‘fateful’ meeting at Mimzy's establishment.

Initially he had approached you in an attempt to get closer to your husband, and if he had to kill you too, what was the harm? But one conversation with you had turned into several, and months later he found himself no closer to killing your husband.

Alastor had been correct in his assumption that by association, you were tainted by your husband. But for all the reasons he hadn't expected. The first time he noticed the bruises he nearly flew into a blind rage. And you had the audacity to laugh it off, as though the abuse you were enduring at his hands, was not worth any fuss. As though your well-being was nothing more than an afterthought, something to be swept aside for everyone else's. It was on that day Alastor became increasingly impatient to kill your husband. He had it all planned out; from the time, to what he would do to make your husband suffer a fate worse than death for hours on end, before extinguishing his pathetic existence.

But you were a distraction.

That's what Alastor ultimately decided you were. A beautiful, wonderful, annoying distraction. You with your beautiful smile, your captivating laugh. Your wondrous eyes, your…he could go on. Get lost in everything that was intrinsically you. And for the past several months he had. He had allowed himself to grow fond of you. He held a deep seated affection for you. He craved you in ways he had never craved another soul before. What he felt for you was raw and vast. It left him feeling split open, as though your very presence had taken an axe to his chest, carving a home there. A place for you alone. It was only natural that the budding relationship between you both blossomed into something more, something deeper. Something sinful. 

It had started with a stolen kiss one night outside of Mimzy's establishment. Upon seeing the time you had pulled him down, pressed a kiss against his lips, and called out a goodbye as you rushed away. He had been left stunned, his fingers brushing against his lips as he watched you run. How he wished he could have given chase. That kiss had spawned the first instances of longing for you. He wanted more, craved it. From that night it spiralled. Soft smiles and lingering touches, small kisses. You were driving him insane, he was certain of it. Until one night he cornered you and took you right up against the wall in an alley. He had been consumed by lust and desire, wanting nothing more than to have you. All of you. You were a thrill unlike any other. Being intimate with you gave him a high better than he had ever known. Not even watching the life drain from someone's eyes compared to how it felt to be with you. To kiss you, to hold you, to fuck you. You were intoxicating.

You were a damned distraction.

Distracting him from what he truly wanted. And that was for your husband to be dead, killed by his hand.

The ringing of his phone snaps Alastor out of his thoughts, his hands tighten around the book he's holding. With a sigh he picks the phone up from the receiver, setting his book aside.

“Hartfelt residence.” He answers smoothly, smiling with false brightness.

“Hello, my love.” You greet him softly, “are you alone?”

His smile softens and he leans back in his chair. “Hello, my dear… What are you doing calling me at this hour? I thought you and your…darling husband had a party.”

You chuckle at the contempt in his voice. “Yeah, well my ‘darling husband' as you put it, is currently fucking his mistress.”

Alastor's hand tightens around the phone in anger, but you continue on, not letting him get a word in.

“So while he's off having fun, I thought I might as well have some too.”

He can hear the amusement in your voice. As though your husband actively cheating on you wasn't such an insult. How you remained so bright despite that man, he'd never know. 

“Some fun?” He asks, wanting nothing more than to snuff out the life of your blasted husband.

“With you, Alastor. Over the phone.”

He laughs softly, “my dear, what fun could we possibly get up to over the phone?”

Your sigh filters over the phone, and he can hear the pout in your voice. “Well I can’t have you in person right now, so can’t I just pleasure myself while listening to your voice?”

He laughs again, caught off guard by your candidness. “And are you, my dear? Pleasuring yourself, that is.”

You flush, “Well I haven’t started! I was…asking. I wanted to make sure it was okay with you, if we did that, if we do that.”

He leans further back in his chair, his voice tinged with amusement. “It’s perfectly fine, my dear... Do you often sneak away to finger yourself?”

You snort, smiling, “Only when I know I can moan your name.”

He can feel his cock twitch in his pants, a sensation that he had slowly grown accustomed to when it came to you. You made his body respond in ways he once found a nuisance, now he welcomed it.

“I think it’s only fair, little doe, if I get to touch myself too.” He decides, hearing your breath hitch.

He can imagine you in a room someplace, your skirts bunched around your hips as your hand creeps towards your centre. He hears a small whimper from you and he wonders how exactly you’re touching yourself.

“Please.” You breathe out, your voice shaky. “I want to hear you too, Al. I want to know that you’re getting as much pleasure out of this as I am.”

He reaches for the clasp of his pants, working it undone. In a moment he’s freed his rapidly hardening cock. He closes his hand around it, pulling a groan from the back of his throat.

“Oh..” He moans, letting his head fall back as he slowly pumps his length. “The sinful things you make me do, my dear.”

You giggle, working your fingers faster, “Ah, but you do them for me.”

He chuckles, the sound deep within his chest, sending shivers down your spine. Your walls clench at the sound. You adored his laugh and the things it made you feel.

“Hah, I do them because I adore you.” He breathes out, his hand moving faster.

He can hear the muffled sounds of you pleasuring yourself, your whimpers and moans growing louder. His own breathing is laboured, the sound of him fisting his cock carrying back over the phone to you.

“I wish..” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep quiet, “that I was married to you, Alastor. I hate him.”

His hand tightens around the phone again at your words, an ache settling in his chest. You occasionally said things like that. Things that made it feel as though you’d taken one of his knives and stabbed him right in the heart.

“Sweetheart…” He murmurs, clenching his jaw in anger at the thought of your husband. “Think of me, not him.”

You whimper, so close to your edge already. “I always think of you..oh fuck, I’m so close. Fuck, Alastor!”

He tightens his hand around his cock, his pace quickening as you moan his name. He hates how low and quiet your moans are. He knows that you’re attempting to stay quiet, keeping your voice down to stop your husband from finding out. It angers him. He wishes he was there, fucking you into your martial bed, drawing out all the sounds he loved to hear from you. He wishes he was there, forcing you to be louder and louder, as he took you hard and fast.

“Keep going,” He urges over the phone, “I want to hear you cum for me.”

“Fuck..” You breathe out, focusing on your pleasure, focusing on Alastor’s soft grunts over the phone.

He wished he could kill your husband tonight. Lure him out with a false sense of trust only to shatter it. Oh, he’d take great pleasure in drawing out the man’s death. Of ensuring that he felt all the pain he had caused you and more. Alastor’s breath hitches as he imagines how your husband would scream, how he’d try to get away, only to find that he couldn’t escape. Alastor imagined that fear in your husband’s eyes, imagined watching the life dim from them. He groans, his release growing nearer

“Ah, fffuck, Al-lastor!” You cry out, a bit too loudly for your own liking, as you cum around your fingers, your body shaking with the effort of your release.

He’s drawn out of his fantasy by your voice, a shiver running through his body as you moan his name.

“There we go.” He praises. “So good for me, sweetheart… Fuck-”

His cock twitches as his orgasm washes over him with surprising force. Hot ropes of cum splatter his hand and slacks, but he can’t find himself to care about the mess at the moment.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, wiping his hand with a handkerchief. “Are you still there, my doe?”

“Still here.” You say softly, having let your skirts fall back into place. “Still missing you.”

He smiles, glad you hadn’t disappeared on him just yet. “What would you say, if I told you I could get your husband to leave? Permanently.”

He can hear the smile in your voice as you reply without missing a beat. “I’d say I’d marry you.”

He chuckles softly, his smile widening. That was all the permission he needed. He was going to kill your husband, make sure he never touched you ever again. No more waiting. No more rushed calls, or stolen kisses, no more longing. It would just be you and him.

He couldn’t wait.

@pumppkinlynn I promised to tag you in this one! So here it is.

[celestiamour]

ft. logan howlett, ororo munroe, laura kinney, wanda wilson, wade wilson, kurt wagner, jean grey, scott summers (separate) x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ how they are when you are on your time of the month┊1k words

contains: some smutty topics for logan & jean, periods and all the complimentary side effects obviously because it’s so generous ahahahahaaaaaaaaa

➤ author's note: oh how i hate being a woman at times, if only some strong mutants could come to life and help ease the suffering…

let’s get this out of the way— yes, logan howlett can smell it and is able to tell when you’re on our period. in fact, he’s even able to sniff out the difference between the blood from menstruation and the blood from injuries. he’s been… “around the block” to put it lightly, he knows what you are going through, will be nice about it, and will use his experience to help care for you. he won’t be as sassy as he usually is even if you are a bit snappy, he’ll get extra food and put aside snacks for you, and he’ll give you as much or as little space as you want. also very willing to eat you out or cuddle-fuck you during it, being a little messy doesn’t faze him and he’s probably done nastier. 8/10, he’ll help you get through it without any complaint.

ororo munroe knows when your cycle is coming before you do, she keeps track of it and is on duty to take care of you the second you wake up with that uncomfortable feeling in your panties. she’s already inside the bathroom attached to your room running a warm bath completely with bath bombs and flower petals, ready to carry you into the water, and to strip your bedsheets for a wash if they get stained. there’s even a cute little wicker basket full of candies and drinks on your bedside with a stuffed animal she brought from target sitting on your bedside. it may seem excessive to some for something that happens every month, but she believes the effort is worth it if it means easing your pains. 10/10, she’s an angel descended from heaven in your eyes.

both of your dads are pretty useless (worst! logan is less knowledgeable than his original counterpart) on the topic and althea gives you a piece of chocolate at most, so you and laura kinney need to take care of each other when shark weeks come around. so many cuddles, kisses, and movie nights while snacking because cravings are a bitch. she’ll pat you on the back and rub your shoulders, muttering little “i know, princess, i know” as you whine. don’t even think of moving if you’re in a position like that, she’ll run around the house to get you pain relievers and a hot water bottle. 9/10, she’s such a wonderful girlfriend.

not sure why, but i feel like you and wanda wilson’s periods would sync a lot? anyhow, it’s a nightmare dealing with mood swings, cramps, and cravings all while taking care of babypool, so there’s a general rule not to take anything seriously during those days because you’re both sensitive and irritable. once it’s all over though, you’re back in each other’s arms and apologizing for anything that might have been said or done (nothing serious happened, it’s just something like “i’m sorry for saying that in an off tone and making you think i was mad at you”). 5/10, could be a lot better but the days afterward are kinda like honeymoon bliss again.

wade wilson is the biggest shit of them all, he definitely says “and that’s on period” every time he finds out, calls you his little ketchup bottle, sends you period cramp moodboards which are just poorly cropped photos of him in the deadpool suit doubled over in pain from a fight— however, he will make you laugh so hard you’ll cry and forget about the ache in your body. 2/10 in terms of helpfulness but 10/10 in terms of funny jokes and conversations. 

you’ll give poor kurt wagner a heart attack every time you whine out in pain and curl up on the couch, clutching onto your stomach and contorting about to find a comfortable position. despite the promises from yourself and everyone else that you will be fine as the aching feeling is temporary, he can’t help but bite his nails from worry. the suffering of people with a uterus will never cease to shock him, they really have to bleed freely like that for a few days every month? he will not leave you alone and is going to treat your every request like an order from royalty. anything you want, you get, and no amount of assurance is going to convince him he doesn’t have to do all that, so you might as well enjoy it while you’re moody and suffering. 

jean grey is one of those people who just don’t have period cramps and still glows despite it all which you are so fucking jealous of. that being said, she’s the best person to be around when it hits. since she’s basically the mansion’s school nurse, she always has snacks, water, pads/tampons of every variety, and pain relievers on hand with so much bounty that she never seems to run out. as your girlfriend, she’s also willing to be a bit sneaky and write you a doctor’s note to get you out of classes regardless of if you are a teacher or a student. she’s also down to fuck even if you’re on your period since she knows orgasms are proven to lessen the pain and she’ll also massage your tits if they are feeling tender (and because she likes your chest no matter the size). 9/10, she can be a bit busy at times but is perfect aside from that.

please hold hands with scott summers and go with him when picking out pads/tampons, he will get overwhelmed by the amount of options and panic buy one of everything. what are wings? liners? what’s the difference between yellow and green, is it lemon or lime? he might forget that you’re more sensitive during these times and slip a comment into a conversation that would make you cry when it usually makes you laugh, but he’ll remind you to stay hydrated, will go out of his way to buy you brownies from your favorite bakery, and will smother you in cuddles. 

[steveseddie]

gold was the color of the leaves

steddie | rating: t | wc: 1,6k | cw: none | tags: steve pov, silly teenage boys, first kiss, fluff

for @steddie-spooktober day twenty two prompt “leaves”

read here on ao3

Steve wakes up when a leaf tickles his nose– or rather, when someone tickles his nose with a leaf. He scrunches it up, swatting the leaf away with his hand. 

He easily recognizes the snigger that follows so he’s not surprised to open his eyes and find Eddie leaning over him, one elbow propped up on the grass and a devilish grin stretching over his lips.  

Steve lifts his sunglasses to scowl at him. “Are you like, allergic to people relaxing?” He asks in a bitchy tone that only makes Eddie grin wider. 

“Deadly so, Stevie,” he says, long dark eyelashes fluttering as the hand that’s still holding the leaf rests against his forehead like he’s going to faint. “It was either annoying you or dying, and you don’t want me to die, do you?”

“I guess not,” Steve says with a long-suffering sigh, but either the fondness in his voice or the way his lips tick up prove that he doesn’t mean it because Eddie’s grin turns blinding, his dimples popping. Steve is glad he’s already lying down or his knees might’ve buckled at the sight and sent him rolling down the small hill they’re laying on.

“Besides,” Eddie says, tickling Steve’s cheek with the leaf, “you’re missing out on all the fun.”

“Napping is fun,” Steve points out, swatting Eddie’s hand away again. 

“Yeah, if you’re eighty!” Eddie snorts. “Are you an old man, Stevie?”

“Eddie, I’m younger than you,” Steve deadpans. 

“Maybe, but I have a young soul, Harrington–”

Steve smirks. “If by young you mean immature–”

Hand to his heart, Eddie gasps indignantly. “Hey!”

“Dude, you and the kids spent the last hour gathering leaves in piles and jumping on them,” Steve says amusedly. He spent the better part of that hour watching them tackle each other between shrieks of laughter, thankful for his sunglasses and how they let him stare at Eddie as much as he wanted without getting caught.

Eddie shrugs. “Hm, you may have a point.”

When he moves, something in Eddie’s hair catches Steve’s eye. A leaf– proof that he’d spent an hour being tackled and rolling on the floor before he decided to annoy him.

Steve’s fingers itch to reach out and pluck that leaf from Eddie’s hair, smooth the curls down, grab a hold of them and drag Eddie down–

Steve shakes those thoughts out of his head, balling his hands into fists to keep them from reaching out. In the silence that follows, Steve becomes aware of the sudden lack of yells and laughter around them. “Where are the little shitheads?”

“Wheeler sent them to wash their hands so they can have a snack,” Eddie says, pointing at the water fountain where the boys are cleaning up and at Max and El, walking arm in arm towards Nancy and Robin at the picnic table. 

“Not you?” Steve asks, head falling back against the blanket he’s using to lay on the grass. 

Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I told her she’s not the boss of me,” he pauses, “then ran away before she could hit me with her book.” 

Steve snorts out a chuckle.

“Besides, I don’t want a snack. I got one right here,” Eddie says with a playful wink that turns Steve’s cheeks bright red. 

He ignores the heat creeping on his face. “I swear, Munson, if you try to bite me again–” he says, thinking about last week when Eddie said he was hungry and promptly sunk his teeth on Steve’s arm.

It didn’t hurt that bad– he was wearing a thick sweater after all. What did hurt was biting his tongue as hard as he could to keep a moan from slipping past his lips from Eddie biting him.

Eddie sniggers. “I won’t bite you, I promise,” he says innocently before he leers at Steve, his face hovering merely inches from Steve’s face. “Only if you ask.”

Steve grits his teeth together. “Shut up,” he quips, shoving Eddie off of him until they’re both lying on their backs, their sides pressed together. 

They fall into comfortable silence which Steve breaks with a loud yawn. 

Eddie’s head lolls to the side, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Tired, sweetheart?”

Steve’s stomach flips at the petname. He shrugs as casually as he can. “A little, I- uh, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Nightmares?” Steve nods. Eddie grimaces apologetically, tugging some hair across his face. “Shit, I should’ve let you keep napping.”

Without giving it much thought, Steve curls his pinkie around Eddie’s. “No, it’s fine,” he says, waiting for Eddie to meet his gaze. When he does, his eyes are a little wide. Wistfully Steve wishes it’s because of their interlocked pinkies. “I don’t wanna miss out on all the fun just because I’m tired.”

Eddie's eyes sparkle and he props himself up on his elbow again, grinning at Steve. “Does that mean I can tackle you into a pile of leaves?”

“You forget I was a jock,” Steve says smugly. “I’d like to see you try.”

Eddie laughs, something between a snort and a giggle. He drops his head in Steve’s chest, making Steve’s heart stutter. 

From this angle, Steve spots another leaf trapped in the curls in the back of Eddie’s head, and this time he doesn’t stop himself from reaching for it. 

The moment Eddie feels Steve’s fingers in his hair, his head snaps up and Steve’s hand ends up cupping the back of Eddie’s neck. 

Their faces are close– so close that Steve can hear the way Eddie’s breath catches when he realizes the same thing.

“Eddie–” Steve starts, not sure if he’s going to apologize for touching his hair without permission or for the way his eyes keep darting down to Eddie’s lips in a way that he knows is fucking obvious. 

But before he can decide what to say, he hears Eddie make an impatient, needy noise in the back of his throat before he surges forward and presses his lips against Steve’s. 

He lets out a surprised yelp, thinking– holy shit, Eddie is kissing me!

The thought bounces against Steve’s skull like a ping-pong ball as he tries to get his brain working again. But before he can do that long enough to kiss Eddie back, he’s pulling away and out of Steve’s reach. Steve’s hand falls back to his side, empty except for the leaf that he plucked out of Eddie’s hair. 

“You uh– you had this in your hair,” Steve says dumbly, holding up the leaf. 

Eddie’s eyes dart to the leaf and his expression falls as he realizes that is why Steve’s hand ended up in his hair, not because Steve was making some kind of move.

“Shit,” he mutters, his doe-like gaze darting from the leaf to Steve’s mouth. That he just kissed. “Shit, fuck– I– shit.”

He scrambles to his feet, and in his haste, ends up stumbling and falling back on his ass– only to roll down the small hill. 

“Eddie!” 

Steve jumps to his feet and runs after him, careful not to trip and follow Eddie down the hill the same way.

He makes it to the bottom right after Eddie and his eyes dart over his starfished body, checking for injuries. 

“Christ, dude. Are you okay?”

Eddie groans, covering his face with his hands. “Did the fall kill me? Please say yes.”

Steve suppresses a snort. “I mean. It’s barely even a hill, so I don’t think that’s possible. You might end up with a bruise or two though.”

“Oh, you mean apart from the bruise to my ego?” 

“What?”

“You know,” Eddie gestures between himself and Steve with one hand, “because I kissed you and you didn’t want me to.” 

Steve puts his hands on his hips. “Who says I didn’t want you to?”

Eddie’s hands fall from his face, revealing his wide eyes and slack jaw. “You did?” He asks, voice going high-pitched.

“Yeah,” Steve says, a lopsided grin stretching over his lips. He knocks his Nike against Eddie’s leg. “I did, you just took me by surprise, s’all.”

Eddie lets out a tiny, startled, “Oh.”

Steve smirks. “Yeah so how about you get up so I can check you don’t have any cuts or bruises before I kiss you. Properly this time.”

Eddie squeaks and scrambles to his feet with as much grace as when he tumbled down the hill. Steve finds his eagerness fucking endearing. 

There are even more leaves trapped in Eddie’s curls now, and with an amused shake of his head, Steve plucks them out of his hair before checking for any bruises. 

Then, as promised, he leans in and kisses Eddie. The second kiss is also short and chaste and over too soon, but it’s good and Steve has to remind himself they’re in public in order to gather enough willpower to pull back. 

When he does, his brain is a little hazy and he completely misses the way Eddie’s expression shifts from dopey to mischievous so it catches him by surprise when Eddie tackles him into a pile of leaves, laughing maniacally. 

“Ha! Got ya!” Eddie whoops, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, hovering over Steve who wants nothing more than to kiss the stupid smug smile off his face. 

But he can hear the kids laughing at him and cheering for Eddie in the distance and there’s no way he can get away with kissing him even if Eddie’s hair falls like a curtain around them, offering a little cover.

So he grabs a handful of leaves and shoves them into Eddie’s grinning mouth instead.

He’ll save the kiss for later.

[fagsystem]

I need people to really understand that both, 'People don't need to be defined as a bad person forever just because they did something bad, especially if you were young,' and, 'Growing and changing doesn't mean that the bad thing they did was okay,' are both very true sentiments.

A lot of people are really opposed to these sorts of ideas that OP brought up because it feels invalidating. We all know or at least can imagine the terrible things a 15 year old can do. I knew a 15 year old who, in my opinion, is the fucking devil. Horribly manipulative to everyone, terribly abusive to the point of choking his girlfriend at the time. I can understand how 'You aren't a terrible person you're 15,' sounds like it's saying, 'You can't do terrible things because you're 15,' but that's not what is being said here.

If he were to grow and change as a person, that wouldn't mean he didn't commit assault. It wouldn't erase the torment he caused to others, the trauma and suffering. None of that would go away. It's quite possible that he could grow and change into a good person while his victims are still stuck dealing with the consequences of his actions.

But as much as I hate him and will never change how I view him and as much as I wish ill on him, he's a person too. He has a life just as vivid and complex as my own, as your own, as every 15 year old who did terrible things. He is more than just a bad person, he is a human with likes and dislikes and good deeds he has done. This is the same person who I baked cupcakes for the homeless with.

People are more than who they used to be. If years from now the person he turns into doesn't do terrible things like that, that isn't erased by what he did in his past. In the same way that what he did in his past wouldn't be erased by him changing into a person who would never do that again.

You need to give people, especially young people, the ability to grow and change. That does not mean you need to forgive your abuser or that you're not allowed to be uncomfortable around people who have previously done bad things. No one is saying that.

What we're saying is that they're still people. You, person who has absolutely made mistakes before, are still a person. You are not irredeemable monsters if you did bad things, especially when you were younger. Doing something bad doesn't mean you are bad forever. You can change. You can grow. You can improve. You don't have to be defined by bad things you have done.

you're not an horrible person you are 15 years old

[ruensroad]

I've been musing a lot on an SVSSS x Inuyasha AU. The obvious angle following the plot formula would lead us to BingQiu (SY), which is very sweet and cute. Half demon meets man from the future, it all fits very very nicely. It even fits with Binghe's past with Shen Jiu, who we all know wouldn't hesitate to pin that beast onto a tree with an arrow at any opportunity, let alone for some priceless artifact.

I'm sure I'm not the first person to see this connection. It really does slot together so so well ;3; However, my JiuYuan lovin' heart wants to be contrary because, really, could you just imagine?

Everything about the plot is pointed to one relationship conclusion. The half demon protagonist meets a person from the future who reminds him of the one who betrayed him, and slowly he heals and finds love. So imagine that, what if, instead of following the plot as he is supposed to, Shen Yuan instead falls head over heels for the nebulous, antagonistic and very unhappily resurrected Shen Jiu?

I don't like sacrificing characters in order to claim a pairing, and indeed I know Binghe could have his pick of other characters to woo. I just love the idea of being contrarian to where a plot would usually go, flipping it on its head, and getting a whole different kind of story out of it.

Shen Yuan, who knows this story, who understands the role each character is meant to play. He is there to support the Protagonist, to be the Love Interest, to be a sidekick and friend. Shen Jiu, once brought back to serve as a recurring spectre to hinder the Hero's path, is meant to deal damage and Drama to Luo Binghe. Shen Yuan shouldn't even really be on his radar, except as a way to further hurt the beast he hates so much.

Love Triangle drama that Shen Yuan decides he'll destroy because if they just stopped being Idiots, a good third of the damn book could be avoided. This involves seeking out the vengeful Shen Jiu and dealing with him on a reasonable level.

Of course, in trying to avoid Drama, he instead gets a fixation. And why not? There's a lot to unpack with this antagonist, and the curiosity could go both ways. After all, Shen Yuan makes no secret that he is from a different world.

I just feel Shen Yuan would shine in such an AU. He gets to travel around and see all different kinds of cool creatures (!!), meet awesome demon hunters (LQG!!!), and other demons both good and bad. And Shen Jiu wouldn't just suffer in his role, forever lost to his hate and rage. Here's someone making a connection, making an effort for him, finding worth in surviving this hell he did not ask for.

Shen Jiu being that anti-hero that doesn't help the Protagonist, but will come and help that silly sidekick of his, arriving stylishly when there's trouble, when Binghe is distracted, and realizing he can be around Shen Yuan all while annoying the absolute shit out of the Hero. Let them be sassy and snarky and not always perfect allies, but still somewhat there despite their roles in the plot.

IDK, I just think it would be neat.

[vivacissimx]

theon witnessing shireen's execution would be Excellent

all the theon discourses would take thee harshest breath inward when the violence is laid bare. a child hostage's fear of ned stark, northern hypocrisy, nothing truly happened to you theon, after all gared was a deserter, mance was a deserter. the repetition of false identities in/around this situation (rattleshirt for mance & gilly's baby for dalla's, both changelings such monsters; theon presenting the miller's boys as bran & rickon as well as jeyne poole as arya; theon presenting as reek) does inherently present arguments about how we justify violence based on who it is committed upon— which would make witnessing the Horror a unique experience for theon imo. all the other deaths-by-burning have been legitimized by accusing the victim of a crime (treason, cannibalism) and theon is a person who grew up in winterfell aware that he was already judged guilty of the crime of being his father's son. ned keeping him alive as hostage/ward was more akin to a stay in his sentence rather than any assurance of safety based upon his own good behavior. few if anybody would protest should theon's father have rebelled and ned been called upon to serve 'justice.' so the execution of an innocent child would not shock theon as it would the others who'd been content to say well it only happens to the most black-hearted of criminals therefore I'm content to look away. in fact, it'd be a confirmation of what we as readers know he's always known— since theon was a child, since he scoffed at ser rodrik protesting that jaime lannister would attempt to murder an innocent child, since robb forbade the torture/execution of hostages only to allow it in theon's case at ramsay's hands. I'm imagining theon bursting into inappropriate laughter and the disgust laid upon him, but who are you truly disgusted with? how did you think this would end?

I do also smell a little greysnow Implication re: jon ending 'mance's' suffering quickly by having his archers kill him before the flames can. if we are dealing seriously with a bran & theon connection it could be interesting to have bran push theon to end shireen's suffering, perhaps as a result of the melisandre-bloodraven tension wherein she receives power from said burnings. and the idea of bran pushing theon to commit this violence which bran himself narrowly avoided could be quite gritty indeed. the Wall regularly raises questions of complicity, so. could be!

[thestrangeblob]

a little list of canon evidence supporting most elriel theories <3

1. elain and the possibility of her training to be a spy

Elain pushed, “We keep it secret—we send the servants away. (...) No one will know.”

My sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles.

She (feyre) nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s (elain) got you beat for secret-keeping."

It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood the gift he possessed.

Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her, “Using me.” She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

2. elain wearing azriel's color (cobalt blue)

Elain rasped, “Nice to meet you,” before hustling after her, the silk skirts of her cobalt dress whispering over the parquet floor. ... She’d (elain) covered her nightgown with a silk shawl of palest blue, her fingers grappling into the fabric as she held herself. ... Elain seemed to realize it, too. She peered down at herself, at the simple blue gown she wore.  ... But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, ... “Is your father healing?” I added the cobalt of Azriel’s Siphons to the orange and mixed until a rich brown appeared. ... Azriel’s Siphons flashed, a sprawling shield of cobalt locking over Rhysand’s, his breathing just as heavy as my mate’s ... Az held Cassian’s stare for a moment, cobalt Siphons flickering, and then nodded.

3. elain's mating bond to lucien might be wrong

when elain was turned and mated:

Faster than any of us could see, Jurian fired a hidden ash bolt through Azriel’s chest. The ash bolt was coated in bloodbane that the King of Hybern claimed flowed where he willed it. ... “Put the prettier one in first,” the king said, Mor already forgotten. I twisted—only to have the king’s guards grab me from behind. Rhys was instantly there, but Azriel shouted, back arching as the king’s poison worked its way in. (I didn't leave out any lines between these two paragraphs... so why did the poison sink deeper into az when the king says to put elain into the cauldron???)

azriel's mate behaviour to elain:

Azriel smiled faintly. ‘Would you like me to show you the garden?’ But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded—just once. ... Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked to be a stack of reports ... The two Illyrians paused their inspection of me long enough to note my sisters finishing up breakfast, Nesta in a pale gray gown that brought out the steel in her eyes, Elain in dusty pink. Both males went a bit still.” ... ‘Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.’ ‘I can help her,’ said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing from his fingers as he extended a hand.” ... The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate. The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.” She pointed at Lucien as she saw herself out. “Try sitting down with her. Just talking—sensing. See what you pick up. But don’t push.” (what we see azriel do time and again) “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien. Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need ...” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.” ... “Because of the shit with Elain?” Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”

the description of feysand:

But the bond, the bridge between us... it was a howling void.

the description of elriel:

The only bridge of connection ... that knife.

the description of elucien:

“It felt ... strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.”

finally:

‘There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly sometimes the bond is nothing more than some…preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that.’”

4. azriel's shadows DO like elain:

In the blinding sun off the turquoise water, his shadows were gone, his face stark and clear. More ... human than I had ever seen him. ... “What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. ... Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike. ... But tonight, here in the dark and quiet, with no one to see…He pulled the small velvet box from the shadows around him. Opened it for her. 

5. elriel's aesthetic as light and dark

I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection ... that knife.

if y'all want any more cold hard canon to back up any other elriel theories/arguments/takes comment it on this post and I'll add it to the list LMAO

good day and good night y'all stay safe our there<33

[legitimatesatanspawn]

Is it better/worse if the handmaidens still look enough like Padme to be her body double? I know Corde was able to pull off being her body double without makeup in Episode 2, when Padme was around 25 and they started at least when Padme was elected around 14.

This comic is about 3 years before the Empire's fall, right? So that makes this about 20 years post-2? So the Handmaidens would be around 45 give or take a handful of years each individually?

Imagine if Anakin looks at these women who he once knew... maybe not well but I assume well enough. They're ghosts from his past. They're protecting Padme even in her death. But it'd be so much worse if they still look like Padme.

Padme's face and similar eyes, alive and so much older than she can never be. Angry at him for daring to return to her, furious at his audacity, claiming he's only there to cause more suffering and misery, refusing to let him take one step closer. Anakin knows Padme and her Handmaidens can't possibly know that Vader is Anakin and as you said knowing wouldn't change anything for the better... in fact it would make it worse as now its personal with Anakin's betrayal rather than just being another Sith like Dooku or Maul, even if it was one who succeeded for Sidious where the others failed.

Padme's ghost haunts where her body is laid to rest. And that ghost is breathing and numerous and can bleed again until the last body lies cold on the ground.

I have no idea what he does next in that comic but I'm certain that Anakin doesn't harm them outright, which would surely baffle everyone else on both sides. Because choking them or using his lightsaber would be like killing Padme all over again.

You ever see two comic pages that just hit like an actual physical punch? Darth Vader marching his way towards Padme Amidala’s tomb, while Padme’s handmaidens stand in his way, determined to stop him, this person they believe is the murderer of both Padme and Anakin Skywalker, all while he’s haunted by memories of the past, including memories of her handmaidens standing in defense of her before, all of that is just brutal. Because it doesn’t matter that he is Anakin Skywalker, it would change absolutely nothing about what he’s going to do if he told them.  He could never stand the way they would look at him, they way they would remember the sweet boy he was once upon a time, he couldn’t tolerate that.  And he can’t tolerate anyone getting in his way, even when Padme would have wanted none of what he’s doing, he can’t tolerate anyone who knew her saying that this isn’t what she would have wanted from him or for him, that she would want him to find peace and hope and love again.  She would want him to be kind to the handmaidens that she so loved. The most he’s willing to offer them is a chance to let them leave, but he’s not going to stop.  And them finding out who is under the mask, it wouldn’t make any difference, because they would never let Anakin Skywalker do the things that Darth Vader has done or will continue to do, because Anakin doesn’t want to share his pain or his grief, he wants to cling to it, grasp onto it with a death grip, and let it eat away at him, rather than ever share it with these people who grieve for her as well or ever consider letting it go. Watching him march towards Padme’s tomb, the handmaidens standing in his way, those memories haunting him, is just brutal because none of this had to be this way and yet Anakin Skywalker keeps choosing it again and again, because he does terrible things in Padme’s name and it’s being contrasted against people who want to carry out her legacy versus someone who is only doing this for himself.

[lunaa-runee]

Stolen Moments

CW: oral (f receive), creampie, porn with a little plot, afab reader, mentions of murder, Gojo in love, secret romance, kinda getting caught

wc: 1.7k

Minors DNI.

“Hey there, love,” Satoru Gojo’s smooth voice greeted you as he crouched outside your second-floor window. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the lanky, white-haired man with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

To set aside the book you were reading, you asked him. He quickly pulled you into his embrace, his hands resting on your hips as he pressed his lips against the shell of your ear. The familiar scent of his cologne filled your senses as he whispered, “Did my girl miss me?”

Satoru Gojo was a man of many facets. He was destined to lead the powerful Gojo clan, held the title of the strongest sorcerer in modern times, and was the man you loved with all your heart. However, fate had different plans for both of you, placing you in families on the verge of war.

Your forbidden romance had begun three years earlier when your eyes first met at a sister school event. It was love at first sight for both of you, and since then, your passion for each other has only grown stronger. You couldn’t imagine life without him as you looked into those captivating blue eyes.

Initially, you were hesitant about Satoru’s advances. The thought of a relationship with a Gojo, especially the future clan head, felt daunting and fraught with potential challenges. You worried about the potentially deadly consequences. Yet, Satoru’s unwavering determination shone through. He genuinely believed that you were worth any risk.

And eventually, you gave in.

“Satoru, what are you doing here? You promised me you wouldn’t come here anymore,” you whispered as Satoru’s lips trailed delicate kisses along your neck.

His lips grazed your neck, sending a shiver through you. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

You tried to push him away, knowing all too well the consequences of succumbing to your desires. “You’re going to leave a mark,” you moaned.

“Good,” Satoru growled, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Satoru,” you warned. “You know we can’t.”

But he ignored your protests, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he held you tightly. “Let me put an end to this them,” he pleaded. “I’m tired of hiding. Let me take out those old bastards so we can be together.”

“Satoru,” you whispered, feeling torn. “We can’t just-”

“Why not?” He stepped back, frustration etched onto his features as he gazed intently at you. “Why do we have to suffer because of some bullshit that happened hundreds of years ago?”

You sneered, lowering your voice as you spoke. “Are you trying to let everyone know you’re here?”

“I don’t care at this point,” he huffed, his shoulders slumping as he averted his gaze. “I’m tired of sneaking around to see you,” he confessed. “We deserve to be happy, to be together. I’m sick of these old bastards dictating our lives and trying to make us hate each other because of something that has nothing to do with us.”

Guilt washed over you, knowing deep down that he was right. But could you really ask the man you loved to commit murder? Satoru was feared and revered in Jujutsu Society for his immense power, but to use it for your benefit?

“I love you, Satoru. With all my heart,” you declared, nervously rubbing your arm. “But I can’t ask you to do something like that.”

He met your gaze, searching your eyes with intensity. Stepping closer, he cupped your face gently in his hands and whispered without breaking eye contact, “You don’t have to ask.”

And with that, Satoru pressed his lips fervently against yours, igniting a flame of desire between you. In a frenzy, your hands roamed wildly over each other’s bodies, and every touch set your skin ablaze.

Satoru guided you backward until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed. With a gentle push, he lowered you onto the plush mattress beneath you.

His crystal-clear eyes glimmered with desire as he took in your disheveled and naked form. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed, gazing at you possessively. “And you’re all mine.”

He drops to his knees, gently guiding your legs apart and resting them over his broad shoulders. Your body trembles in anticipation as he brushes his calloused fingers against your sensitive folds, eliciting a soft whimper from your lips. “Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he growls.

Leaning forward, his skilled tongue teases and explores every inch of your heat, building intense pressure in your abdomen. Your hands instinctively grip Satoru’s hair, urging him on with desperate moans. He watches you with dark eyes filled with desire and hunger.

He inserts two fingers in your core, and he begins to pump them at a steady pace. At the same time, his mouth attaches itself to your now swollen clit, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. “Fuck,” you moan out breathlessly. Satoru shows no mercy as he works harder and faster, pushing you closer to the edge. His fingers expertly curl and twist inside of you while his tongue flicks and swirls against your most sensitive bud.

Your entire body tenses as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your climax. The sensations are almost overwhelming, and your moans become louder. “Shit, Satoru.”

He removes his lips from your throbbing heat, revealing a mischievous smile. “You better not be too loud. We wouldn’t want one of your father’s men to hear us now, would we?”

Despite his warning, it becomes increasingly difficult for you to contain your sounds of pleasure. And Satoru’s relentless pace only adds fuel to the fire. As you’re about to lose all control, he suddenly retracts his fingers. “No,” you whimper. “Please, I was so close.”

“I can’t let you finish yet,” he says, climbing on top of you and pinning your arms above your head with one hand. “But don’t worry, you’ll cum before I’m done with you.”

You’re not sure when it happened, but at some point, Satoru has entirely stripped down. You feel his tip teasing against your slick folds as he uses his hands to glide it up and down, enjoying the power he holds over you. But you were desperate at this point. “Stop teasing,” you whine.

“Oh? What does my girl want?” he teases.

You want nothing more than to wipe that cocky grin off his face. “Please don’t make me beg,” you plead.

“Come on baby, I wanna hear you say it,” Satoru taunts, pulling away from your eager body.

You bite your lip in frustration as he takes the pressure of his girth away from your heat. Honestly, you’re not sure what’s worse: the loss of stimulation or his teasing touch. You try to bring your knees together, seeking some sort of friction, but Satoru doesn’t allow it. “Satoru,” you beg breathlessly. “Please…”

His eyebrow raises in fake curiosity as he continues to torture you with his words and actions. He brings a hand up to your chest, then gently glides it towards your core. “What is it? What does my baby want?”

Your mind is consumed with desire and need for this man who is determined to drive you to madness. With closed eyes, struggling to maintain control, you whisper desperately, “I want you.”

A smug smile spreads across Satoru’s lips as he hears your confession.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he remarks playfully. “Maybe you should say it a little louder…”

“Satoru,” your voice exploded with desire. “I need you. I need to feel you inside me.”

A sly grin spread across Satoru’s face, pleased with your desperate plea. He wasted no time in realigning himself and filling you with his cock.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as your walls eagerly welcomed him, stretching to accommodate his size. The sensation warmed your body, making every nerve tingle with pleasure. Your mind went blank as he began to move, each thrust igniting a fire within you that grew more intense with each passing moment.

Satoru lowered himself to meet your lips in a passionate kiss, the sound of his moans mixing with yours. The feeling of his body against yours was electric, every touch sending you closer to your peak.

He breaks away from your embrace with unexpected force to flip you onto all fours. He enters you once more; the intensity is almost overwhelming, but you can’t help but desire even more.

One hand gripped your hip tightly while the other snaked up to cup your breast, causing a surge of desire to course through you. Your moans grew louder and more desperate as Satoru’s rhythm became almost unbelievable.

With a guttural cry, you called out his name, begging for him to take you harder. Satoru chuckled lowly, his hand covering your mouth to stifle further outbursts. “Careful now,” he teased, “we don’t want to wake up the whole place.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the thought of being caught in such a compromising position. A mischievous glint appeared in Satoru’s eyes as he felt your cunt tighten from his words. This will be something he will have to remember for later.

Satoru let go of your hip, instead wrapping his hand in your throat, pulling your back into his chest. His ragged breaths brushed against your neck as he continued to push inside you with solid and deep thrusts. The intensity of his touch and the overwhelming pleasure bring you closer to the edge. You clung onto his arm, your nails digging into his skin as he kept moving within you.

You bit into your lip, trying to muffle your cries as tears began to stream down your face. Your body trembled, and your mind felt foggy as you desperately begged Satoru to continue.

Satoru released his hold, causing you to fall into the pillow. Not even bothering to try and catch yourself. He moved his hand to your swollen clit, sending you over the edge.

You clutched your pillow, burying your face to muffle your cries. “Oh fuck, I’m coming.”

You were overwhelmed by an intense feeling that made you tremble and writhe uncontrollably. Satoru kept up his relentless pace as your pussy squeezed his cock. “Shit,” he gasped as he came, filling your sticky walls with white hot cum. He collapsed on top of you but quickly caught himself before crushing you under his weight.

The room was filled with your heavy breathing, Satoru’s lips grazing your shoulders. “Are you alright?”

Before you could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps caught your attention. Your stomach dropped as someone knocked on your door and called out your name. It was one of the butlers. “Is everything okay? We heard a scream from downstairs.”

Shit.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Obsolete

cw: nsfw themes/implications, abuse, manipulation, fear, brief emeto mention, choking. (this chapter can be skipped without losing out on plot, it's a bit heavy)

previous // T$$ Masterlist

~ ~ ~

Sahota slouches on the bed, both feet planted firmly on the tile floor as if that’s enough to keep him tethered, keep his thoughts from drifting too far. He holds the gag in both hands, turning it over and over and over, watching the metal sections that make up most of its structure catch the light. 

He doesn't know long Harbor had been there when he arrived, already shaking from the stress on his body, tension to his shoulders and core brought on by the heavy leather cuffs that secured him to the foot of the bed.

He'd tried to pull away when Sahota knelt to remove the gag.

“F-fuck off.”

“This isn't what you want, Harbor.”

“It's what Vic wants.”

He'd cursed and insulted and tried to elicit a reaction that wasn't get out from him, but in the end he'd left.

“You're jealous,” he'd spat as Sahota closed the door behind him. There was something desperate in his tone, like he hoped if he said it with enough fervor he'd believe it, like he wished a rivalry was the only thing to worry about.

Like he was willing to thrust his hand into a fire just to feel the warmth. 

“You're just fucking jealous.”

He isn't. Is he? Jealous is too simple a way of putting it. He wants Vic's gaze to linger on him the way it does Harbor, he wants the idle touches as they pass in the hall, the I'm proud of you's and I know you can do it's.

He needs his attention as much as he loathes it.

Shouldn't he be grateful his master's lust is being directed elsewhere? 

Doesn't it mean he isn't enough anymore? What then? If Vic is finally tired of him, what does that mean? Will he be thrown out, abandoned? Or will he become another loose end that needs to be tied up?

It felt like that during their mock interrogation. It's been months since he's seen Vic that angry, much less at him, he's been far too careful for that. He never should've tried, never should've given the others the hope that they could take an alternate path. He's the reason they're trying to salvage control, he's the reason Vic’s tightening his fist around them.

If he hadn't gone behind his back with the challenge, would they have been allowed to to go after Manak?

Would Manak even be lost in the first place?

Sahota can't fight a grimace. He's learned this lesson a thousand times over already; he should know better. 

You can't say no to Vic.

He knows that, knows the consequences, and yet here he is. He can only hope it won't be Harbor that suffers for it.

The handle turns. Sahota half expects it to be the belligerent trainee, back with more choice words and arguments. When the door reveals Vic, a part of him wants to curl up and hide, reduced once again to a terrified kid who should fucking know better.

He wants to shrink under Vic’s gaze as they meet eyes, silence drawing out between them, but he doesn’t, instead stiffening his spine against the fear that curdles in his stomach, instead daring to open his mouth.

“How long would you have left him here?” A safe enough place to start. Not an accusation, He lets his hands fall into his lap, the gag still held between them. 

Vic leans against the doorframe, arms crossing his chest. “Would've been going on six hours now, if you hadn't cut him loose.”

“Six hours,” Sahota repeats flatly.

“I've kept you for thrice that.”

“He isn't me.”

“And you hate that, don't you?” He pushes himself up from the wall, moving into the room, closing in. “Why? I know you don't care for him.”

Because Vic always knows everything, because Sahota can never hide things from him. He doesn’t care for Harbor. He doesn’t let himself care for anyone these days. Still, under the envy and the fear there’s a stark horror at the thought that someone else will take his place, will suffer as Vic's plaything, will render him pointless.

“Am I not enough for you?” he says.

Vic clicks his tongue, cupping Sahota’s cheek with a warm hand. “Is that what you're afraid of, little spy? Being replaced?”

Yes. No. “Why do you want him?”

“He's a flashy thing. Caught my eye.” Vic chuckles. “So desperate for any human interaction he'd disembowel himself for a pat on the head.”

Is that what it comes down to? Another person for Vic to hurt, another body in his control. He shakes his head. “Vic—”

He's silenced with a kiss. There's something foreign in it. A new excitement, amusement that he cares about this, that he's scared.

“He won't replace you. He'd make a good dog though, don't you think?” He nuzzles into Sahota's neck. “Once you warm up to the idea, maybe I'll even let you play with him.”

Sahota jerks away, a breath lodging in his throat. He couldn't, he couldn’t. The idea of Vic dragging Harbor into this stings enough. The thought of playing along—of holding the younger man down, hurting him, controlling him—is too much to hold. He wants to throw up.

“Is that a no?”

“Whatever you want to do to him, you know I can take,” Sahota says, his voice low and insistent. He’s nearly pleading. He doesn’t know why he’s pleading for this.

It should feel good, shouldn't it? To know he may never again take the brunt of Vic's affections, to be elevated to a place of control.

It doesn't. It burns like bile.

“I know.” Vic’s hand strokes his cheek, thumb coming to rest on his lower lip. “When's the last time you cried for me?” It seems more a musing than a question he wants answered, but even if it were, Sahota doesn’t think he can speak to it.

He can’t remember the last time himself.

No, that's not true. Just days ago, he was crying, but not for Vic. It feels like such a potent secret he’s nearly purged it from his mind, and now he's afraid his master will see it on his face, the weakness he dared to show to these outsiders.

Ander, my name is Ander.

His own words echo back to him in a way that makes him shudder. By some stroke of luck, Vic doesn't notice, his eyes on the gag in Sahota's lap.

His hand falls away from his face, and he fixes him with a searching gaze. “Are you afraid he makes you obsolete?”

Sahota drops his eyes. “I… Yes.” It seems too simple an answer, but it’s the easiest explanation. One that might satisfy Vic.

“And you’d prefer it if I left him alone?” He tips his chin up with a finger. “If it stays just you and me?”

“Yes.” His answer is quieter this time. Vic hmms, and the silence seems to stretch for a long moment, every wordless breath drawing more fear into Sahota, pulling tension into his body. Then, Vic suddenly pushes him back onto the mattress, one hand curling in his hair, the other cupping his chin as he kisses him, hot and fierce. Sahota returns the kiss until he’s breathless.

“Hands behind your back.”

He obeys without much thought. It’s been a while since Vic’s tied him up for this. Months, at least. Silky rope winds around his wrists, and then he’s rolled onto his back, heart hammering with anticipation. There’s fear there too, but he tries to shove it down. Isn’t this what he wants? Isn’t this what he just begged for?

He opens his mouth to say something, but Vic’s hands shoot out, locking around his throat, squeezing, cutting off air. Panic floods through him, but he has Vic's touch memorized. His body knows not to respond, to take it, no matter how much his mind wants to rebel.

“What if I did want to replace you, Ander?”

Sahota’s eyes widen at the words, barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears. His body spasms from the lack of air, heels digging into the mattress, but Vic doesn't let up.

“What if I am tired of you, hm? What can you do about it?”

His wrists burn, the rope digging into them as his arms shake involuntarily, reaching to remove the pressure. No… No, he can’t mean it, Vic can’t mean it, he’s his. He’s been his for twelve years, he can’t just be replaced, he can’t just let the fucking cycle start all over again. Tears sting his eyes but refuse to shed, his mouth opening wide, making soundless pleas.

It can’t end this way, it can’t end this way, Vic, sir, Shepard, please—

“You are everything I made you. Without me, you'd be nothing. If I want someone new, you'd better just be fucking grateful you still have a seat at the table.”

His lungs burn, body shuddering, vision blackening at the corners, closing in—

—And then Vic’s hands relax, slipping away from his throat. The spy gasps for breath, rolling onto his side and curling his knees in, unsure whether he’s shaking from the lack of air or the sheer fear, the knowledge that Vic could’ve done it, would've done it. He would’ve done it and not even batted an eye.

He's not allowed to hold the thought for long before Vic seizes him by the hair, jerking him into a half-sitting position, his face stony and empty when the spy looks up at him through blurring vision.

Something almost like satisfaction crosses his master’s face.

“There's the tears.”

~

@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me , @pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden ,

@snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday , @kixngiggles , @echo-goes-aaa , @whumpcateyes ,

@clickerflight , @sodacreampuff , @starfields08000 , @neverthelass

[bibibbon]

Need to get something off my chest

People in the fandom blaming Nana for causing Shigaraki to be abused and all the suffering the Shimura family went through as well as calling her decision to abandon Kotaro stupid is if someone blamed all the abuse and horrible actions of Enji that the Todoroki family had to suffer through on Enji's deceased father.

Specifically people appear to zone in on Nana's call to not have All Might or Gran Torino check in with her family when it makes sense. She knows AFO has eyes and ears everywhere and will use that to kill those closest to her and those around her as we know since Nana's husband is dead by the time Kotaro is given up for adoption and All Might leaves Japan for the US in order to avoid AFO for that same reason. There is also no way for Nana to know that her successor would wind up as the strongest wielder of One For All and would be the first person to take down All For One.

I'm not sure if you were in the mha critical side of tumblr, but this is a very common opinion here. Nana deserved better, and none of the nana hate honestly made sense.

People shouldn't blame nana for doing what she could to protect her child. She explicitly said that she had done it to protect him, and she didn't willingly want to give up her child. The act wasn't done out of malice but was done out of love. Her husband was dead, and all for one was on her tail. She had to train all Might, and there was no safe choice to keep kotaro. It was a hundred times safer to make a distance between her and kotaro so he could live without the burden of his mother's duties on top of him caring or threatening to cause him constant harm.

Nana tried her best as a mother, and we didn't talk enough about it. She, at the beginning, was probably the breadwinner of the family, her job making it so that she had limited time with her son, yet from the flashbacks we see that kotaro loved his mother dearly. He loved her that child him simply cried and cried when she was about to leave, he loved her to the point that he kept her picture acknowledging that she was his mother yet despising that she left him all alone. His hatred of nana stems mainly from feelings of sadness and betrayal, which only exist because he loved his mother and felt safe when she was near.

I suppose we don't talk about the fact that after nana's husband died and she became a widow she had to juggle all the responsibilities of being a weirder of OFA, a mother who had to be constantly active in her child's life and a hero who had to save others while also ensuring that she earned enough money to keep her son comfortable.

I headcanon that at the time nana was never a good cook and that it was her husband that usually cooked for the family but when he died she had to take on the cooking duties which was a struggle but we see her actively trying even including her son in the process.

Giving up kotaro was the most logical circumstance, and I stand by that. I think to a certain extent, kotaro realises that too, and it's exactly why he doesn't blame his mother but blames her job he blames the hero, not his mother. To me, it evidently seems like kotaro separates nana into two different versions : the hero and his mother.

If we follow that belief, it's exactly why the only photo that kotaro has with his mother is so painful. Every time he sees that photo he in a way, is forced to acknowledge that both versions of nana are his mother. The photo shows his mother, but it shows her in her hero attire she is the 7th weirder of ofa in that picture not his mother but the mannerisms, the way she smiles and looks at him is that of a mother's look.

A haunting picture for kotaro. A picture of a mother's love.

Comparisons between enji and nana fall on deaf ears especially when you look at the circumstances and situations that both characters are faced with.

Enji DOESN'T love his children, his actions were out of malice, greed and desire to be great. He sacrificed family for greatness.

Nana LOVED her child. Her actions had a desire to protect, love, and care for her only family, her only offspring. A beautiful light in the world that she doesn't want destroyed by AFO. She had no choosing as I bet if she truly had the choice. She would do anything to love, protect, and be with her child. In a dreadful situation, nana chose the only way to guarantee kotaros safety.

[merchantziro]

That's a... That's a good point actually.

Like even if we're being realistic with the power levels and not going the OP Ghosts route, Pariah Dark with both the Crown and Ring would be incredibly powerful and probably still be a threat comparable to Darkseid or Trigon.

Idea though to add on.

The GIW realistically wouldn't fully kill Danny, not when they have the chance to study and research the biology of a Half Ghost. They'd keep him alive even if it's just to suffer.

But what if, when Pariah Dark rolls around, they force Danny to fight against his own will through some means. Forced to fight and tank hits for the heroes and protect them with no regard for his own life, because they believed he felt no pain and acted as if he own existence was worth less than any other person.

Of course, without the Ecto-Skeleton Danny is only capable of stalling Pariah until the League can figure something out. I don't doubt if given the time and resources the Justice League Dark could eventually seal Pariah Dark back up in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep after separating the crown and ring from him.

But the entire time, J'onn felt the guilt eat away at his soul as he sees the boy he tried to help before simply look so silent and broken as he forced himself to take attack after attack.

And when it's over... He will stand his ground on not letting Danny return to the GIW, he's failed the boy to save him the first chance he got... He won't fail again.

put Danny Phantom in the DC Universe during the events of Reality Trip

Reality trip was a two-part episode where Danny, Sam, and Tucker had to run around the US to find the three stones of the reality gauntlet. Danny's identity has been revealed to the world and Freakshow is holding their families hostage, all while the GIW are hunting after him.

Running from the bumbling ghost hunters was bad enough, but competent superheroes that are faster, stronger and smarter than him? A disaster.

Now, the Justice League is hunting him under the presumption that he is dangerous, perhaps even that he kidnapped Tucker and Sam and is behind their families' disappearance.

Danny hasn't met an adult that doesn't hate his ghost half, so after the Justice League has never helped with the ghost attacks, and are now hunting him, he doesn't even try to plea his case to the adults, not when they have GIW brand guns strapped to their backs.

Danny, being desperate to get his family back, might resort to methods he wouldn't usually use.

He might overshadow Superman and use his strength against his teammates or

to beat them soundly enough they're unable to come after him anymore. Stuff he isn't proud of and doesn't talk about with Sam and Tucker.

Maybe they successfully even capture Danny for a small time and he gets the full betrayal of his heroes not hesitating to hand him right over to the GIW

In the end, when Danny finally has the reality gauntlet, Danny's only option is to reverse time and wipe the mind of the last summer from the entire world. This fixes all their problems but also erases any of the alliances they might have formed along the way. They can pretend they don't know what it's like to have the Justice League hunting them, to experience Batman's extensive planning, or see Superman angry

Of course, that doesn't mean Danny has forgotten when years later the Justice League comes knocking, asking for his help, inviting him to their team.

Danny hasn't forgotten what Batman's extensive planning looks like, or what Superman looks like angry. He still knows most of their identities and the names of their loved ones. He knows how to get to the watchtower and crash all its technology. He knows the methods they will go to capture a person who's done nothing wrong and what the inside of their jail cells looks like.

Just saying, the angst potential is limitless.

[mutable-manifestation]

Ghost Chirps AU Part 5

Part 1 & 2

Part 3

Part 4

***

While “Jason” (i.e. Alfred with an empty jet that Jason will meet up with later in order to “arrive” in Amity) hops a private jet, Red Hood is busy searching the Fenton home from top to bottom.

The local police move slowly, and by the time they arrive Jack and Maddie Fenton are both tied up and disarmed in their living room under heavy guard.

They hadn’t been restrained immediately, Batman talking him into giving them a chance to implicate themselves first.

Hood let him take the lead, but he didn’t even get a chance to ask a question, being cut off at the first indication he might want to talk about their “work.” Less than 60 seconds in, and the pair had outright confessed to violating the meta protection acts - and in tedious detail.

The questioning didn’t suffer any from them being tied up.

Far from the mulish silence or crocodile-tear laden denial of most criminals, they instead doubled down, insisting that nothing they had done was illegal, then jumping to the assumption that they were “possessed” - and boy had it been a nasty surprise when the whole house came alive trying to attack them with a quick verbal command.

Well, trying to attack Hood. And only him, for some reason.

One laser also freed the Fentons, who turned out to have even more weapons built into their suits. 

Somehow. 

Despite them being skintight.

That had been a pain, but Red Robin was able to hack the system using one of the couples’ own devices while Hood dodged - and kept the stray fire away from the others - leaving everyone else to recapture the pair. A blessedly simple task once they found out the lasers would splash harmlessly off of their armor (save for a gross film of green goop left wherever they grazed).

They take turns knocking each unconscious to change them in order to properly disarm them - Batman and Nightwing taking Jack first, followed by Orphan and Spoiler dealing with Maddie. 

The only non-weapon laden clothing they own turns out to be pajamas. 

This is around when the police show up, looking hesitant.

They, too, cite the “Anti-Ecto Acts.”

Oracle had debriefed them on the supposed Acts and “Ghost Investigation Ward” on their short drive over. Both were utterly bogus - the Acts had never even been proposed, let alone been approved as law, and the so-called “GIW” had no ties to the government.

The Fentons had been furious and denied the information intensely when told, but the cops mostly just looked relieved.

Apparently there’d been a lot of property damage by the GIW and Fentons both that had supposedly been dismissed under the Acts as “necessary in the pursuit of ecto-scum.”

For the Fentons, half of this damage was in the form of broken fire hydrants, cracked sidewalks, and totaled cars - they’d never been good drivers, before, the cops disclosed, but they’d become even more negligent since the ghosts began appearing, to the point they had to have a news segment warning when they would be on the road.

The lack of fatalities thus far had been nothing short of a miracle, they claimed.

“Of course there haven’t been any fatalities!” Mrs Fenton defends. “Our work is to protect people from those things, not make more! Officers, listen to reason-” Hood snorts disdainfully -”The Red Hood is clearly a ghost! All our systems targeted him the moment they came online - and they only target ecto-entities. He’s clearly taken these heroes under his sway - why else would they be working with a murderer!? You have to do something before he starts up his killing here in Amity!”

The officers look at him a bit hesitantly, but Batman is unmoved and gives the cover story Hood had outlined back in the alley.

Any concerns the locals have are quickly assuaged.

But for the whole explanation, Jason is trying not to shake even as he falls apart in place.

Their little website called them ghost-hunters, making it pretty clear what “ecto-entities” meant. 

Their system supposedly only targets ecto-entities.

The system had only targeted him.

The system only targets ghosts.

Jason had died.

A lot of his family members had died, too, granted. 

But Jason was the only one who seemed to come back wrong - anger sticking in his throat and never quite fading, an inclination towards violence even when he wasn’t angry well beyond what he’d ever felt before, and a sea of other emotions (that he would never acknowledge aloud) and triggers for those emotions that he always struggled to make heads or tails of.

He doesn’t have the meta gene. He knows that. He knew that.

He just assumed that the test missed it, because he knows he doesn’t know magic - the All Blades being the only exception - and he couldn’t think of another explanation at the time.

But he came back wrong.

And as he stands there, he wonders if he came back at all, mind on Solomon Grundy.

Wonders if he isn’t just some ghost, wandering around possessing his own corpse.

He jolts, as the thought strikes him: what about Danny?

If he’s a ghost and chirping is a ghost thing then what about his KID!?

Absently, he notes that Bruce has started interrogating the cops on what they meant by “ghost attacks.” 

He ignores the discussion, hustling for the door in the kitchen down to the lab.

He slams and locks the door behind him - in Red Robin’s face - as he descends, making a b-line for the computer he’d seen when the Fentons had dragged them all down there to start bragging about their crimes.

The only thing Oracle could get out of the whole building was things that were openly available online; direct connections were impossible.

Opening up the screen, he gets to cracking.

Going for the surface level files first, it turns out he doesn’t even need so much as a password to find what he wants.

One of the video game sub-files has an unrelated file in it: ghost notes.

There are plenty of other notes, of course, but he’d only been skimming to start, looking for anything hidden.

The Fenton parents were too open to bother, of course, with plenty of more obvious files strewn haphazardly across the home screen, but it’s always better to check. That there is a hidden file means it was likely made by either Danny or Jazz.

And it’s a treasure trove.

Sub-files for rogues, allies, conditional allies, and “halfas” were what greeted him.

The last being the only term he didn’t recognize, he clicked.

6 files: Clones, Danny, Dani, Dan, Vlad, and Red Hood.

He clicks his own file.

What greets him is a picture of himself 4 days ago, looking just to the left of the lens in an alley that he distinctly remembers searching for the kid in.

Just below is text.

~~~

??? Name: Red Hood

Species: probably a halfa

Status: Nnnneutral? I think? I know, I know, heads in bags. But Valerie tries to kill me all the time! And we’re allies sometimes! Hood- uh- looked for me? Okay I guess I can’t really judge this yet but please read the first met section before you judge please you guys?

First met: Aug 17, 2005, was in Gotham to bother Batman, stopped to think a bit on some fire escape - decide on the first prank yknow - but then my ghost sense went off. It felt like a halfa so I thought “oh cool, must be Dani” so I chirped, but then Red Hood - who was chasing some guy down an alley at the time - froze and looked around. I dropped visibility and chirped again and yeah, he definitely heard it. Humans can’t so he’s definitely a halfa - no glow so he can’t be a full ghost and it felt nothing like an overshadowing. 

Ended up following Hood around the rest of week - forgot to prank Batman, damn - and playing hide-and-seek with the chirps. It was really funny. But he very obviously doesn’t know he’s a halfa. But the guy is, like, scary levels of smart, so I’m sure he’ll figure it out on his own now that the chirp thing made it clear that something is up. Hopefully.

I figure I can go back in winter break - he should have it figured out and let his emotions process enough by then to at least hear me out when I explain the AEA and GIW and everything, then it won’t matter so much if he can, like, track me by voice or something if I talk since we’ll have MAD by then.

Despite his reputation, the people living in his haunt seem to love the guy. I can see why. On top of the whole smart he’s actually really nice to people he’s not shooting in the knees (which only even happened one time in the week I was there? It was actually pretty relaxing - most quiet week I’ve had since the portal opened THANK YOU TUCKER for hacking the portal hatch to be inoperable for a week). 

Where was I? Oh yeah, he’s actually surprisingly nice to people? So like, I think he’ll probably hear me out if I go back and be polite? I hope. Hate to leave the guy in the dark and him end up on the GIWs dissection table for “lots and lots of painful experiments.”

Not that those guys could even catch the Box Ghost. But uh, Hood doesn’t seem to have powers either? Or if he does he doesn’t know about them I don’t think - he only used the chirp the whole time I was their - not even to cheat with moving around.

Seriously. That guy's acrobatics could make Freakshow’s contortionist green - er, red??? - with envy. Actually wait, aren’t contortionists and acrobats different things?

SAM NOTE: help^?

Powers: 

?

~~~

Jason leans back, breathing deeply.

“Not a full ghost,” “not 'overshadowed'” - a term that sounds likke some kind of cousin to possesision - “definitely a halfa,” “humans can’t hear chirps.”

Halfa. 

Half. 

Ghost. 

Half Ghost.

It should sound absurd - you can’t be half alive and half dead.

But Jason has seen the Lazarus pits, has met Solomon Grundy, has met aliens and bullshit magic and can pull magical swords out of his own damn chest.

Half alive. Half dead.

Hopefully not just a fancy way to say possessing his own corpse.

He doesn’t have time to deal with every file - he’ll “confiscate” one of their USBs with a copy of everything for himself before leaving the rest to Batman & co, of course, minus the halfa files (a small part of him wants to shove his condition in Bruce’s face and demand he kill the clown again even though he knows it’s a futile hope, but the rest - the same part that snapped and denied and refused to say he was a meta less that a day ago now - cannot stomach the thought of even more rejection. Of a Bruce that believes he’s a monster. Of a Bruce that mourns him even while he’s right there. Or at least, more than he already does.) - but while the files copy he take the time to look at Danny’s.

The image has two people, Danny Fenton on one side and a version of the kid in a black hazmat suit with white hair, tanned skin, and painfully familiar green eyes. And floating.

~~~

Human Name: Danny Fenton

Ghost Name: Danny Phantom

Species: Halfa (half-human, half ghost)

~~~

It’s the section after that that makes Jason’s breath catch in his throat.

~~~

Death: The Portal Accident

So like, there was no audio (thank GOD I do not want to hear myself screaming) so. Details: When the portal didn’t work when they plugged it in mom and dad left for fudge, Jazz went to try and talk them into a more realistic career choice than ghosts. Sam and Tucker came over and Sam dared me to climb in and check it out - it was broken anyway so no harm. Except it wasn’t broken, just that my parents put the on button inside. Which I caught myself on when I tripped on a wire.

Anyway, electrocution! 

(T - Danny for the love of god be more serious, the cheerful tone is creepy)

(D - Hey! I’m the one who died! Shouldn’t I at least get to write my own epitaph)

(S - …Danny this is not an epitaph. You don’t even HAVE a grave)

(D - wow way to rub it in Sam)

(T - yeah Sam)

(S - ugh! Whatever, just stop with the chatting in official files)

(T - “official”)

(S - Tucker.)

(T - shutting up now)

Electrocution! I got zapped to death, but the ectoplasm from the portal was also opening up on top of me and a lot got bonded to me I guess (S - probably because of the electricity with how you ended up with some of Vortex' powers for a little while) at the same time said electricity was reviving me? - probably getting my heart beating again or something, I was a little busy screaming to pay attention (T - yeah okay we're going to Nasty Burger after this. And playing Doomed) - not that it would’ve mattered without the ghostification preventing me from melting me all the way to death.

Status: Me!

Powers:

Chirps! (ghost echolocation of some kind! humans can't hear em - halfas can, of course, in either form)

Form Change (really Sam? This barely counts)

Human form

Ghost form (no need to breathe)

Flight (last clock speed 210mph) (T - and climbing. Dang dude)

Invisibility (S - don’t forget shareable.) (Shareable. sigh)

Intangibility (Shareable)

Ecto Rays (eyes & hands) (T - and butt) (D - dude! I’m deleting that. Tucker why can't I delete it. TUCKER) (T - bow down in awe of my ksill) (S - ksill) (D - ksill) (T - yeah okay it’s permanent now) (D - aw man!)

Ghost Sense (S - why do we never test your range?) (D - no need? They always make themselves obvious or are being sneaky specifically to annoy me so *shrug*) (S - I still think we should test it)

Power Absorption (that time with Vortex’s weather powers)

Cryokinesis (Wayyyyy to much ice. NOT testing max output on that) (T - yeah frozen city was enough, let’s not cause an ice age. Tech needs some cool but too much is still bad and I just upgraded Patricia)

Ghostly Wail (cone of destruction, very exhausting - always at max output. Not to be used)

GHOST FORM ONLY (but really just never)

Cartoon Body (D - what???) (S - Freakshow literally turned you into a puddle and you just turned back and were fine. I don’t know what else to call that) (D - okay fair. but:)

GHOST FORM ONLY

Physical Enhancement (better strength, speed, stamina, durability, reflexes, balance, etc much better than human) (T - why does this look like dnd knockoff stats haha)

GHOST FORM ONLY (S - obviously mr last place in PE)

Resistances (pretty solid on the overshadowing, avoided being taken in by Ember until targeted, didn’t get turned to stone during the Medusa thing) (S - which was pure luck! Be careful!)

Ecto Electricity (ghost stinger, but I really don’t think this counts Sam. I mean I just. Make my ecto zappy. But it’s still just ecto) (S - so is your ICE and you don’t just call that "just cold ecto") (D - fine, but it feels overly specific) (S - maybe writing it all down will make you stop. Forgetting. POWERS!) (D - come on Sam that was a lucky hit! I was distracted! And it turned out fine!) (S - Fenton…) (D - oop okay doing fire now)

Ecto Fire (made Dash’s shoes melty that one time by make the ecto hot) (T - really needs more testing)

Tech possession (chasing Technus into computers, not very tested)

Ghost form only, i guess?

Overshadowing (control people, copy their voice, invade dreams - the control one erases the person’s memory so they don’t know they were overshadowed just lost time. I hate Walker. SO much) (T - rip Danny’s reputation, you’ll be missed)

Probably ghost form only

Duplication (T - That’s optimistic) (D - I’M WORKING ON IT OKAY!?) (S - pretty sure it just falls under cartoon body until you can actually separate) (D - :( betrayal)

Probably ghost form only

More? (D - ugh I hope not) (T - hey don’t say that, maybe you’ll get a power to make the JL give a crap about Amity) (D - honestly I’m getting pretty close to letting Boxy loose in Gotham) (S - Danny, don’t stoop to their level!) (D - it's only box ghost!) (T - I mean he has a point)

~~~

Jason changes his mind, seeing the commentary, and deletes the entire hidden file from the computer as soon as his copy is made. He can go over everything and bring any important info to Bruce separately, the bat’s can just chew on the parents’ files for now.

Once the original files are thoroughly and irretrievably removed he pockets his shiny new USB, makes a second one with all the official files, and heads back up and out - carelessly brushing past a thoroughly irate Red Robin with a pair of firemen and broken jaws of life. And not a scratch on the door; impressive - just in time to get Oracle’s text that he’s got 2 hours and 16 minutes to be at the location on his HUD so he can “arrive” to Amity.

And a fresh set of civilian clothes will be waiting in the plane, Alfred as reliable as ever.

“Files,” he says, tossing the safe USB to Batman and interrupting his interrogation of the police officer.

He catches it effortlessly of course, but the officer stops paying attention to him to jolt at Hood’s reappearance - even outside of Gotham his reputation is fierce.

“I sent a copy to myself. I’ll review them and give you an overview, but other than that consider this the end of my involvement in this little shitshow,” he says, continuing smoothly to the door. “I’m heading back to Gotham.”

Now, he has a little over two hours before Jason Todd needs to arrive in Amity Park. He only needs to lay hands on a laptop that he can isolate from Babs’ influence and he should be able to review the Halfa files in full before he "lands" - after he figures out just why the kid has a grudge against the JL.

[decagondice]

༓ Astra's Dark Bargain ༓

༓ Pairing. Zayne x Reader

༓ Synopsis. In a desolate, snow-covered mountain pass, Zayne kneels beside the still form of the one person he had vowed to protect, grappling with the weight of his failure and the relentless demands of Astra, a deity whose cruelty haunts his every step. As the frost of Astra’s displeasure creeps across his own skin, Zayne finds himself confronting the quiet, somber ache of a love lost to forces beyond mortal control. His voice is a quiet plea to the uncaring heavens, a whispered promise to carry the burden left in your wake, and to defy the god’s merciless hold—even if it means bearing Astra’s frost alone in the empty silence.

༓ Content. sfw, I've mixed both of foreseer and regular zayne into this one, it's hard to describe Zayne here... Zayne and reader in an alternate life you might say, Angst (?) no comfort, Emotional distress, Loneliness, Resentment, Mentions of death, Hurt, Mentions of pain, Zayne's woes, Not proofread.

༓ Word Count. 1.3k

༓ A.N. Bargain doesn't even read legibly on the cover image -_- But! I wanted to write a slightly dramatic piece about Zayne and this is what I could conjure up...I hope to come up with more ideas for him and the other characters in the future, as they often occupy my thoughts. I am not sure how I feel about this piece (again…) but I just wanted to test the waters to see if I could write for any of the L&DS men :)

[Artwork by Arkhip Kuindzhi - 'Elbrus. Moonlit Night', 1895]

The snow fell in a gentle, unbroken drift across the desolate mountainside, casting the world in a pale, unyielding silence. Zayne knelt in its midst, his breath misting in thin clouds before him, his body still but his mind filled with restless echoes. Beneath him, a thin sheet of frost began to form along the edges of his hands, creeping across his skin as he held still, resisting the hollow summons of Astra’s will. He could feel it—Astra’s cold displeasure, sinking into his bones, a reminder of the god’s claim upon him, of the obedience expected.

But his focus, his thoughts, lay with you.

His gaze traced the jagged peaks rising around him, black shadows against the whiteness of the sky, as if the mountains themselves bore witness to his failure. The snow lay untouched, pristine, save for the faint indentations left by his knees and the faint outlines of where you lay beside him. Zayne closed his eyes, breathing in the frigid air, letting it scrape against his lungs, sharp and raw, as if it might somehow mirror the feeling within him.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a quiet murmur, almost lost in the vastness. “You once told me,” he began, his words nearly inaudible, “that if anything ever happened, you trusted me to keep you safe. You believed in me, even when I faltered.” He lowered his gaze to the snow-covered ground, to the faint outline of your form, unmoving. “I wanted so much to protect you from all of this…from him. From the fate he had written for us.”

He reached out, his hand hovering just above you, close enough to feel the bitter cold radiating from your skin. Astra’s frost was already settling there, weaving a cruel web of ice and decay, a visible reminder of Zayne’s defiance, of his quiet refusal to yield fully to the god’s demands. The frost had become Astra’s punishment, each crystal a reminder of his supposed disloyalty, a testament to his human weakness.

Zayne took in a slow, ragged breath, and his fingertips trembled, holding back the impulse to touch you, to draw you close. He knew he couldn’t; the frost would spread, seeping from him to you, an insidious reminder of Astra’s power, and he couldn’t bear to add to your suffering, even in this silence.

“Astra,” he murmured, slowly looking up to the bleak, slate-grey sky. “If this is your design, then why must I be forced to bear it like this?” He could feel the ache of his words in his throat, the raw sorrow pressing down on him, heavy as the snow that fell, cold and unfeeling. “What purpose is there in this silence, in this…punishment?” He let his hand fall away, fingers digging into the snow, as if the sting of cold could numb the helplessness clawing within him.

The silence held his answer. Astra’s presence loomed, distant and implacable, as cold as the landscape around him. Zayne had spent years under that shadow, bound by threads of fate that he had never chosen, threads that tightened around him with every passing moment, reminding him that his defiance was futile. And yet, he had never truly surrendered, not in his heart. Not with you beside him.

The snow began to settle more heavily, blanketing the desolation around him in a shroud of quiet, oppressive white. Every breath Zayne drew tasted of cold metal, of something bitter and unforgiving, and he could feel his strength waning under the weight of the knowledge pressing down on him: he’d failed. This time, he hadn’t been able to shield you from Astra’s wrath, from the god’s harsh and unbending will. This time, the nightmares he had fought so hard to keep from you had spilled into the waking world, and he had been powerless to stop them.

He looked down, his eyes tracing the delicate lattice of frost spreading along your skin, tracing lines that seemed cruelly beautiful in the way they marred the familiar warmth he’d cherished. His voice softened, barely a whisper. “I never wanted this to be your burden,” he murmured. “I wanted to be enough, somehow…enough to keep you safe, to carry the weight of it myself.” He felt the ache of unspoken words, the memory of countless promises he’d made to himself to protect you, to give you shelter from Astra’s storms, no matter what price he had to pay.

But Astra’s price had been exacted nonetheless, claimed in silence and shadow, leaving only emptiness in its wake. Zayne’s jaw tightened, the grief pressing harder, sharper, as he forced himself to look upon the frost-laced contours of your face. How many nights had he watched over you, guarding you from the dark, from the nightmares he carried in his own soul? How many times had he whispered quiet reassurances, promising a safety he was never certain he could give?

And now…now that safety was as distant and unreachable as the stars that hid behind the grey sky.

He let the silence stretch, feeling its weight, listening to the quiet crush of snow beneath his fingers as he shifted closer, unwilling to leave your side even as Astra’s frost continued its cruel work. “You believed in me,” he murmured, more to himself than to the god whose shadow lingered over him. “Even when I questioned myself. You had faith that I could keep you from this fate, that I could somehow outwit a god’s will.”

He shook his head slowly, a faint, sorrowful smile ghosting over his lips. “Maybe that was your kindness…believing in me like that, letting me think I could protect you from him.” His voice softened, breaking. “But even kindness has its limits, doesn’t it?”

The snow fell thicker now, beginning to blur the line between earth and sky, erasing the distinctions between each jagged peak and hollowed valley. Zayne could feel the stillness settling over everything, blanketing him in an almost unbearable quiet, as if even the mountains shared in his grief. His hand drifted to his chest, resting over his heart, as if trying to hold onto the warmth that was slowly leeching away in Astra’s icy wake.

He closed his eyes, letting the memories fill the silence—the warmth of your laughter echoing against stone, the way your hand had slipped into his with quiet confidence, as if the gods’ wrath could never touch you so long as you stood beside him. He’d found himself believing it, if only for a moment, forgetting that Astra’s shadow could reach anywhere, even here in the desolation, even here in his arms.

Zayne’s shoulders fell, the weight of the silence pressing in. He looked to the mountains, their impassive faces cloaked in snow and shadow, and he spoke once more, a faint whisper of resolve threaded through his voice.

“Astra may hold my fate in his hands,” he said softly. “He may demand penance, loyalty, whatever else he wills.” His fingers brushed the cold ground beside you, almost tender, but he did not dare disturb the stillness that bound you now. “Some things will always remain beyond his reach—even for him.” His hand pressed to his heart, the only warmth left in the unforgiving chill.

In the solitude of the mountain, with only the wind and snow as witness, Zayne leaned down, his forehead nearly touching the frost that laced your own, his breath ghosting across your brow. “Rest now,” he whispered, the words barely breaking past his grief. “What you leave behind, I'll bear.”

And as he knelt there, alone in the unyielding cold, he felt the frost sink deeper into his skin, creeping in warning, as if Astra’s hold tightened with each moment he lingered by your side. But Zayne stayed, unwavering, unwilling to surrender his last moments with you, no matter the price.

Snow covered you both as the mountains stood silent, unmoved, keeping watch over the broken vow that lay quietly between you.

A.N. I was researching a bit about Astra when writing this piece and his theories seem...interesting.... I do want to write something about astra but I'm not too sure since he is still a shrouded figure. Anyways~ I hope you enjoyed this piece! Thank you for reading! Have a lovely day/night:)