#crushed by survivor's guilt

[thisfirelight]

More heartache (Edelthea edition)

[nonbinary-vents]

whenever I remember those stupid fucking pins that Mark Ruffalo and Billie Eilish or whatever wore I think of Shlomo Mansour. He survived the farhud as a child, where people painted red hands on the houses of all the Jews they knew to show who to kill. And yet he still survived. He still survived and he probably thought that the worst was behind him, and now imagery of one of the most horrific moments in Babylonian Jews’ memories has been proudly displayed, not to commemorate or memorialise, but to pointedly ignore Jewish suffering.

They will never care about him. The world will never care about him.

[therandomartmaker]

DPxDC, of dead hearts and brothers.

danny is damian’s older brother au; reincarnation type. danyal is the soft-hearted but still exemplary heir, but convinces ra’s that it is better to have him be the right-hand to damian, losing his heirship. ra’s, having danny as his favourite (cough danny and his inability to not be involved with old creeps lmao) allows him this; thinking that it’d allow danyal to be protected and also give him another option for youth (taking over damian’s body, afo-shigaraki style /hj)

this is all fine and dandy until ra’s decides damian has reached an equal skill to danyal’s stagnant training, and sets up a fight to the death. the lazarus pits are always there for the al ghul family, after all. he expects danyal to win. he expects damian to learn that all of his children are disposable. precious, but tools for ra’s’ use (all except precious danyal, the heart that kept giving).

danyal dies, damian’s sword stabbed into his heart, his last advice to “drive it in harder.” and his last words, “congratulations, brother.”

they bring him to lazarus pit, but it takes him. he sinks into the pool of acrid green and they wait; hours. a day. a week. he doesn’t resurface. they continue waiting because what else are they to do? they are al ghuls, not danal. not precious danyal who could mourn.

this proceeds, a sigil at the pit’s edge once a month, waiting for the lost son to return; but eventually damian is brought before the bat (far less dramatic, ra’s was tired of damian’s growing frustration without danyal to soothe him but no assassin’s had the same emotional state as danyal to provide a pseudo-sibling to play the same role; thus the bats’ family was the next option)

the bats only find out abt danyal when damian sets up for a day of fasting, facing the direction of the pit.

it’s dick who asks why he is fasting, and damian explains calmly. They learn of the boy who knew kindness, of the al ghul’s heart, of the prodigal heir turned advisor to damian. they learn of damian’s brother. when they find out why he’s dead, horror drips down their spines, at damian being forced to kill someone who’d only done good for him.

damian has one thing to say; “Danyal’s advice was not ‘how to kill’. i killed far better than he, after all. i was efficient, but danyal worked cleaner. Danyal’s advice… was ‘to kill your heart.’”

time moves on; damian is adjusted to ‘outside life’ far easier, danyal taught him how to interact with others and understand that words are rarely literal. the lazarus pits are quiet, madness unlikely in those brought from it, and jason affected far less in the long term. until one day there is a knock at the manor door.

alfred opens it, to see a dark haired young adult, assassins’ garb, injured. he does not seem conscious. alfred brings him in; calling the rest to reach a decision on how to treat him, and what his intentions are.

Damian wakes up to the sight of his brother in the moment that damian killed him.

[rk-tmblr]

“I know that when I'm gone, you'll fall at my feet and scream why did I do it? Why didn't I let you die for her? Not me.”

ALNST Ivan/Till

[avirael]

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

Returning to the Rising Stones gave A‘viloh a strange feeling. In a way everything had returned to normal. The sultana was not truly dead and would recover fully. The Scions were acquitted of all accusations and A‘viloh and Rael were allowed to travel Ul’dah and the rest of Eorzea again without fearing capture.

But to be honest nothing felt like it had returned to normal. Not here and not at all. The Rising Stones felt foreign and empty. The place had clearly been ransacked and only a handful of people had returned. There were a few familiar faces still but everyone who had made this place a safe haven for A‘viloh was gone.

Sure, Riol and the others promised to search for the Scions, and beside the Shinobi now the Immortal Flames too had begun looking for them. But so far Yugiri hadn’t found any clues and A‘viloh worried that there weren’t any to find at all. Or worse, that what they’d find would only prove all of his worst fears true.

“If they are alive, Yugiri and the others will find them…”, Rael said and placed a hand on A’viloh’s shoulder as he stared at the empty chairs and tables around the room. But the dark expression didn’t want to leave his face. “And what if they aren’t?”

For a moment Rael stayed silent and made a face as if they wanted to tell him that everything would be fine. But Rael couldn’t know that for sure and they weren’t one to tell lies.

“…then we find out anyway. At least we will know what happened then and get some closure.”

Closure? Rael should know that A‘viloh was not good at this. He had never been, had never known how to let go and move on. His mind had never let him and if it wasn’t actively reminding him of his losses and failures, they still would frequently return to haunt him in his sleep. His demons knew no closure.

Rael scowled as the Miqo’te grimaced. “You do know, that they are MY friends too, right A‘vi? I‘m worried about them too but while they are gone - and I want to believe they will all return safely - but while they are gone we must continue doing what they want us to. We cannot do much to help the search but we can maybe prevent Ishgard‘s destruction.”

Absentmindedly A‘viloh nodded. “You‘re right. I am sorry…”

But he could not tear his eyes away from the place were their friends had so often sat down to eat or talk or just spent time together. He could still invision it so clearly. Even without the echo the memory was still so vivid in his mind, it was as if he could imagine their ghosts sitting right here this very moment.

For a short second he was presumptuous enough to wonder if this was how Hraesvelgr and Nidhogg felt…

[arovalentines]

and you dont know what to do with it

[realmothchu]

remus really lost all his friends in one day like that is so fucked 😭😭😭

[stargazing-sapphire2]

Angsty one shot with Elias adopting Arabella shortly after Daniel's death and i--

[cifer-ulqui]

Chapter 5: Por Favor

TW: Threats of Violence, Foul Language, Denial of Feelings, Brief Suicidal Ideation, Existentialism, Survivor's Guilt. Word Count:~3100

Masterlist / Chapter 6: Fall from Grace (03/01/2025)

Valentine's Special

“Am I able to predict those things…” Kurosaki Ichigo's face is pressed in a determined, irritating stare, “because I'm closer to a hollow now--?”

“--Or have you become more human?”

He's tousled awake abruptly, only remembering the last fleeting moments of a wretched dream-- no, not a dream, a memory.

“Oi, you're gonna be late for breakfast, Ulq.” Mammon is his assailant, shaking his shoulder. His hand is warm. “Beel is already at the table.” A yawn parts Ulquiorra's lips, and he sighs, replying he'll be on his way as he sits up, the covers falling from his bare body.

He dresses in his uniform after Mammon rushes from the room, Ulquiorra buttoning the shirt up to his throat.

Mammon is waiting for him outside his room. He’s silent for once.

The table is already full when they join the dining hall. “Ah, so glad the two of you could join us.” Lucifer’s condescending voice irritates him to no end as the trash takes a drink of coffee. Ulquiorra sits in one of the empty chairs, between Asmodeus and Satan; The other empty one is beside Lucifer.

“How are your classes going, Ulquiorra?” Lucifer begins again.

“Well enough.”

“Hm.” His smile is sharp. “And I see you've settled into the House of Lamentation as well.”

Asmodeus hums beside Ulquiorra, licking his spoon in a manner Ulquiorra's eye catches as odd. “I'll say. Two pacts so soon, makes me on the edge of my seat to see what will happen next, hm?” He bats his eyelashes. “If you grovel well enough, maybe I’ll even forgive you for hitting me when we first met.”

Ulquiorra turns his attention back to the food in front of him. It's not as delicious as the food Barbatos made, but is pleasant all the same. He's becoming accustomed to having a full stomach.

“C'mon,” Asmodeus’s breath tickles his ear and his hands still. Fingers twirl his hair at the nape of his neck. “Tell me, my dear, what else are you planning? Who's next?”

Ulquiorra takes a breath, meeting honey-pink eyes. “Don't be ridiculous. I am not merely collecting.” Although more does sound tempting. Asmodeus's lips are a full, bright pink, and Ulquiorra has to forcefully focus himself on speaking. “If I was planning something,” he leans closer, taking advantage of Asmodeus being shorter than the others despite still being taller than Ulquiorra, and a shiver runs through the demon at the proximity, “why would I tell you?”

A pink tongue swipes across pink lips, a slightly different shade. “Perhaps I could convince you-- eek!”

Mammon whistles rather obviously as Asmodeus turns, using a napkin to wipe the jam off his face slowly. Murder dances in his gaze as he glares.

Satan moves closer to Ulquiorra’s other side after Asmodeus drags Mammon off kicking and screaming.

“I am curious about what you're planning next as well,” Satan murmurs as the room grows louder around them. “However, you will find demons are rather dangerous when we feel threatened. Keep that in mind.”

Mammon complains “poor me” all the way to RAD. Ulquiorra thinks of the luck of Mammon enjoying his presence, otherwise they'd both be miserable with how much they see one another. Not only do they have both of their regular classes together today, but Mammon insisted on going shopping with Ulquiorra on their next free day. If he skips Study Hall tomorrow to go shopping, he'll have more free time this weekend. And he's already completed his homework and a fair amount of the readings, so it should be unnecessary to attend. Even so, he’ll have to brace himself for Mammon’s exuberance.

He sits next to Mammon during Magical Potions, if not only to stay away from the sorcerer. Something about the human rubs him the wrong way. Maybe because he's human.

He isn't so lucky during lunch hours, as the sorcerer plops down in the only empty seat next to him when he sits at the edge, much to Mammon's complaint as he sits across from Ulquiorra.

The other exchange students seem to be of a like mind, as Simeon and Luke sit down near Mammon.

“How are you settling into the House of Lamentation, Ulquiorra?” Simeon asks with a smile, now sitting across from Solomon. His hair brushes across his face as he leans forward attentively.

Ulquiorra has to take a drink before he answers, his throat suddenly dry. “I suppose I’m doing well.”

“That’s good,” the warm smile widens.

Ulquiorra can’t find anything to say in response. Maybe something he’s eating isn’t edible for this human body, and that’s the cause of this prickling sensation near the base of his throat and the warmth of his ears.

“Yeah, we’ve been watching some movie series with Levi,” Mammon takes a bite, talking despite his mouth being full. “Something about seven lords.”

“Oh, TSL?” Solomon perks up, his elbow in Ulquiorra’s personal space. Perhaps he’d keep it to himself if Ulquiorra removed it at the joint.

“Yeah, I think so,” Mammon acts rather nonchalantly for someone who prattled on and on about the show. Is he always this adamant about being uninterested? It could become tiring.

“Did you enjoy it?” Simeon’s voice gains a coy quality as he addresses Ulquiorra, one that has Ulquiorra curious. Wait. Why does he care what this angel is thinking? He doesn’t. What nonsense. He makes a noncommittal sound, and the table chooses a new topic.

His next class is Introductory Magic, which passes slowly, so he finishes his written potions homework, which is merely memorizing combinations. Multitasking his writing and listening isn’t too difficult, and he can always review the material.

Devildom Languages passes rather quickly, as it’s only an hour long. With a little focus, Ulquiorra can force some of the common words in his textbooks to remain in their original language, but not fluently yet.

He also learned that demons at RAD are taught many modern languages, and that Ancient Infernal is their native tongue. The languages have some overlapping basic structures due to the introduction of knowledge from the human realm, which is why Japanese is more common in the capital.

The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly. What a shame the quiet could not last.

Ulquiorra takes the stairs up to the attic at a brisk but not urgent pace.

Satan enjoys tormenting Lucifer, to a blatantly exploitable extent. All it took was Ulquiorra stumbling across Satan setting up a trap, and offering to help exacerbate the situation. Sure, Mammon would now also be in trouble due to Ulquiorra’s instigation, but some sacrifices are necessary.

At the top is an empty space with blank walls. There’s a pressure behind his eyes; he blinks, the pressure pops, and a metal door comes into view. It’s ornate wrought iron, and he peers inside.

There’s a bed, a large one with piles of pillows. There are a couple of bookshelves, tapestries on the walls, and mismatched junk which seems left there to collect dust.

Among the pile of pillows is a figure. It lifts its head and turns its gaze lazily towards Ulquiorra. Purple eyes glare until they widen with shock.

“You… You’re here,” the man breathes, rising from the bed to stumble over to the door. “You saw past the illusion. Are you a human?”

Ulquiorra feels faint spiritual pressure-- the demons call it magic– seep through the door, and checks to make sure he’s out of arm’s reach. “Are you a demon?” Sure, the blueish hair and violet eyes aren't unheard of in humans, but this man doesn’t move the way a human does.

“What? No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” Liar. A lilting voice, the pleading eyes. Yes, there were seven brothers. Is this him? “I’m a human, like you. That demon locked me up here! It was Lucifer. I’m guessing you’ve met him. I’m begging you, human. You’ve got to get me out of here.” Humans don’t call each other human.

Why is he up here? Maybe he’s more annoying than Mammon, if that’s possible.

“I’m asking for your help.”

“How would I help?” Ulquiorra decides to play along. Maybe he’ll get more information.

“Listen closely. Now, you can’t open this door. Neither of us are capable because it’s sealed with a very powerful sort of magic.” As if a human could fight their way through a normal iron door. Perhaps a gifted one, such as Kurosaki or Orihime. Not some poor helpless trash this creature is pretending to be. “To break the seal, you need the power of Lucifer and his six brothers. But they’re not exactly nice folks. You can’t just ask nicely. But you’re a special case; you can make them do it.” Those eyes are large and look up at him pleadingly as the demon hunches over.

Such honeyed, poisonous words. “With pacts?”

“That’s right, what I’m trying to say is you should make pacts with these demons-- all of them. You already have two, right? Mammon and Levi? The others may be more difficult, but I have faith in you.” His voice and actions are convincing, but he’s better at manipulating than creating believable lies. Why would a human call Leviathan by his nickname if they don’t know him well?

More importantly, “How do you know I have the pacts?” And how did Ulquiorra see through the illusion protecting the door?

“That’s not important. What matters is I’m counting on you. You’re the only one who can help me now. You’ve got to start by gaining their trust. And if you want that, you can’t tell them you came up here and spoke with me. Whatever you do, don’t mention that. Let’s see, you should probably start with Beelzebub. He’d be the best choice. You need to get close to him. I know you’ll get me out of here. So, we have a deal. I’m counting on you.”

He could leave and pretend he’ll help. It would be the easiest route. He takes one more step back for good measure.

“Why would I help you?”

“What.” The pleading stops, and violet eyes look into his, his face falling flat. “What do you mean?”

“How would it benefit me?”

“But… shouldn't you want to help a fellow human in need?”

“Useless trash,” Ulquiorra turns towards the stairs, eyes still piercing into the demon’s. “You’re a bad liar, seventh brother.” As satisfying as it would be for someone to know he is not a weak human, he has no intention of disclosing something that could come back to bite him later. “I believe I heard the name Belphie. Farewell.”

“You fucker, come back here,” a growl responds. “Let’s renegotiate.”

“You have nothing I want, demon. Coming here was a mistake. I thought there was something useful here.” Ulquiorra steps toward the stairs.

“Wait!” The resigned tone makes Ulquiorra pause. Does he have something to offer? “You want to make more pacts, right? I could give you advice on my brothers. You and I could enter a deal.”

“A deal?” Ulquiorra turns his head so he can see the demon. “A pact?”

“Fuck no. A deal.”

“Ah.” Ulquiorra recalls that definition from a book about pacts. “One which dissolves once the conditions are met.”

“Exactly. I’ll supply you with information about my brothers to help you gain the pacts, and in return, you help me get out of this attic. Deal?”

“No,” the answer is clear.

“Why the fuck not?” he snarls, rattling the door.

“I am capable of making the pacts myself. I will not allow myself to be used by some weak creature. The thought of you manipulating me is insulting.”

“What do you want?”

He left after that.

What do I want? It had been obvious; he wants to shed this human body. But what about after? Be used by beings greater than him? Rot somewhere for centuries until fading to dust? What is there to want?

Do I want to stop being hollow? Perhaps he could find someone to kill him. This useless, wretched existence has no purpose. And now, walking around in a human façade?

As there is no reason for his existence, there is no reason to end it for its lack of interest. He’d probably wake up in another hell.

As he walks past the kitchen to his quarters, he notices Mammon near the fridge. The demon sniffles, taking a bite off of a spoon. He likely got punished by Lucifer. Unluckily for Ulquiorra, Mammon sees him.

“Ulq! There you are.” That nickname could get the demon killed. “Want some custard?”

Ulquiorra steps aside, hearing heavy footsteps behind him. “No.” He turns to leave, when Beelzebub gasps.

“Custard? My custard?!”

Hours pass.

Ulquiorra lays in Beelzebub's bed, still sour about the whole fiasco. Mammon ate Beelzebub’s custard, Beelzebub flew into a rage and destroyed one of the walls of Ulquiorra’s bedroom that connects to the kitchen, and Lucifer lectured all three of them for three hours. Now, Ulquiorra is resting in Beelzebub’s room, on his bed, while the demon is sleeping on the couch after his evening workout.

Ulquiorra cannot sleep. It’s been five nights since he arrived in the Devildom, yet this is the first time he hasn’t slept readily. Perhaps he’s becoming used to this body and it doesn’t require as much sleep.

He thinks for a while, allowing the pact magic to cycle through. At first, the thoughts overtook him, but now he can allow them time as he wills. If he suppresses them for too long, he cannot control them, but if he sets aside time as an outlet, they are manageable. Most of these thoughts dredge up memories, or make him think of things he sees and wants.

A sound breaks through.

It’s a whimper. Another. Ulquiorra sits up, preparing for a fight with some beast.

Gasps and sobs cut the air, and Ulquiorra’s gaze rests on the demon laying on the couch, illuminated by the lamps. So, he makes noises in his sleep. Ulquiorra tries to relax his attention, but Beelzebub shoots up from where he laid.

“Wh… What.…” Beelzebub looks around in a daze, before rubbing his face. It shines in the moonlight. “Sorry, did I wake you, human?”

“Ulquiorra. I have a name.” And I am not a worthless human.

“Sorry, Ulquiorra.” He doesn’t roll the RR correctly, but it doesn’t matter. “Go back to sleep.” His voice is strained.

“Are you crying, Beelzebub?”

A sniffle replies. “I had a bad dream, that's all.”

The silence following after is strained.

“Could I… hold your hand, Ulquiorra?” The request is beyond odd. What makes this demon comfortable asking for such a thing? “Sorry, I usually go to my twin for these things, but he’s in the human realm right now. I’ve been dealing with it myself since he left, but I miss him.”

Perhaps this will endear him to me, and make forging a pact easier. It’s not an impossible request, loathe as I am of such contact. “Very well.”

Beelzebub rises, sitting on the floor next to the bed. His head rests on the mattress, one hand trembling as it stretches out. Ulquiorra turns to his side, allowing Beelzebub to take his hand.

Beelzebub is a giant, nearly as tall as Lord Diavolo. His hand is large and warm, wrapping around Ulquiorra's.

“Thanks.” His voice shows his gratitude. The sniffles ebb into silence, and Beelzebub stares at their entwined hands. “Hey, Ulquiorra…?”

What now? “Yes, Beelzebub?”

“I admire how strong you are.”

Of course he is, but in this body? “What reason do you have for thinking I'm strong? Humans are weak, and could never hope to taste a demon's power.”

“Hm,” Beelzebub’s brow furrows. “I meant it in a different way. You're closed off, but still allow us to be around you, and so closely. You even punched Asmo when you woke up. It's like you have no fear.”

“Every being has fear.” Ulquiorra returns his gaze to the ceiling. “Instinct guides us and makes us afraid to live, and afraid to die. I simply don't find mine worth acting upon. If it is not worth acting upon, it is not worthy of existing. I cannot see fear, so it is useless.”

Beelzebub hums in acknowledgement. “I understand what you're saying. It's hard not to let it overtake rational thought, though. That's why I think you're strong.”

Ulquiorra tilts his head, seeing violet-- he remembers seeing those eyes. They're nearly identical to the demon in the attic. Yes, definitely the seventh brother.

“Do you allow yours to reign over your body?”

“I don't think so,” Beelzebub rests his head on his other arm. “I feel it, for sure. I'm afraid of losing Belphie-- he's my twin. I'm afraid I'll never see him again. I'm afraid he'll leave me, they all will. All of my brothers, they see me for my stomach. I'm afraid something will shatter what peace we have here, and we'll all be split apart again.”

“I dream a lot of our sister, Lilith. She died in the war. She fell in love with a human, and she loved him so much she risked execution to save his life. My brothers and I rebelled and fell, but she--” Beel's voice cracks, “--well, she was gravely wounded. She and Belphie were both in danger, and I grabbed him. I wasn't strong enough to save both of them.” His eyes glisten. “It's my fault. I think Belphie blames me too, for not being able to save her.”

Ulquiorra listens until Beelzebub falls silent. “I will never understand it. For me, emotions are meaningless, if they exist at all. I do not remember camaraderie or brotherhood.”

“Still,” Beelzebub smiles. “Thanks for listening.”

I didn't have much of a choice. He keeps that thought to himself.

“Hey Ulquiorra?”

“Yes, Beelzebub?”

“How would you choose who to save?”

Ulquiorra thinks for a moment. “If they cannot help themselves, why save them?” It was a coincidence that he intercepted the hollowfied Kurosaki before it touched Orihime, that's all.

“Huh?” Beelzebub’s astonishment is audible. “Because… you care about them?”

“Nonsense. There is no one I care about. I am unaffected by such emotions. The heart is nothing but a weakness.” Beelzebub squeezes, and that's when he notices how he's gripping the demon’s hand. Ulquiorra’s relaxes in the demon's grasp.

Those eyes are wide and round, full of innocence and warmth but looking at him with such pity. It's too familiar. Beelzebub's thumb rubs over his palm.

“Ulquiorra… isn't that lonely?”

Anime hair and eye logic.... Also love when people are haunting Ulquiorra's thoughts.

Masterlist / Chapter 6: Fall from Grace (03/01/2025)

Valentine's Special

[eu-nicola]

Morocco part 2

summary: Rafe says goodbye to Sofia and leaves her in outer banks while he goes to Morocco, where you are also and the danger that happens there rekindles the spark both of you thought had lost

warnings: mention of death, weapons, cheating, pregnancy, kidnapping, etc. only things of s4

word counter: 8530

author's note: spoilers of s4, many things have been changed but there are still spoilers, english is not my first language, this is long so get ready to read

The heavy silence of the room enveloped you as you sat there, sitting on the bed, staring at your hands as if you could erase what had happened. He had killed someone. You still felt it on your skin, the tension of that moment, the fear, the adrenaline, and in the end, the inevitability of the action. You knew you had done it in self-defense, that there was no other option. The guy was going to kill you or someone else, and you didn’t let yourself let that happen. But still, the feeling of having taken a life crushed you. 

Rafe had stayed close, always by your side, as if he knew what you were feeling without you having to say it. He had been there, watching, but he hadn’t said anything about it. None of the Pogues had said anything. In a world where survival was the only thing that mattered, everyone knew that the lines between right and wrong could become blurred. It had been an extreme situation, and in the end, only the weight of what had been done remained. 

You laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling feeling like you were trapped in your own thoughts, in a tangle of doubts you couldn’t untangle. Rafe was beside you, silent, but his presence was comforting. His words hadn’t come yet, but that didn’t matter. You knew you didn’t need him to tell you anything; not at that moment. What you needed was to be there, with someone who wouldn’t judge you, who understood that sometimes decisions weren’t so simple. 

“You did it because you had to,” Rafe said, finally breaking the silence, his voice low, but firm. As if he had read your thoughts, as if he had felt everything that was going through your head. He approached you, placing a hand on your right hand, giving you the feeling that, despite everything you had done, you weren’t alone. “I know you didn’t want to, but there was no other way out.”

You looked at him, searching for something else in his eyes. A word, a comfort, a way to make the weight lighten, even if just a little. But as you looked at him, instead of finding judgment or disapproval, you found something unexpected: understanding. Rafe understood what had happened, even without having to explain it.

“I know,” you whispered, feeling a lump in your throat. “I did it because I had to. But I didn’t want to. I don’t want it to haunt me.”

He nodded, his gaze locked with yours. “Sometimes you don’t have a choice. And I know that if you had stopped, if you hadn’t, you’d be worse off now. But that doesn’t make you any less… human.”

The words weren’t what you expected to hear, but they carried a different weight. In that moment, you felt like maybe, just maybe, the guilt wasn’t so absolute.

You felt him close to you, and before you could react, he sat next to you on the bed, his arm around you with a comfort you hadn’t expected. There was something about the way he held you that made you relax, if only for a moment. “We’re the survivors, you know?” he said softly. “What we’ve done, what we’ve seen, what we’ve had to do to get here… all of that makes us who we are. And if you ever ask yourself the question of whether you did the right thing, I want you to remember that it was always about surviving.”

Your eyes filled with tears, not from weakness, but from the intensity of everything you felt. The weight of the decisions, the inevitability of the circumstances, and the fact that sometimes, the only thing left to do was to keep going, even if the burden was heavy.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, barely a whisper. You didn’t know what else to say.

The Pogues hadn’t weighed in, nor had you asked them to. They had seen what you did, they knew. The truth was that at that moment, no one dared to judge, because everyone knew that in those kinds of situations, life or death wasn’t always in your hands. You had done what was necessary, what instinct told you to do to protect yourself, but still, you couldn’t escape what had happened.

Rafe lay down beside you, his presence giving you the space to breathe, to rest, to not think so much about how irreversible it had been. “It’s done,” he said, unhurriedly, without pressure. “Now, all that’s left is to move on.”

Little by little, you felt the weight lighten, although it didn’t disappear completely.

After that, you had recovered quickly. The guilt, confusion, and restlessness you felt after what had happened slowly faded away. It wasn’t easy, but you knew you couldn’t stay stuck in that moment. Time was still ticking, and you had to move on. 

What really helped you recover so quickly was the conversation with your father. Even though things between you hadn’t always been easy, hearing his voice on the other end of the line gave you the calm you needed. You told him what had happened, what you had had to do to defend yourself. You didn’t go into all the details, but you did tell him the gist. The silence on the other end of the line lasted a few seconds before you heard his voice, firm and calm.

“I’m proud of you,” he told you, and those words resonated with you more than you imagined. “You did what you had to do. There are no regrets that are going to change what happened. You’re my daughter, and I will always be your biggest support.”

Something in his voice, in those simple yet powerful words, made you feel like everything you had done was, in some way, justified. You had done the right thing, even if it wasn’t easy to accept. What you needed most at that moment was his support, and hearing those words from him gave you the strength to let go of the guilt. You reminded yourself that you had acted in self-defense, that you had done it to survive. It helped you regain control of your thoughts, to not get caught up in what had happened.

“Thank you, Dad,” you said, the words coming out with a calmness you didn’t know you had. “I really needed to hear that.”

When you hung up, you felt different. You knew the weight of what had happened wouldn’t go away completely, but something inside you had changed. Your father’s approval, his pride in what you had done, gave you a push to keep going without looking back. You didn’t want to stay stuck in guilt.

When Rafe saw you calmer, more focused, he asked if everything was okay. “It seems like something has changed,” he said, watching intently.

“Yeah,” you answered, a small smile creeping onto your face. “My father talked to me, I feel… good. More at peace, I guess.”

Rafe looked at you for a moment before nodding, as if he understood what that meant to you. He didn’t say anything else, knowing you didn’t need any more words at that moment. Your father’s had been enough. Now, you could move on.

In one of those calls with your father, which Rafe knew nothing about, you learned something that left you paralyzed. Sofia had betrayed Rafe. The news hit you like a blow, every word from your father reverberating in your mind.

Your father, as always, recounted the events with a calm that only he could maintain. He didn't go into unnecessary details, but he made the essentials clear: Sofia had betrayed Rafe. This was more than just disloyalty; it was an act that put not only Rafe at risk, but you and everyone else's as well.

The knowledge hit you hard, a mix of fury and pain that you tried to hold back. You couldn't help but feel protective of Rafe, despite how complicated their relationship had been in the past and still was. Watching him go through another betrayal, especially one this deep, made you question whether you should tell him or keep quiet for a while longer.

You decided not to tell him. Sofia's betrayal was a bomb that could make him explode and you didn't need that now. That night, Rafe was sitting on the edge of the bed, his profile silhouetted against the dim light of the room. His eyes settled on you with a softness you didn't see often.

“Are you okay?” His voice broke the silence, direct but with a hint of concern that he rarely showed. “You’ve been tense all night.”

Your heart raced a little, but you tried to stay calm. You had rehearsed in your mind over and over how to evade his questions without raising suspicion. You gave him a tired smile, one that you hoped was convincing enough.

“I’m just tired,” you replied, and though it sounded almost believable, you noticed his blue eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were trying to read past your words. Rafe was observant, and the thought that he could tell the lie made your throat go dry.

There was a moment of tense silence, where neither of you said anything. Finally, he relaxed a little and stood up to approach you. “Let’s rest then,” he murmured, placing a gentle hand on your back and guiding you towards the bed. You let yourself be led, relieved that he didn’t press any further.

You kicked off your shoes and slipped under the sheets, feeling the coolness of the fabric against your tired skin. Rafe did the same, moving beside you with familiar movements. The bed, though not the most comfortable, was a refuge at the moment.

When he turned off the lamp, the room was plunged into darkness, and the sounds of the night in the Moroccan city remained as a soft backdrop. You felt his body close to yours, the warmth emanating from it comforting.

You turned slightly, turning your back to him as you tried to calm your breathing and quiet the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. However, Rafe, in his silent and protective way, noticed your uneasiness and moved closer. His arm went around your waist and pulled you towards him, pressing your back against his chest. The contact, so natural and comforting, made your worries fade away for a moment. You felt his warm breath against your hair, and a barely audible whisper escaped his lips.

“Whatever you’re worried about, we’ll take care of it,” he murmured sleepily, as if the words were an involuntary reflection of his thoughts.

You closed your eyes and swallowed the lump in your throat. You didn't know how long you could keep the secret, but that night, at least, you decided to hold on to the feeling of being safe in his arms. You responded to the hug, settling in a little more and allowing yourself a moment of peace.

Slowly, tiredness overcame anxiety, and you both fell asleep.

It wasn’t long before the truth came out. Rafe was cunning, too cunning, and even though you had done your best to keep it a secret, the built-up tension and the little clues you missed had him starting to put two and two together.

It was one afternoon, as the two of you were going over some notes at a makeshift table, when everything exploded. Rafe was focused on the papers in front of him, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. There was something about his posture that made you feel a twinge of unease. Without looking up, he murmured, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

The seemingly casual question made you stop dead in your tracks. You knew he could read the subtleties, the changes in your behavior, and you understood in that instant that he already suspected something. You tried to keep your composure, keeping your expression from giving you away.

“What do you mean?” You asked, your tone trying to sound carefree, but the slight hesitation in your voice made him raise his head. His blue eyes caught you, cold and calculating, searching for answers.

“You know, right?” His voice was low, controlled, but charged with an intensity that made the room seem smaller. “About Sofia.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You didn’t need to answer; he already knew. The tension in his body turned into suppressed fury, and he slammed a fist on the table, causing papers to fly and some objects to fall to the floor.

“Since when?” he exclaimed, taking a step towards you. There was no physical aggression in his gesture, but the energy he emanated was enough to make you back off. “Since when did you know and decide not to tell me?”

“Rafe, I… I did it for you.” The words came out in a rush, clumsy and full of guilt. “I didn’t want to ruin what little you had. I thought it wasn’t the time…”

“The time?” His laugh was dry, humorless. “All this time I’ve been struggling, trusting someone who betrayed me, and you knew it! What kind of support is that?”

The hurt in his words was evident. You knew his trust, something so fragile and complicated, had been shattered once again, and this time, you were part of the reason. You tried to get closer, reach out to touch his arm, but he pulled away, as if your touch burned.

“Rafe, it wasn’t easy for me. I wanted to protect you.”

“You don’t need to protect me. I need you to be honest with me. I need you to tell me if you know something that affects me. How am I supposed to trust you now?”

The question cut through you like a blade. The pain in his voice, mixed with rage and disappointment, left you speechless. There was no justification enough to calm him down. All you could do was watch as the distance between you grew larger, deeper.

Finally, Rafe stepped back, putting a hand to his head and sighing in frustration. “This isn’t going to work,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He looked at you one last time, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher, and before you could stop him, he turned and walked out the door. 

You knew Rafe better than anyone. You knew that when things got tough, he tended to walk away, to hide from everyone. You set off, visiting several places. But in all those places, the answer was the same: nothing. 

The heat of Morocco stifled you, sweat running down your forehead, and anxiety made the air feel thicker. Still, you didn’t stop. You asked around in shops and at street vendors, and though a few curious glances and vague answers tried to calm your search, nothing was enough. 

You decided to go check on the boys. If anyone might know something, they would have at least a lead. When you arrived, you found them gathered in a corner of a coffee shop with the windows fogged up from the heat. The atmosphere of the room, normally filled with humor, felt different when you entered. John B was the first to notice you, and his expression hardened at the sight of your countenance.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Have you seen Rafe?” The question came out in a tone you couldn’t soften. Your voice, cracked with urgency, had everyone exchanging quick glances.

Sarah, who was sitting next to Kiara, looked away, uncomfortable with the subject. “No, I haven’t seen him since… since yesterday,” she admitted, her voice barely a murmur.

Pope, who had been quiet, nodded. “No one’s seen him. I thought he was with you.”

There was no sign of him, not a trace, not a word. You left the café before anyone could say anything else, frustration and worry fighting for control of your thoughts.

You were so focused on finding Rafe that concern for your own safety took a backseat. The city, with its narrow streets and maze of passages, had become a space where every shadow seemed to lengthen, and every sound multiplied into echoes. But you were so absorbed in your thoughts, so consumed by guilt and the need to find him, that you didn't notice what was happening around you.

The murmur of voices, the soft creaking of footsteps behind you, began so subtly that you barely noticed. The night was thick, the heat and sweat clinging to your skin, making you feel more tired than you were. As you walked down a dimly lit street, the streetlights cast your shadow against the walls of the buildings, a long, lonely silhouette.

It was only when you turned a corner into a darker alley that a cold sensation ran down your spine. A sixth sense warned you that something wasn't right. You paused for a moment, listening to the silence that seemed to breathe around you. You weren't alone. Confirmation came the instant you took a step back and felt a hand grab you tightly by the arm. 

You tried to get away, your first instinct was to fight, but you didn't have time to react. Another hand landed on your mouth, stifling the scream that choked in your throat. Three men surrounded you, their faces barely visible under the shadows of their hoods. One of them spoke to you in a low, threatening tone, in a language you barely recognized, but the message was clear: you weren't to resist. 

They pushed you forward, forcing you to walk as your senses went to full blast. Adrenaline pumped through your veins, making you tremble with rage and fear at the same time. You tried to observe, to memorize details, anything that might help you escape later: the tattoo on the neck of the man holding you, the smell of tobacco and sweat, the way they clenched their fists. But they were experts; there was no room for error.

The ride was short, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, they bundled you into a car, dark and dusty, and tied your hands with rough rope that bit into your skin. You felt the engine roar and the car jerk as it started, taking you away from familiar streets, away from any chance of help. You tried to stay calm, to control your breathing and not let fear paralyze you.

In the dim light of the car, one of the men spoke to the driver in a low tone, while another watched you closely, his piercing gaze searching for any sign of defiance. The city lights faded, and the landscape grew more arid, more lonely, with each passing mile. The idea that you were being taken to an unknown place, with no one knowing where you were, hit you with the force of a wave. 

What followed after that car ride was even more disconcerting. You were taken to an abandoned building, with weathered stone walls and broken windows that let in the dry night air. You were pushed inside, your feet stumbling over the threshold, and you fell to your knees on the dusty floor. You tried to get up, but one of the men's rough hands pushed you back down.

The space was large and dark, lit only by a dim light filtering in from a hanging lamp in the center. The men began talking to each other, their deep, rapid voices filling the room, but you couldn’t understand what they were saying. The language barrier made you feel even more vulnerable, like you were in a tunnel you couldn’t get out of. You tried to catch some word you recognized, something that would give you a clue as to their intent, but it was in vain. Desperation began to set in, digging into your chest like a thorn. 

As they argued, you took a moment to assess your situation. The ropes binding your hands were strong, but if you could find a weak spot, maybe you could break free. You watched the men’s faces carefully, trying to remember details: the eye patch on one, the scar on another’s cheek, the golden ring glinting on the third’s finger. But they showed no sign of empathy or doubt. Their cold, calculating gazes were diverted from you as if you were just an object, a pawn in their unknown game.

Far away from there, Rafe had returned to the place where they both stayed. The air in the room still smelled of you, a persistent memory that he tried to ignore as he moved through the space with firm steps. The rage and pain from the previous fight still burned inside him, and he repeated over and over what he had said, what you had said. However, not seeing you when he arrived, a subtle echo of worry tried to make its way into his mind. He dismissed it at first, convinced that, like him, you had only gone for a walk.

Rafe let himself fall into bed, closing his eyes as the night progressed. Dawn arrived, and with it a restlessness that he could no longer ignore. When he got up, he noticed that your side of the bed was still empty. He searched the small house for you, checking the kitchen, the makeshift living room, even the terrace where you sometimes sat to think. Nothing.

The initial annoyance turned into a shadow of fear that led him to look for the others. He headed to the place where the Pogues usually met, and found them having breakfast with tired and sleepy faces. John B looked up and saw Rafe approaching, his eyes reflecting the surprise of seeing him there so early.

“Have you seen Y/n?” Rafe asked, without preamble. His tone was firm, but there was a crack of anxiety that he couldn’t hide.

The others’ gazes met for a second before Pope answered, frowning. “No, not since last night, when she came to ask us if we had seen you.”

Rafe’s heart beat faster. Worry became a tangible weight, and he felt guilt begin to sink into him. You had been looking for him, and he, blinded by his anger, had done nothing for you. He ran a hand through his hair, breathing deeply as he tried to remain calm.

“What happened, Rafe?” Sarah asked, her eyes searching his face for answers.

Rafe gritted his teeth, his jaw set with tension. “I don’t know… but I have to find her.”

Back at the place where they had you held, the men had begun to lose patience. One of them approached you, his gaze icy as he examined you from head to toe. You tried to remain calm, even as the man crouched down to your level and issued a threat in broken, rough English. His words were fragmented, but you understood enough to know he was trying to intimidate you.

“Don’t move. Don’t… scream,” he said, his accent thick. “If you do, it will be worse for you.”

You tried to keep a neutral expression, but you couldn’t stop your hands from shaking, still bound tightly behind you. You tried not to make eye contact, knowing that any show of fear could only make the situation worse. However, he seemed to be enjoying your discomfort, a crooked, cocky grin on his face.

Just when you thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, another man entered the room. There was something about his bearing, the way the others looked at him, that suggested he was in charge. His clothes were neater, his posture more relaxed, but his eyes held a coldness that made your skin crawl.

He approached slowly, and as he stopped in front of you, you noticed that he spoke much clearer and more fluent English.

“Forgive my men,” he said in a calm but firm voice. “They don’t usually deal with foreigners, especially not a woman who butts into matters that don’t concern her.”

You tried to compose your expression, looking at the man firmly, although inside you felt how each word of his intensified the weight of your situation.

“What… what do they want?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, but clear enough to show that you still had some control left.

He smiled, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s up to you,” he replied, lacing their fingers together calmly. “We’re looking for something, and we think you might be able to help us find it… or at least lead us to the people who could.”

Your mind began to work quickly, trying to connect the pieces. You knew that your arrival in Morocco with Rafe and the search for the Blue Crown hadn’t gone unnoticed, but still, the speed with which you’d been found, threatened, and now interrogated caught you completely off guard.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to say, but your voice betrayed a slight hesitation, and he noticed it.

“Don’t play naive. We know what you’re looking for… we know what you want. So, I’m going to make it easy for you,” he said as he leaned a little closer, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “You give us what we want, or you’ll see how things can get worse.”

You felt a knot in your stomach, each second growing more terrifying. You knew your only option was to hold on and buy time.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic drumming of your heart as the man in front of you watched you with unsettling patience. You tried to keep your composure and buy time, knowing that each passing second increased the chances of someone, somehow, finding out where you were.

“What they’re looking for isn’t so easy to find,” you said, keeping your voice as steady as possible. “Even we’ve had trouble following the right leads.”

The man cocked his head, evaluating your words. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to read between the lines. “We’ll see about that. I hope you have more to say when we speak again.”

As he retreated, leaving you alone for a moment, you tried to move subtly, searching for any hint that you could loosen the ropes holding you prisoner. Your wrists were sore, but you ignored the pain, focusing on the simple act of resisting.

Far away, Rafe was in a constant state of agitation. He had spent the morning searching for clues, moving quickly between contacts and temporary allies who might be able to offer him some information. Every second that passed without seeing you increased his worry, and though he tried not to let guilt take over, his mind kept replaying the moment he realized you had disappeared.

“Did you see her last night?” he asked for the umpteenth time to one of the contacts he had managed to track down. The man, a local merchant with connections in the underworld, shook his head, his eyes watching Rafe with measured interest.

“I heard there was some activity in the old part of town,” he finally answered after a pause. “Someone brought a girl, but I don’t know who they are or what they’re looking for.”

Rafe clenched his jaw, feeling a mix of frustration and renewed hope. It wasn’t enough information, but it was a start. With a quick “Thank you,” he walked away, his mind already calculating the next move, thinking about how to get to that part of town without raising suspicion.

Rafe didn’t stop until he found more answers. He had navigated through dark alleys, bustling markets, and bars where curious eyes followed his every move all day long. The night in Morocco brought with it a thick air, and Rafe knew how to play in that environment.

With a handful of bills and a steady gaze, he approached a group of men moving like shadows on a dimly lit corner. After a few words of exchange and the handing over of money, one of them, a young man with scars on his face, finally spoke.

“The girl was taken to a warehouse near the old part of town, where the houses are crowded together and the streets are like a maze,” he said, his accent thick. “I don’t know much else, but those who have her aren’t known for being kind.”

Rafe nodded, absorbing the information and processing it quickly. The gears in his mind were working tirelessly, calculating routes and strategies. He now knew who had taken you, and most importantly, where you were. Getting to you wouldn’t be easy, but for him, it would be a piece of cake compared to the idea of ​​losing you.

Rafe just nodded before turning away, already focused on what would come next. He knew he needed to act quickly and precisely. He imagined you in that moment, alone and scared, and the fire inside him grew more alive.

In your dark corner, the minutes passed with unbearable slowness. The distant sound of footsteps and murmurs kept you alert, your mind working on every possible way to resist and endure.

In the two days you were held, time became an endless torture. You were given nothing but a few drops of water, and hunger made you feel weak, almost ghostly. Your thoughts were intertwined between worry for your safety and the persistent question of whether Rafe and the others were looking for you. The blindfold kept you in constant darkness, increasing the fear and feeling of isolation. Every noise around you was a reminder that you were not alone, but neither were you in good hands.

The voices of your captors echoed through the space like menacing echoes, their words in a language you did not understand. You tried to stay conscious, clinging to hope and the idea that this would end soon, somehow. Your body was exhausted, every muscle shaking from the effort of staying alert, every breath weaker than the last.

As night fell on the third day, the air was filled with a distinct murmur, a whisper that slowly turned into screams and the rumble of combat. The sound of doors breaking, banging, and gunshots made you turn around in desperation, even with the blindfold tight over your eyes. Your breathing quickened, and a cold fear ran through your body.

Time seemed to stop as everything fell silent. You could hear the frantic beat of your heart as you waited, vulnerable and alone in the darkness. Suddenly, you felt firm, familiar hands on your shoulders, and the pressure of the blindfold loosened. The cloth fell from your eyes, and the light, though dim, made you squint. In front of you, Rafe looked at you with a mix of relief and desperation, his blue eyes shining brightly.

“Rafe...” you whispered, a weak smile forming on your lips. He wasted no time; He quickly untied your wrists, and before you could make any move, he lifted you into his arms, not asking if you had the strength to walk.

You looked around as he carried you out of the place, and your eyes landed on one of the men lying on the ground, motionless. Blood pooled around him, and the question left your mouth before you could stop it. “Did you kill him?”

Rafe didn’t stop looking at you as he answered, his voice low and full of a certainty that chilled your blood and made you feel safe at the same time. “I’ll do anything for you, do you understand?” His tone left no room for doubt, and although his words were harsh, something in them made you feel protected, as if, despite everything, you were safe in his arms.

The world began to spin around you, the strength finally leaving your body after days of suffering. The last image you saw was Rafe's face, a mix of determination and fear in his eyes, before darkness enveloped you and everything faded away.

Hours later, the first thing you felt was the soft rustle of the sheets. Your eyelids were heavy as if you had slept for days, but you finally managed to open your eyes and see the ceiling of an unfamiliar room, illuminated by the morning rays. Turning your head, you saw him: Rafe, sitting in a chair next to the bed, his face covered by a mixture of tiredness and relief. 

As soon as he noticed that you had woken up, his eyes lit up and he quickly stood up, approaching you. His fingers brushed your cheek, as if he wanted to make sure that you were really there, awake and alive. “I worried about you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and sincere. There was something in his words that carried all the weight of the last few days, of anguish and guilt. 

The silence that followed was heavy, but you couldn’t help it. “Rafe, I’m sorry… about Sofia.” Your words were a whisper. His expression changed slightly, his eyes darkening momentarily before he shook his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he replied, a slight smile trying to ease the tension. The seriousness faded a bit when, with a soft laugh, he added, “You need to take a bath. You seem… well, you’ve been through a lot.”

You let out a weak laugh, agreeing with him with a look. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever been worse in my life.” Your body felt heavy, muscles still sore from the lack of food and water, but you knew you needed to get up. “Help me, please. I need to get to the water.”

Rafe nodded without hesitation and put an arm around your waist, helping you stand carefully. Your legs shook at first, but with his support, you managed to stay upright. He slowly carried you to the other side of the room, where a tub of hot, steaming water awaited.

“You can go if you want,” you whispered, not looking at him directly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. But he shook his head, a lopsided smile appearing on his face.

“No, I’m staying,” he replied, and without adding anything else, he began to help you undress. His hands moved carefully, as if he were afraid of hurting you. When you finally submerged yourself in the water, a sigh escaped your lips as you felt the relief of the heat enveloping your battered body.

Rafe knelt at the edge of the tub and, with a damp cloth, began to gently run the water over your arms and shoulders. You couldn’t help but look at him, the attention and delicacy in his movements contrasting with the intensity of his gaze. Suddenly, he made a comment that made you smile, a joke about how no one would believe it if they knew he was taking care of someone this way. You laughed, even if it was weakly, and responded with something equally sarcastic.

His eyes met yours, more serious this time. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, not looking away. The air grew thick between you, and you felt the warmth of the water mix with the blush on your skin. “I told you once not to say it,” you said quietly, looking away.

“Why not?” he asked, and before you could answer, he took your hand, the same one he had been cleaning, and pulled you close to him, carefully encircling you. He leaned in and kissed you, a gesture that was gentle at first, almost a test, but soon became deeper, as if he wanted to make sure you felt what he felt.

You stood there, letting yourself be carried away by the warmth of his lips and the safety of his arms. For a moment, everything that had happened, all the hurts, faded away, leaving only the certainty that, in the midst of so much chaos, you had each other.

Once the bath was over and you felt clean for the first time in days, the tiredness seemed to fade a little, giving way to a sense of calm that you had almost forgotten existed. You put on a light white linen dress, which softly caressed your skin and made you feel freer and lighter. Rafe had left the room for a moment to give you space, but he returned shortly after, his eyes scanning your figure with a mix of concern and something deeper, something you recognized instantly. 

You settled on a chaise longue by the window, letting the soft evening breeze come in and caress your face. Rafe sat beside you, his presence comforting despite everything that had happened between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke; you simply stayed silent, sharing a breath of peace that you both needed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, breaking the calm with a low voice that was almost lost in the sound of the wind. There was a note of anxiety in his words, as if he feared the answer.

“Better,” you said with a soft smile, tilting your head towards him. “Thanks to you.” You didn’t add anything else, because you knew he understood everything those words meant. What he had done for you, what he had risked, was something you would never forget.

Rafe nodded, a shadow of a smile appearing on his lips before he reached out and gently caressed your cheek. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. His eyes were a sea of ​​conflicting emotions: relief, remorse, affection.

He laid down beside you, and without thinking too much, you rested your head on his shoulder, letting a sigh escape your lips.

The silence in the room stretched on for a while longer, only broken by the soft whisper of the wind. You stared at the shadows cast by the sunset on the walls, trying to process everything that had happened in the past few days. Finally, you broke the silence with a question that had been burning on your tongue since you woke up.

“What happened to the men?” His words were slow in coming, as if he was carefully choosing what he was going to tell you.

“I took care of them,” Rafe said, his voice deep and firm. There was no room for doubt in his tone, but no trace of remorse either. “Your father… helped make any problems they might represent disappear.” There was a glint in his eyes at the mention of it.

You nodded slowly, letting the information settle in your mind. You knew what it meant when your father got involved; there were no loose ends, no mistakes.

Rafe seemed to pick up on your silence and let the words trail off, not forcing the conversation.

Rafe took care of you in a way you hadn’t expected. He made sure that every meal arrived to you on time, insisting that you eat and drink enough to regain your strength. Although you sometimes gently argued that you could get up and help in the search, he always answered you with the same firmness: “Leave it to me. I promise you that everything will be fine.”

The determination in his eyes and the conviction in his voice were enough to make you believe him. So, for the first time in a long time, you decided to let yourself go and do what he asked of you. You ate every dish he brought you, even if the appetite was not always present, and little by little you began to notice how your body regained its lost strength. Now you needed to eat more than before.

Meanwhile, Rafe moved around the house and the town like a ghost, always searching, always planning. Although you knew that the situation was much more complicated than he told you, you believed him. His confident and protective gaze left no room for doubt.

Your mind, which had been stuck in a constant state of alert, finally allowed itself a respite.

That same night everything was quiet, with a starry sky stretching out over the outskirts where everyone had gathered. The lights of the lanterns hanging in the trees and the crackling of the campfire provided a comforting warmth amidst the cool of the night. It was rare to find a moment of peace, and everyone appreciated it in their own way, laughing and sharing stories around the fire.

You were sitting next to Rafe, your gaze lost in the dancing and crackling flames. The boys were talking amongst themselves; JJ was dramatically telling an anecdote about one of his recent escapades, causing Kie to laugh and throw him a twig in mockery. John B, who was a little further away, was watching Sarah with an expression of complicity and tenderness.

Sarah stood up and ran a hand through her hair, a mix of nervousness and determination. Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, you wondered what she was going to say. 

“Guys, there’s something I need to tell you,” she began, and immediately the attention was drawn to her. The conversation died down, leaving only the sound of sparks from the campfire and crickets in the distance. Kie and John B exchanged a look, knowing what was coming, while JJ and Pope seemed surprised by Sarah’s serious tone. 

“I’m pregnant,” she finally said, her voice barely shaking, but firm enough to be heard by everyone. There was a moment of complete silence, and then JJ let out a low whistle as a smile appeared on his face. Pope blinked a few times, processing the news, and then smiled widely. 

You stood up and walked over to Sarah. Although your relationship with her hadn’t always been easy, at that moment you only felt sincerity in your words. “Even though we never got along as well as we’d like, I’m happy for you,” you said, looking into her eyes. “You’re going to be a good mother, I know it.”

Sarah looked at you with a mix of surprise and suppressed excitement before nodding and giving you a small hug. “Thank you,” she whispered, her smile reflecting both gratitude and relief.

Rafe, who had been silently watching the scene from where he stood, merely smiled sideways and nodded slowly, in a sort of silent approval that Sarah immediately picked up on. Their eyes met, and in that gaze they shared an understanding that only siblings could have. Sarah seemed to understand him and smiled back, softer, more sincere.

The night continued with a different energy. JJ joked about how they were going to teach the baby to sail before he could walk, which caused general laughter. Kie offered to make her a small seashell pendant for when she was born, and Pope said he would teach her to solve puzzles and understand ancient maps.

Rafe came up to you and put his arm around your back. “This is going to be interesting,” he murmured, a barely perceptible smile on his lips. You smiled back, feeling the warmth of his touch.

Several hours had passed since Sarah’s announcement. The atmosphere was still light, with a calm that was rarely present among everyone. Laughter and stories continued as the flames of the fire slowly dwindled. You and Rafe, feeling the need to be alone, decided to retire before the others. Night enveloped the outskirts in a blanket of tranquility, and the walk back was silent, accompanied by the crunch of grass underfoot.

The next morning, the heat was overwhelming, and every movement seemed to require double the effort. You got up to find Rafe sitting near the window, lost in his thoughts. Her jaw was set, her eyes fixed on the horizon as if searching for answers in the distance. You knew she had been dealing with something since your kidnapping, something she hadn’t wanted to share, and you couldn’t help but feel the awkwardness hanging in the air.

That same day, when everyone gathered under the shade to escape the scorching sun, Sarah suddenly paled and swayed a little. John B quickly grabbed her, concern evident on his face.

“I’m fine, just a little dizzy,” she murmured, but everyone knew she needed more than fresh air.

JJ rummaged through the backpack and pulled out a half-beaten apple. “It’s the only thing there is, but it’s better than nothing,” he said, offering it to her. Sarah accepted it with a weak smile, biting slowly as John B looked at her with a mix of love and concern. 

Rafe watched the scene with the same distant expression, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. JJ, unable to contain his annoyance, uttered an acidic comment: “What’s the point of all your money if you can’t even help your sister with some decent food?” The tension cut like a knife, and Rafe, without a word, abruptly stood up and began to walk away. 

You looked at Sarah, who was avoiding her brother’s gaze. Driven by an instinct you didn’t even fully understand, you approached her and pulled a wad of bills from your bag. You placed it in her hands with a gentle gesture. “It’s for you to buy food, Sarah. You need to feed yourself well in your condition,” you said in a low but firm voice. John B looked at you, surprised and grateful in equal parts.

“Thanks,” he murmured, as Sarah gave you a genuine smile. “Seriously, thanks.”

Without saying anything else, you walked away in the direction where Rafe had gone. You found him at a makeshift market, where a few local vendors had gathered. He was standing in front of a stall, buying a basic-looking cell phone and other necessary items. You watched as he held the phone out, dialing a number and bringing it to his ear with a grim expression.

“Is it true?” he said, his voice filled with suppressed fury. “After everything I did for you… you betrayed me? Is it true?” There was a pause, with only the bustle of the market and your labored breathing to be heard. Then, in an icy tone of voice, he added, “Get your stuff out of my damn house. We’re done.”

He cut the call and stood still, tension drawn in every line of his body. You hesitated for a moment, but eventually approached. Just when it seemed like he was going to reject you, you noticed how his gaze softened at the sight of you. His lips moved, wanting to say something, but he only managed to murmur, “We have things to do.”

You had lost track of time since you had left that market following in Rafe’s footsteps. The hot afternoon breeze hit your face as you tried to keep up with him, not really knowing where he was taking you. One problem more or one less, you thought, it didn’t matter anymore. They walked through labyrinthine streets and narrow alleys, the echo of their footsteps resonating between the adobe walls. There was a latent tension in the air, something that made you lock your gaze on Rafe’s back, watching the stiffness of his shoulders and the way his hands clenched into fists.

Without warning, a group of men stepped out of the shadows. You recognized one of them, someone Rafe had had problems with before. It all happened so fast, the exchange of words was brief before the fists started flying. Rafe fiercely fought as if his life depended on it. You, without thinking, took a few steps back, your heart pounding, searching for something to defend yourself with in case it was necessary. 

The noise of the fight filled the narrow street, screams, the thud of fists, the sound of a body hitting a wall. Rafe won, as always. He never lost. When the last man fell to the ground, panting and cursing in his native tongue, Rafe turned to you, his face and knuckles marked by cuts and bruises.

Without saying a word, you took his arm and led him to a more secluded corner, your hands already shaking as you searched for a clean tissue in your bag. “Let me help you,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as you gently pressed a wound on his eyebrow. Blood dripped from it, tracing a trail down his cheek. 

He watched you in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he broke the silence, “You know, I should have known from the beginning. I should have chosen you… you never betrayed me.” His words, laden with a sincerity he rarely showed, made your hands freeze for a moment. 

You sighed, removing the tissue and looking at him with a mix of sadness and resignation. “It’s too late, Rafe. There are bigger things at stake now than choices of partner.”

He shook his head, a hint of desperation flashing in his eyes. “It’s not too late. I can choose you… if you let me.”

You felt your heart pounding against your ribs. You looked up at him, searching for any hint of doubt in his expression, but all you saw was determination. “Only if you get Sofia out of your life for good,” you warned, your tone more serious than you had planned. “Or I will kill her myself.”

A dark smile curved his lips, and he nodded, moving closer to you. “I know you would,” he whispered, before pulling your body into his. His lips sought yours, and the kiss was everything you had held back for so long. It was intense, passionate, a silent promise of all that could be and all that had been.

When he pulled back just a little, he tilted his head and whispered in your ear, “Future Mrs. Cameron.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Because, even though everything had been chaos, even though the decisions had been erratic and the wounds were still fresh, deep down in your heart, you hoped to be that: the future Mrs. Cameron. Because after all, you were expecting his child, and he, although he didn't know it yet, was already part of that future that you had begun to secretly imagine.

[rizzanon]

Relentless

a dick grayson and batsis! reader oneshot ft. barbara (oracle) and tim (robin) | m.list

Synopsis: you’re too stubborn to sit out during the events of gotham’s cataclysm, your brother forces you to do so | events somewhat align with batman: cataclysm and nightwing v2 #19-20 if you squint

The city felt like it was crumbling under his feet. Gotham was no stranger to chaos, but this… this was beyond anything Dick had seen before. Buildings were reduced to skeletal remains, fires burned unchecked, and the air itself was a blend of dust and despair. Every cry for help cut through him, a sharp reminder of how little time there was and how many lives hung in the balance.

But none of that mattered to Dick Grayson as much as finding you.

His pulse hammered in his skull, drowning out logic, drowning out reason. He knew he wasn’t thinking straight. Knew that in the grand scheme of things, there were priorities, a bigger picture. He was supposed to be coordinating efforts, supposed to be leading, but—

The comms buzzed in his ear. “Dick, we’ve got survivors reported near Robinson Park,” Barbara said, her voice calm but tense. “And the GCPD needs backup at—”

“I’m already on it,” he interrupted, leaping over a chasm in the ruined street below. He wasn’t, not entirely, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain. Barbara would only try to talk him out of it, and he didn’t have the patience to argue.

He darted through the wreckage, his heart hammering in his chest as he scanned the devastation around him. The comm in his ear buzzed with updates—rescue missions, calls for backup, news of more collapses—but he barely heard any of it. His focus was singular, cutting through the noise like a blade.

You.

You weren’t reacheable.

You weren’t at the Manor, where Alfred swore you’d been earlier.

And the longer you were unreachable, the more scenarios played out in his head—each one worse than the last.

His hands tightened into fists as he swung onto a ledge, surveying the ruins below. Guilt gnawed at him with every second you remained missing. He’d let you leave. He’d been too distracted to notice when you slipped out, too focused on coordinating the larger response.

And you weren’t one of them—a vigilante trained to face Gotham’s dangers.

Now he couldn’t stop imagining the worst.

“Nightwing, update,” Barbara’s voice crackled in his ear.

“Still looking,” he replied shortly.

“Looking for what?” she pressed.

A beat of silence. Dick hesitated, debating whether to tell her. “It’s—personal,” he finally said, his voice strained.

Barbara sighed. “Dick, if you need help—”

“I’ve got it,” he snapped. Too sharp. Too harsh.

He regretted it instantly, but there was no time for apologies.

“Sorry, Babs. I’ll check in soon.”

He cut the line before she could argue. Guilt settled like a stone in his stomach, but he forced it down. There wasn’t room for it. There wasn’t room for anything but the pounding of his heart and the singular focus that drove him forward.

He needed to find you.

He had to find you.

And he had to do it now.

What if he was too late?

The city was almost unrecognizable.

He wasn’t just worried. He was terrified.

He tried to tell himself you were fine. That you were just out of range. That you were waiting out the worst of it. But his brain refused to believe anything that wasn’t the worst-case scenario. His brain wouldn’t stop feeding him every horrific possibility.

What if he was too late?

What if you were buried? Trapped beneath the collapsed remains of a building, lungs filling with dust, crushed under tons of debris while he was out here wasting precious seconds?

What if someone had found you before he did? Not a rescuer. Not a friend. Gotham brought out the worst in people, and desperation turned them into something even uglier. He’d seen it before. Knew exactly what happened when chaos stripped away the rules and left people scrambling to survive.

What if you were already—

No.

No, he couldn’t go there.

His breath was coming too fast, his chest locking up, his mind spinning out, but he forced himself to keep moving.

You were alive.

You had to be.

And if you weren’t—

He cut the thought off before it could form.

He refused.

Because the alternative was unthinkable.

The alternative was losing you.

And after everything—after his parents, after Jason, after everything he had already been forced to endure—he couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

His grip on his escrima sticks was too tight, his knuckles aching from the strain. He didn’t even realize how tense his body was until a sharp pain bloomed in his temple, his muscles screaming at him for running on pure adrenaline.

Didn’t matter.

Didn’t care.

He had to find you.

And then—

There.

A flash of movement, a figure hunched near a collapsed streetlamp.

His breath hitched.

You.

For a second, he didn’t trust his own eyes.

Didn’t trust that you were real, that this wasn’t some desperate hallucination conjured by the sheer force of his panic.

But then his vision tunneled in, focused, locked.

His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

The relief when he found you was almost overwhelming.

You were crouched near a toppled streetlamp, your hands gripping a slab of concrete as you worked to free a trapped man. A group of injured civilians huddled nearby, their expressions a mix of fear and hope. Blood smeared your arms—whether your own or someone else’s, he didn’t know. Dirt streaked your face. Your clothes were torn, singed at the edges, but you didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

For a moment, he just stared.

Alive.

You were alive.

The relief that hit him was visceral.

He felt the breath rush out of him, the tension that had been choking him releasing in one sharp exhale. His stomach twisted so violently he thought he might be sick.

Because for one agonizing moment, the sheer weight of almost losing you crashed into him like a tidal wave.

But that relief was quickly replaced by something else—anger, frustration, fear, all swirling together in a storm he barely kept contained.

Because what the hell were you thinking?

Relief and anger collided in his chest. Relief that you were alive, and anger that you were here, in the middle of this hellscape, with no protection, no training, and no regard for your own safety.

Did you even realize what you had done to him?

How he had felt?

How his mind had spiraled and crashed and burned in the absence of your voice, filling in the blanks with every possible way you could have died?

Did you know what it would have done to him if you hadn’t been here when he finally found you?

He swallowed hard, throat raw.

No.

He couldn’t think like that.

Not now.

Not yet.

Right now, there was only one thing to do.

Move.

Sliding down the rubble, he reached your side without a word. His gloved hands joining yours to lift the concrete, muscles coiling as he braced against it. You didn’t even look up, didn’t even look at him, too focused on the man in front of you.

“Almost… got it,” you gritted out, your voice hoarse from the dust and strain.

Dick didn’t answer.

Didn’t trust himself to answer.

Didn’t trust himself not to let the sheer force of everything he was feeling spill out in a way he wouldn’t be able to take back.

So instead, he just acted.

The concrete shifted beneath their combined effort, and together, you managed to free the civilian.

“Thank you,” the man gasped as you helped him to his feet.

Medics arrived moments later, moving in to take over.

But Dick barely registered them.

His gaze stayed locked on you.

Still kneeling, still breathing hard, exhaustion making your hands tremble as they hovered in your lap.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, the fear hadn’t fully let go.

Because all he could think—all he could see—was how easily you could have not been here.

How close he had come.

How close he had always been.

And it terrified him.

Once the medics whisked every injured civilian away, only then did you turn to Dick, your expression lighting up in recognition.

“Nightwing!” you said, surprised but smiling faintly. “There’s another building down the block,” you began, gesturing to the smoke in the distance. “I think there are people trapped inside. If we—”

“Stop,” Dick cut you off, his voice sharp. He stepped closer and grabbed your shoulders, his grip firm but not harsh, his eyes scanning your face like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him. “Just… stop.”

You blinked, startled. “What? Why? There are still—”

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been through in the past few hours?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Do you know how terrified I’ve been? How close I was to thinking I’d never find you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off.

“You’re hurt,” he snapped, his voice rising. “You’re bleeding, you’re exhausted, and you’re not supposed to be out here in the first place. What the hell were you thinking?”

Your eyes narrowed.

“I’m fine,” you said, pulling away from him. “I was thinking about helping people, Dick. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”

“You’re not fine!” he snapped. “You’re literally bleeding. You’re not trained for this. And you’re not—” He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. “You’re not supposed to be out here,” he finished, his voice quieter but no less firm.

“And what if I did nothing?” you retorted, shrugging off his hands. “What if I just sat around, waiting for someone else to save the day? I’m not useless, Dick. I can help!”

Dick’s jaw clenched, his frustration bubbling over. “You’re not useless, but you’re not invincible either. You think I can just stand by and watch you put yourself in danger? You’re my sister, for god’s sake! This is not your job.”

You flinched at his tone but didn’t back down. “So what, I’m just supposed to sit around while people die? I can’t do that, Dick. You’re my brother, but that doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do!”

“And I can’t lose you!” he yelled, his voice cracking.

The words hung in the air, raw and heavy.

You stared at him, stunned into silence.

The two of you stared at each other, the tension between you crackling like static. Finally, Dick exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “There’s a safehouse nearby. You’re getting treated, and you’re staying put. That’s not up for debate.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look on his face stopped you.

“Please.”

Reluctantly, you nodded.

The safehouse was quiet. Not calm—just quiet. The kind of quiet that sat heavy in the air, pressing against the walls, filling every inch of space between breath and thought. Small but sturdy, its reinforced walls muted the sounds of Gotham's suffering. Inside, it felt like time slowed, the weight of everything settling in the silence between you and Dick.

He guided you inside with a firm hand on your shoulder, his grip strong but not harsh, like he was afraid you'd bolt at any second. His fingers tightened for just a moment before he forced them to relax, like even he wasn’t sure whether he was trying to keep you close or just convince himself you were really here.

Alive.

It should have been a relief. It was a relief. But it didn’t settle the way relief was supposed to. It didn’t ease the tightness in his chest or quiet the thoughts still running rampant in his mind. If anything, it only made them worse.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to a worn-out chair in the corner of the room.

The word came out sharper than he meant. Short. Clipped. Frayed at the edges with everything he wasn’t saying.

You obeyed without much argument, and something about that made his stomach twist. You never obeyed this easily. Never gave in without at least a token protest.

That wasn’t a good sign.

Exhaustion was finally catching up to you. Your legs ached, your arms stung from countless scrapes, and every breath was laced with the sharp tang of smoke. Your hands trembled slightly as they rested on your lap.

His gaze flickered over you, cataloging every scrape, every bruise, every smear of blood. The acrid scent of smoke clung to you, burned into the fabric of your clothes, tangled in your hair. The jacket you wore was torn, singed at the edges, dirt and ash streaked across the fabric.

How long had you been out there?

How many times had you come close to something you couldn’t walk away from?

Dick swallowed hard and turned away before those thoughts could spiral into something worse.

He didn't waste a second, rifling through a nearby first aid kit with quick, efficient movements. He looked up briefly, his blue eyes meeting yours.

“Take off your jacket,” he said, already kneeling in front of you with the kit in hand.

A flicker of hesitation. A barely-there pause.

“I told you, I’m fine,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

A lie. An obvious one. But that wasn’t what made his jaw clench. It was the way you said it. The way your voice wavered, just slightly. The way you wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

Not a request.

Not this time.

The tension in his voice made you sigh in defeat. You tugged at your jacket, hissing as the fabric pulled against an especially deep scrape on your arm. Dick was on it immediately, gently easing the sleeve off for you.

The jacket his the floor, forgotten.

Silence settled again as his hands moved with practiced precision, cleaning the cuts and bandaging them with care. But he still wasn’t looking at you—not really. His jaw was clenched so tightly you thought it might snap, and the silence between you felt heavy with everything unsaid.

“I was fine out there,” you said quietly, breaking the silence.

Dick’s hands paused mid-movement, his fingers hovering over the next bandage.

“You call this fine?” he asked, his voice tight as he gestured to the mess of bruises and scrapes covering your arms.

You said nothing.

Because there was nothing to say.

And that only made it worse.

Dick forced himself to keep going, fingers moving automatically, muscle memory taking over. He cleaned each wound, wrapped each bandage, all while his mind spun in circles, overthinking, overanalyzing.

If he had found you later—if he had been just one step behind—what then?

Would you still be here?

Would he have found you in time?

Would he have found you at all?

The thought made something crack deep in his chest, something raw and ugly that he didn’t have time to deal with.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sharp chirp of his comm interrupted you. Dick pressed a finger to his earpiece, his expression darkening as he listened.

“Nightwing,” Barbara’s voice crackled through the comm. “We’ve got a situation on 14th and Bay. The two apartment buildings there collapsed, and people are still trapped inside. Can you get there?”

Dick’s jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a slow, measured breath.

“On it,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him.

He returned his focus to you, quickly finishing the bandage he’d been working on. His hands moved faster now, a clear sign that his mind was already on the next crisis.

“Stay here,” he said, standing up and grabbing his escrima sticks from the nearby table.

“Dick—”

“No,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “Stay. Here. Please.” His voice softened on the last word, his eyes meeting yours with a rare vulnerability. It was unwilling, unintentional—but real. And he hated how much weight it carried.

Because he never asked.

But this?

This was him asking.

“I’ll come back, but I need to know you’re safe. Don’t make me worry about you on top of everything else, okay?”

You hesitated, the weight of his plea settling uncomfortably in your chest. Dick held your gaze, searching for something, anything, that would tell him you understood.

Finally, finally, you nodded. You nodded, if only to ease the tension in his shoulders.

“Good,” he said, his voice softening just slightly. He gave you one last glance before turning and heading toward the door.

The sound of it clicking shut behind him felt louder than it should have, leaving you alone with the distant echoes of Gotham’s chaos and your own restless thoughts.

For a few minutes, you sat there, staring at the bandages on your arms, his words replaying in your mind.

Stay here. Please.

You hated the idea of sitting still while the city burned. There were people out there who needed help—people like the ones you’d already saved. And sitting here, safe and useless, felt like a betrayal to them.

You glanced at the door.

You made your decision.

The chaos in Gotham was endless, a cacophony of crumbling structures, distant cries for help, and the ever-present smell of smoke. Dick was exhausted, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Beside him, Tim was just as determined, the two of them working seamlessly to pull survivors from the wreckage and guide them to safety. Barbara’s voice crackled in their earpieces, directing them to the next area in need of aid.

“Nightwing, Robin, you’ve got a fire spreading at Kane Plaza. Emergency crews can’t get there in time—” Barbara’s voice faltered for a second before steadying. “I’m sending coordinates now.”

Dick barely registered her words. His sharp gaze had locked onto something else—or rather, someone else.

There you were, weaving through the rubble as if you belonged in this nightmare, helping an injured man to his feet while gesturing for a small group of civilians to follow. Dust and grime clung to your torn clothes, your hair plastered to your forehead with sweat. But it wasn’t just your presence that froze him—it was the new scrapes on your arms, ripping through the bandages that he wrapped on you, the limp in your step, and the reckless determination in your eyes.

He’d told you to stay at the safehouse. Not even an hour ago. He’d begged you.

“Nightwing?” Tim’s voice cut through his thoughts. “What’s going on?”

Dick didn’t respond. His chest tightened, a knot of anger and fear winding together as he leapt down from the scaffolding, leaving Tim behind.

You felt his presence before you saw him. The weight of his gaze was unmistakable, even from behind the domino mask. When he landed a few feet away, the sharp intake of his breath was audible.

“Dick—”

But you didn’t get another word out. His hand wrapped gently but firmly around your arm, halting your movements.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was low, but the edge in it was impossible to miss.

“I’m helping—”

“I told you to stay at the safehouse!” he snapped, his grip tightening slightly. “What part of ‘stay put’ didn’t you understand?”

“I couldn’t just sit there while people needed help!” you protested, pulling against his hold, but he didn’t let go.

Dick’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. He turned to Tim, who had swung down to join them, watching the scene with wide eyes.

“Robin, head to Kane Plaza. Oracle needs you there.”

Tim hesitated, glancing between the two of you. “What about—”

“Go,” Dick ordered, his voice firm.

Tim nodded reluctantly, shooting you a sympathetic look before grappling away.

Dick didn’t say another word as he steered you away from the rubble, his grip on your arm unyielding. You tried protesting again, but he didn’t respond, his jaw clenched as he led you toward the clocktower.

The ride to Barbara’s clocktower was suffocating, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. When you arrived, Dick didn’t even give you a chance to argue before he guided you inside, his hand on your shoulder as if he didn’t trust you not to run off again.

Barbara turned her chair away from the monitors, her gaze flickering between the two of you. “Well, this looks promising,” she remarked lightly, though her sharp eyes immediately caught the fresh scrapes on your arms.

“She didn’t stay at the safehouse,” Dick said, his voice clipped, every syllable brimming with restrained anger. He released your arm finally but stayed rooted just a few feet away, his posture stiff and unrelenting. “She decided to run off and—”

“Save it,” Barbara interrupted, wheeling toward you. “I can see where this is going, and we don’t need another lecture right now. Let me look at those cuts before you get infected.”

You didn’t argue. The exhaustion was hitting harder now, sinking into your limbs, turning every movement sluggish. You dropped onto the couch with a quiet huff, still glaring at Dick as you did.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, more for your own sake than anyone else’s.

Barbara pulled out a first aid kit and parked beside you, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Sure, you are,” she said dryly, pulling an antiseptic wipe from the pack. “Let me guess. You decided to play hero again?”

You winced as she dabbed at a particularly deep scrape. “I was helping people,” you mumbled. “That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Barbara said, glancing at Dick as he paced. “And judging by the big guy over there, I’m guessing it didn’t go over too well.”

You didn’t answer, and Barbara gave you a sympathetic look. “This might sting,” she warned, pressing the antiseptic deeper into the wound.

You hissed in pain but said nothing, biting your lip to keep from reacting further.

Barbara’s tone softened as she continued, “You know, for what it’s worth, you’ve got guts. A lot of people wouldn’t have run into the chaos like you did.”

Your eyes darted toward Dick, who had stopped pacing to stand by the window, staring out at the broken cityscape. Even through his domino mask, you could feel the weight of his disapproval.

“He doesn’t see it that way,” you muttered.

Barbara followed your gaze and chuckled quietly. “Oh, he sees it. He just doesn’t know what to do with it.” She paused. “That’s how Dick operates. All heart, but when things get messy, he acts more Batman than he realises.”

You scoffed. “Feels like he just wants to control me.”

Barbara shook her head. “No, he just doesn’t want to lose you. It’s his greatest fear.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “Well, he’s got a funny way of showing it.”

Barbara tilted her head, studying you carefully. “You know, my father once told me that fear makes people act in all kinds of strange ways. Dick’s no different. Doesn’t mean he’s right, but it does mean he’s scared out of his mind.”

You frowned, unsure of how to respond to that. “Still doesn’t excuse him treating me like I’m five.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Barbara agreed, tying off the last bandage. “But he’s trying. It’s just… messy. And loud.” She smirked slightly, patting your arm. “There. All patched up. Try not to give him a stroke next time.”

You managed a small, weak smile. “Thanks.”

Barbara wheeled back, gesturing toward Dick. “Your turn, champ. Don’t break anything.”

She disappeared into the adjacent room, leaving you and Dick in an unbearable silence. Dick didn’t turn around right away. When he finally did, his movements were slow, deliberate. Measured, like he was forcing himself to keep steady.

“You promised me,” he said finally, his voice low but sharp. “You said you understood. You said you’d stay at the safehouse.”

“I did understand,” you replied, standing to face him. “But I couldn’t just sit there, Dick. People needed help.”

“They didn’t need your help,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”

“I was helping people,” you argued, your voice growing louder to match his. “Just like you and everyone else out there!”

“No, not like me!” he roared, stepping closer. “I have training, experience. You don’t.”

Your chest tightened. Your hands clenched into fists.

“And whose fault is that?” The words came out before you could stop them, laced with every ounce of bitterness you felt. “You and Bruce never let me do anything. You never trusted me enough to let me try.”

“This isn’t about trust!” he shouted. “It’s about keeping you alive. It’s about making sure you don’t end up like—”

He cut himself off, but the weight of his unfinished sentence hung heavy in the air. You already knew how that sentence ended.

“Like who?” you demanded, though you didn’t need to ask.

Dick looked away, jaw clenching. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. Rough.

“Like Jason.”

The name landed between you like a gunshot.

“I couldn’t save him.” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t there to stop him. And if I lose you too—”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

His words trailed off, but the raw emotion in his voice hit you like a punch to the gut. For a moment, your anger faltered, but the frustration bubbling in your chest refused to die down completely.

“I’m not Jason,” you said softly. “I’m not him, Dick. You can’t keep punishing me for what happened to him.”

“I’m not punishing you,” he countered. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“Well, maybe I don’t need your protection,” you shot back, voice breaking just slightly.

“Maybe I just need you to believe in me.”

“I do believe in you,” he said, his voice desperate. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you throw yourself into danger like this.”

“I’m not a little kid anymore, Dick,” you said, your voice trembling. “I can make my own choices.”

“Not when they’re this reckless,” he countered, his frustration boiling over. “Do you even realize what could’ve happened to you out there? You could’ve been crushed under rubble, or worse—”

“But I wasn’t!” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “I was helping people, and I made it out. Why can’t you just trust that I know what I’m doing?”

“Because you don’t!”

His voice cracked.

"You don't,” he repeated, quieter now. “And that's what terrifies me."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily between you. You swallowed hard, blinking back tears.

“I hate you.”

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t even true.

But it still hit like a punch to the gut.

Dick flinched. Actually flinched. Like you’d physically struck him.

You turned before you could see his reaction, before you could second-guess yourself, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind you.

Minutes passed before Barbara found him.

Dick sank onto the couch, his head falling into his hands as the weight of the argument crashed over him. He’d handled it horribly—he knew that—but the fear of losing you had clouded his judgment.

"That bad, huh?" she said, wheeling closer.

“She hates me,” Dick muttered.

Barbara raised an eyebrow. “Hate’s a strong word.”

“She said it,” he replied, his voice muffled by his hands.

Barbara sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Well, you didn’t exactly handle that with kid gloves.”

“What was I supposed to do, Babs?” Dick asked, looking up at her, his eyes filled with frustration. “She keeps putting herself in danger. I can’t just let that slide.”

Barbara wheeled closer. “You really aren’t getting it, are you?”

Dick barely lifted his head. “Enlighten me.”

“She’s angry because she wants your trust,” Barbara said plainly. “She wants your approval. And instead, all she gets is you treating her like she’s a fragile piece of glass.”

Barbara tilted her head. “You sure you’re not projecting a little?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked defensively.

Barbara shrugged. “You couldn’t be there for Jason, so now you’re overcompensating with her. It’s understandable, but it’s not fair.”

Dick bristled but didn’t argue. “She’s not ready for this, Babs. She’s not trained.”

“Then train her,” Barbara said simply.

“It’s not that easy,” Dick argued. “This life—it’s dangerous. If she gets hurt—”

“She’s already out there, Dick,” Barbara interrupted. “She’s already helping. You can either keep trying to stop her or actually give her the tools to do it safely.”

Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I can’t lose her, Babs. Not like Jason.”

“And you won’t,” Barbara said firmly. “But you’re going to push her away if you keep treating her like she can’t handle herself.”

Dick stared at the floor, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know what to do.”

Barbara rolled closer, resting a hand on his arm. “Talk to her. Really talk to her. And listen, for once. You might be surprised by what she has to say.”

He nodded slowly, though the conflict in his eyes remained. “I’ll try,” he said quietly.

“You’d better,” Barbara said with a small smirk. “Or I’ll knock some sense into you myself.”

The rooftop was still and cold, the night stretching out endlessly beneath the Gotham skyline. You had sought solitude here, the only place where you could distance yourself from everything that had happened—the argument, the anger, the hurt. All of it weighed heavily in your chest, a constant reminder that things hadn’t been the same for a while.

The sound of footsteps reached your ears, slow and deliberate. You didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge the figure who approached you. But you knew it was Dick. You knew it was him before he even spoke. Dick’s presence was impossible to ignore.

You didn’t turn.

You didn’t want to.

It wasn’t because you didn’t care—it was because you didn’t know how to process everything yet.

“Looks like I didn’t have to look far this time,” Dick’s voice was steady but tinged with something else—something quieter, softer, and laced with the weight of everything that had happened.

You remained silent, your gaze fixed on the skyline. The space between you two felt wide, like an ocean, even though he was close. The argument from earlier hung in the air like a thick fog, and you didn’t know how to navigate it. You didn’t even know how to feel anymore. His words had been sharp, filled with the fear and frustration of someone who cared too much and yet didn’t know how to show it.

Dick didn’t push. He didn’t demand anything of you. Instead, he slowly sat beside you, his presence warm but not invasive, a reminder that no matter what had been said, he was still here. You didn’t know if you were ready for this conversation yet, but it was happening anyway.

The silence between you both stretched on, thick and heavy. And then, finally, Dick spoke.

“I’m sorry,” his voice was low, full of regret. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’ve been… all over the place. I’ve been scared. I should’ve listened instead of just reacting. I know I hurt you.”

You flinched, not because the words were harsh, but because the truth in them made everything feel too real. You had expected him to come up here with anger still in his eyes, ready for round two. But this… this was different. His voice was raw, stripped of any pretense. He was trying—more than you had realised—trying to understand. You couldn’t ignore that.

“I know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know you were scared. I should’ve understood that. I pushed you away when I should’ve been listening, too.”

Dick turned to face you, his eyes softening. “I just—” He hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair, his face filled with an exhaustion that you hadn’t noticed before. “I don’t want to lose anyone else, you know? I didn’t mean to treat you like you weren’t capable of making your own decisions. I just… I saw you out there, running into danger, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Jason. I couldn’t stop thinking about what could happen to you, and the last thing I want is to watch you… slip away like he did. I can’t handle that. Not again.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words sink into your chest. The fear, the hurt—it was all there, and you’d been blind to it. Blind to how much his actions came from that place of love and pain.

“I should’ve been there for you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “I should’ve known how hard this was for you. I should’ve known that you weren’t just trying to control me. You were trying to protect me. And I… I didn’t make it easy. I’ve been too focused on trying to prove myself. I’ve been angry, and I haven’t been fair.”

Dick let out a deep sigh, as if the weight of everything had just hit him in that moment, too. “I’ve been hard on you, and I know it. But it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you. It was because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. It’s like everything else I’ve lost—like it’s all going to happen again. And I don’t know how to make it stop.”

You turned to him then, meeting his eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. “I get it, Dick. I really do. But you can’t keep pushing me away like that. I get that you’re scared. I’m scared too, but I don’t want to be treated like I’m… fragile. Like I’m someone you need to shield from the world. I can handle it. I can handle myself.”

Dick’s face tightened, but not with anger. It was something else—a mix of relief and guilt and vulnerability all wrapped up in one.

“I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to just let go and let you do your thing. I feel like I’m failing you every time I don’t step in and stop you. But maybe… maybe it’s me who’s been holding on too tight. Maybe I need to learn to trust you more, to let you make your choices, even when I don’t agree with them.”

A silence passed between you two, heavy but not suffocating. You could feel the air shift, the tension lessening, like the pieces of a puzzle were finally falling into place.

“I don’t want you to let me go completely,” you said, your voice trembling. “But I do need you to trust that I know what I’m doing. That I’m not just… trying to get myself hurt out there. I want to help, and I want to be here. I just need you to believe in me.”

“I do,” Dick whispered, his eyes softening. “I do believe in you. I always have. I just… I guess I haven’t been great at showing it.” He shifted, looking at you with a mixture of apology and affection. “I’m sorry for not seeing how you’ve been feeling. For not really listening. I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “I haven’t been perfect either. I’ve been selfish, not thinking about how my actions might affect you. I’ve been… stubborn. But I understand now. I do.”

Dick’s hand slowly reached out, hovering for a moment before resting gently on your shoulder. His touch was warm, tentative, as if he wasn’t sure whether you would pull away. But you didn’t. You leaned into it, into him. And when you finally met his gaze again, you saw something new in his eyes—something softer, more open.

He pulled you into a tight hug then, his arms wrapping around you with the same sense of protection that had once felt like a cage but now felt like a lifeline. “You’re relentless, you know that?” he whispered, his voice muffled against your hair.

You laughed quietly, the sound light but filled with warmth. “I know.”

Silence filled the air for a few moments.

“But I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Dick murmured, his grip tightening around you as if he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to. And in that moment, the world felt a little less heavy, a little less uncertain, as you both held on—because this, this was the way forward.

Don’t be surprised if you see something similar to this in another one of my future works 🤫 hope you guys enjoyed this 🫶

taglist (open): @k1arar3 @kingshitonly @rainnyydaysworld | ask to be added <3

[nothomegal]

HIII I MISS YOU :(( straight to the point, I need a yandere pyramid head fic!!

I´m sorry for the disappearance ;v; Can't post much due my studies.

Anyways, I ADORE your suggestion! And boy if our little (Y/N) is going to have a rough time with a yandere creature like Pyramid Head ._.)

Welp, let's start the story!

"Innocent lamb"

(Yandere!Pyramid Head x GN Reader)

Summary: the entity's realm was hell for some, heaven for others, and an inconvenience for the rest... But when one of the creatures encountered you, he made it everyone's problem, even the entity's that brough him there in the first place. But he meant no harm to you. He likes you. He wants you. He needs you. And he wͦ̀ͯi̸ll̩ͩ have Y̛̗̰͇͚͓͈̣͕̰͓̗͛ͤ̀̇̍ͥ͒̓͝Ơ̵̔_̰̅U̵̷̡̧̡̨͖̟̹͙̙͓̥̗̫̣̙͉͕͉̣̬̇ͭ͗̉͂̅̍͗̇̇́́̈͟͞

Warnings: yandere/obsessive behavior, violence and violent acts, quite angst(y) mood in general, (understandably) terrified reader darling :(.

Word count: 4.2k

The moment they entered the trial, all four survivors knew right away who the killer was. Either its the dread they all felt as soon as their feet made contact with the ground that gave it away, or the fact that the entity had placed all of them in the same spot next to two generators just to have any chances to make it out alive.

But they know it's in vain, they know they're doomed for a long long death by bleeding out.

They know it... Because (Y/N) is with them.

Said survivor had to bite their lip to avoid crying, as guilt and terror embraced them. Just because the monster had this unholy obsession with them it didn't mean they were okay with it, if anything it scared them more.

He, Pyramid Head, the Executioner... Or however you want to nickname him, is said to be one of the most powerful creatures the entity had the pleasure to bring, so powerful in fact that the spider-like being had to make a deal to bring him.

So it's not surprising that they are absolutely horrified, but who wouldn't? This monster, an embodiment of pain and punishment, almost a god, has been hunting them relentlessly ever since he laid his gaze or... Helmet? On them.

At first it was all jokes and gags;

'Aww look, (Y/N) has a boyfriend!'

'Watch out, here comes your crush (Y/N)!'

'Uh-oh, the triangle man seems jealous, look how pissed he is at Nea for healing you!'.

But the jokes stopped when it got clear how truly messed up and sinister said 'crush' is.

They still remember it, it was a regular match against that one masked knife wielding guy that runs a lot, he's called 'Legion' they think. The trial was going relatively well, just like many previous ones. Until it suddenly got an 180° turn when one of the walls to the realm was literally destroyed by a hulking mass of muscle and a giant knife. To say both (Y/N) and the killer nearly had a cardiac arrest was an understatement, things got so ugly that the entity had to intervene and cut the trial short.

That incident could be a fuel for a new wave of jokes, could... If it didn't happen again. And that next time was even worse, the beast nearly made his way into the survivor side of the realm, somehow bursting through the barrier the entity had created to keep the survivors separated from the killers to avoid any pity fights after trials.

Ever since that event, Pyramid Head was strictly kept in 'his' realm, aka Midwich Elementary School.

Sometimes, after escaping through the gates and running back into the camp through the fog, (Y/N) could swear they can hear the monster roar in the distance. Loud, distorted and fierce howls resonating somewhere behind the dense fog, as if the creature was desperately trying to yell out their name. Either to let them know how badly he wants them or a promise to break free and get them... Both possibilities giving them chills.

The entity of course wasn't okay with this, it was pissed! But it also could do so little... The great deal now had turned into a major curse. If the deal is broken, the Executioner won't hesitate to damage the realm to get what he wants. But if it remains, the monster will find new ways to bend the rules and make it everyone's problem.

Why the entity doesn't just give (Y/N) to the beast or gets rid of them ones for all? No one really has the answer. Some think it's due the entity's pride, or the possibility of the executioner going ballistic. For now, it's more of a silent (and petty) battle between two stubborn beings, each of them refusing to back away from their goal.

Goal. The entity's goal, though still confusing, is more or less clear; force people and creatures to play these twisted games and feed on those who get sacrificed. But the executioner's goal? It's straight up a mystery. (Y/N) know it has something to do with them, but... Why them exactly? Why not Cheryl? Didn't she come from the same place as that beast? What the monster even wants them for?

What will he do when he finally gets his hands on them? Wh-

A rough shake snapped (Y/N) out of their internal break down.

They blink a couple of times, tears of fear nearly sliding down their cheeks as their body shivers. They were scared, more than the other three survivors combined.

The survivor holding them by their shoulders, David, sighs when he finally notices them react.

—"Look, I know you're scared..."— he starts talking, his voice surprisingly calm.

—"I'm-... I- I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry-..."— you choke out in a weak wobbly voice, guilt eating you from inside.

—"No no. Just listen for a sec. I... Well, we all can tell that you aren't enjoying it neither. So, let's not break down into a soap opera, okay? Don’t think of this as hopeless match, but as another chance to woop that asshole's ass and escape."—

—"And also leave him empty handed!"— Feng announces from her place while already working on a generator.

—"Yeah, screw that triangular piece of shit! Let's try out Dwight's strategy this time. You remember it, do you?"— he asks you, not letting go of your shoulders yet.

The surprisingly positive and reassuring words of their teammates towards them really soothed and even cheered (Y/N) a bit. With a small smile they quickly wipe their eyes before nodding.

—"Good, see? We're already starting on a good note!"— he lets go to then pat your back, basically pushing you forward. —"Now go help with a gen before putting the 'plan' into work."—

Though the push hurt a bit, (Y/N) didn't care at all about the pain, too focused on keepings all the negative and pessimistic thoughts away.

For the first minute and a half everything was going well, (Y/N) and Feng were working on one generator while David and Jonah were working on the other one. The four of them were dead silent, straining their ears for any of the sounds the creature makes, such as heavy footsteps, the scraping of his gigantic knife or their own heartbeat. Weirdly enough, everything was calm... Too calm.

(Y/N) nearly choked with air when a cold chill ran through their spine.

Spine Chill. The beast... Is watching them.

They attempt to subtly alert Feng by carefully tapping her leg, but as soon as their fingertips touched the other girl’s skin, their heartbeat started to get louder and louder, until…

—“WATCH OUT!”—

(Y/N) exclaimed as they pushed Feng, just in time to dodge a bunch of sharp and rusted metal pieces coming out the ground.

—“Holy-...”— she mutters.

Now that the monster is here, the four survivors decided to put in action the mentioned strategy.

They all let go of the generators and run away in different directions, (Y/N) being the most desperate while running since they know exactly who the beast is targeting.

His pattern is always the same; chase after until sending them into a cage to then down all of their teammates and then come straight back to all caged and helpless (Y/N) and then… Stare or touch them until the others bleed out or the entity has enough.

The difference in the current case, is that (Y/N) is not playing just cat and mouse. In fact, chasing them is the worst the killer can do. All of their abilities are chase oriented, another teammate lurking around has all the boon ones, while the last two have all is needed to rush through the generators. If everything works out, the monster will get himself in a situation where he's be forced to leave (Y/N) alone.

The chase was intense, at least for (Y/N). Despite never catching a clear view of the Executioner, they could feel him close behind, following them methodically like a wild animal on a hunt, waiting for the right moment to strike while keeping up the tension.

It was hard to maintain the focus, every single hallways in The Game looked the exact same. Did they vaulted that window already? Didn't they pre-dropped that palled over there? Did Feng placed it up again? Are the other two working on the generators? Have they taken this left path before?

So many questions where swarming their mind as their legs kept carrying them on, only momentarily relaxing when two generators finally made that distinguish noise.

Two done! Tree left.

A breathless laugh escaped from them. Great! This is already going better than all of their previous encounters with the Executioner, which would always end with the first generator barely reaching 30%.

However, their smile was quickly swept when they realized they no longer hear their heartbeat or thundering footsteps tailing behind. It was silent, dead silent, with no other sounds that their own breathing.

A wave of anxiety flushed through (Y/N) like a tsunami wave and started to drag and drown them deeper into their own worries.

What the?... Okay, this was not part of the plan. The Executioner had never left the chase with them, never. So the fact that he finally did, and apparently a while ago, made them shake.

With nothing else to do, they gather the courage to start moving again. Where? Somewhere! Anywhere but to stay in place and be an easy target to the beast that so desperately wants them.

They keep running, stopping only for a brief moment before turning a corner, making sure they don't hear any muffled breathing that at times resembled growls. They learned the hard way with the Shape that some killers like to wait around corners, and they don't want to commit the same mistake right now.

Their heart jerked when they heard a scream resonate from their left, and a faint reddish aura in the shape of a human gleamed for a second before disappearing.

David is down.

And it seems like he's not getting picked up, which could either mean that the monster is setting up a trap or chasing someone else. Whichever the case is, they shouldn't go-

They hear a bunch of footsteps come their way, and in a set of panic they crouch behind a bunch of boxes, silently praying that their disguise is mildly good.

They can't see much from their spot, but they can clearly recognize the shape of Jonah running away from something massive.

As soon as the two figures passed by, (Y/N) gets up and takes off running towards David to check on him.

After some wondering around the labyrinth-like place, they finally reach their injured teammate, who was still on the ground and groaning from pain.

—"{David!}"— you whisper-yell as you start running towards him.

He weakly lifts his head just enough to see them. When he recognized who it is, he starts to frantically shake his head.

—"NO! GET THE FUCK OUT!"—

Huh? What-

As (Y/N) is about to reach David, a path of sharp metal pieces and razor wires had emerged right in front of them, just when they're about to make contact with the floor again, making in impossible to dodge.

The second their leg got tangled into the sharp metallic mess, everything went too fast. They don't even have time to pull away as something sliced them on their side, sending them directly on the ground.

They send a guilty and ashamed glance to David, who had an frustrated expression.

—"{Sorry...}"— you mouth.

(Y/N) has no chance to see David's answer as a massive hand suddenly curled around their throat and forced them to look away from the other man.

Their eyes wide at the sight of the beast menacingly hovering over their helpless form, holding their body in place between him and the ground. The muscles of his extended arm were tense, his breathing heavy, almost like he's holding back the anger and displeasure caused by them giving attention to someone else.

Their heart skipped beats, their breath uneven, their eyes watered as they tightly closed them, not wanting to witness whatever this thing was about to do. They can feel the warmth coming from his body, his breathing slowly stabilizing, as if staring at them and watching them slowly submit was enough to calm the monster. Ironically, it did the complete opposite to (Y/N), as their own heartbeat raised from the anxiety of having to face the unknown, attempt to predict the unpredictable and prepare to witness another massacre unfold around them at any second... Just to then end up caged and at the mercy of this-

—"LEAVE THEM ALONE ASSHOLE!"— David angrily yells from his place, struggling and trying to stand up. —"You're fucking terrifying, of course they don't want to look at you!"—

They can feel Pyramid Head's hand tense and start shaking, his fingers twitching and pressing further into their skin. (Y/N) was beyond terrified now, just a little bit of pressure and the creature could crush their throat like a cardboard tube.

David, though clearly using all of his strength, ended up falling back on the ground, as if some invisible weigh is actively pushing him down.

—“You freak! Absolute sick fuck! Let them go already!”—

As the waterfall of profanities continues, (Y/N) slowly places their hands around the monster’s wrist to attempt to push his hand away, unfortunately he didn’t budge at all.

Suddenly, David’s stops screaming and the very next second (Y/N) feels something warm and slippery press against their cheek.

They jerk in place at the uncanny sensation and shoot open their eyes, a breathless gasp escaping them at the sight of a… Wh-What even is that? A freaking tentacle? A tongue?…

The dark pink muscle wiggles in front of their face for a moment before licking another stride, wiping some of their tears and blood in the process, making (Y/N) shiver in discomfort.

They shoot a confused glance to David, desperately wanting to know if he’s witnessing this too. The man had an expression of pure ‘what the fuck’; eyes narrowed, brows furrowed and mouth slightly gaping.

This eye contact was brief though. (Y/N) got startled for a loud growl that reverbed from the beast's chest and helmet. The hand finally leaves their throat as the beast stands up to his full height and starts making his way to David, leaving them alone, as well as his knife?

(Y/N) throws their teammate a scared look, but David responds with a forced smirk.

—"Ah, now you decide to drag your big ass towards me."— he mutters through gritted teeth.

The monster seem to not react to his taunts. With each step that he takes towards David, his mask of confidence seems to crack.

Nevertheless, the man didn’t back out from his insults, he never does.

—“What’s wrong? Why so pissy, huh?! Jealous that (Y/N) prefers us?!”—

Saying their name was a sore spot to hit, and the way Pyramid Head reacted confirmed that.

The monster roughly grabs David by the neck, completely ignoring the fact that he’s not even holding his weapon. Instead he uses his bare hands to silence him.

Nasty, wet and crunchy sounds resonated through the room and hallways as the creature began to tear the man’s body limb by limb, piece by peace, unbothered by the pained screams of his victim or the low groan of displeasure that resonated from above for again not playing by the rules.

(Y/N) froze in horror at the sight in front of them. Blood, chunks of flesh and bone pieces where flying everywhere, never before they’ve witnessed this type of gore, not even during the ‘mori’.

Though it felt like the massacre lasted hours, it was actually second. The monster threw the whatever remaining he had in his hands and slowly turned back to (Y/N), who was still frozen and unable to look away from what was left from David. They know they will meet again in the fire camp, in one piece and alive, but god they felt sick...

Their shock breaks only when the thundering footsteps began to resonate again, shaking the ground underneath them with each the creature took. He grew closer, and closer, with them being able to do absolutely nothing aside from attempting to crawl away.

But that pity attempt was stopped when the same sharp wires and rusty metal pieces emerged from the ground and wrapped around their body, pulling them slowly underneath and sinking them further into the ground. And before they realize it, their body is already trapped in that rotten metallic cage.

Cold metal spikes just inches away from their flesh, so close to penetrate their skin, a wrong move and they would undoubtedly get hurt. But even if they wanted to move, they couldn't really. The space in the structure was small, claustrophobic even, each spike perfectly adjusted to keep their form in place. In some twisted way, it felt like a hug, a very cold, unwelcoming and unnerving hug.

They flinch when they hear a scream resonate from somewhere, which was cut by a loud slam.

Feng was caught.

It seems like the Executioner didn't bother to down her, rather getting rid of her directly, most likely because he's aware that Jonah is not keen of going for rescues...

And speaking of the man, there is his aura flashing before (Y/N)'s eyes as his body fell on the floor.

He's down... Which means that-

Before they even finish their conclusion, the tall figure of the monster appeared. Just by looking at them his behavior seemed to change; movements more erratic and pace uneven, almost like he's hypnotized.

He makes his way to them, slowly, as if purposely building up the tension.

(Y/N) wanted to look away or close their eyes, but whenever they did so the cage felt painfully small. It hurt, literally, so they stare at that beast grow closer with wide shaky eyes that struggled to keep their focus on him. This is something Pyramid Head was always good at, he could always make you fear, even the toughest bravest ones would inevitably succumb to the terror his presence brings.

Ones in front of them, the creature stops in place and simply stares, like he always did.

(Y/N), though still scared, was a tiny bit relieved that this is what the rest of the trial would be; them being pinned like a butterfly with the monster observing.

It would be just that.

Just this bizarre staring contest.

...Right?

WRONG.

The creature suddenly let go of his weapon and grabs the edges of the cage with both hands quite violently.

Now the little hope and comfort (Y/N) had was thrown out the window, as now they realize they no longer have any idea of what will happen next.

And by what it looks like, the entity is not planning to intervene, as if curious itself to see what will happen next.

Pyramid Head remains like this, his big hands tightly squeezing the imperfect metal bars, bending them slightly and making the already miserable looking material groan from the pressure he was applying.

It looked like he wanted to destroy that cage, rip it apart and get to them, but didn't do it by holding himself back... Why? What's even the point of this build up? What's even the point in wanting them?!

—"{Wh-...Why?...}"— you choke out in a very quiet voice. —"{Why a-are you d-... doing this?...}"—

(Y/N) knows is stupid to ask, Pyramid Head can't even speak! But they can't help themselves, they're too scared, their anxiety is unbearable and their thoughts are too out of control. They need answers, anything that could even hint for a possible explanation of the killer's intentions.

They began to second guess their decision to speak when the creature froze in place, even his breath was now inaudible. This was the first time (Y/N) spoke directly to the monster, but they didn't expect him to react at this fact, not like this, or at all.

But he did, he did acknowledged that little detail, and he will make sure they acknowledge it too.

The creature soon moves again, by slowly leaning closer and slightly tilting his head to the side, almost like trying to get a better look at them.

His breathing got heavier, low huffs and growls resonating from that metallic helmet of his. It really looked like he was actively holding back some major urge or desire, but what it is?

(Y/N) wanted to ask again, but decided against it as there is little Pyramid Head could do to answer, and even if he could, why should he? Maybe it's more amusing to him to see them helplessly wondering in the dark and unable to comprehend what's going on.

Or maybe, there is simply nothing to explain?... Maybe he does what he does just because? Human mind is way too used to seek for reasons and explanations for anything and everything, often forgetting that sometimes the answer is way too simple or straight up null, could that be the case?

The same groan coming from the cage bars pulled (Y/N) out of their thoughts. They forget how to breathe at the sight of the structure slowly collapsing as the monster starts to rip the bars with his raw strength.

A scared yelp escaped them as they try to back further into the cage as much as they can, ignoring the sharp edges that scratched or pierced their body. They barely felt pain, none at all actually, the adrenaline and basic survival instincts keeping their body resilient and ready to run. The sad part is, is that there is nowhere to run, nothing to do. It's sweet that their body tries so desperately to keep their hopes up and reassure their survival, but their mind is more than aware of the cold desolated reality...

The front part of the cage was eventually ripped off and thrown against the floor violently. (Y/N) can only cover their eyes with their hands and quietly sob as they wait for whatever the monster had planned to do next.

Even when no further actions are made, they refuse to look. They no longer want to face this thing, they no longer want to suffer this torment. Regardless if they believed in any religion or no, they mutter silent prayers under their breath, but not no save them, but to make it end and to know how sorry they are for any evil or harm they've did in their life that leaded to such tragic conclusion.

But this is where the catch is... They've committed none. At least from the Executioner's perspective.

Despite their whispers being so silent to a non-existent point, Pyramid Head heard them loud and clear. And the more he heard their voice, the more he felt the inside of his chest burn and the desire for them grow even more. (Y/N) is not perfect, they're human after all, and all humans have their fair share of flaws and defects... But unlike the rest, (Y/N) has the ability to acknowledge said imperfections and genuinely try to make up for them, to fix them... Regardless if they get something in return or not.

This, this is the true purity in a human being. An innocence and kindness so genuine that it would be a sin not to worship and protect... And who is a best fit to take care of it other than the fearsome Pyramid Head?

(Y/N)... So pure... So innocent... So kind... He must keep them save.

He must keep them...

He wants them...

W̴͕̳͈͔̭̝͠ͅ a̶̩̰̲̎̓͊̈̓̕ ǹ̴̢͇̬̘̗̯̜̍̋͊͠͝͠ ṭ̶͇̃̔͝ s̶̭̩͔̹̝̼̅̍̆̉͌͝

As the monster is about to reach them, a spider like legs burst out through the floor and wrap themselves around (Y/N).

The trial... Is over.

And while the absolutely livid roar gets overshadowed by the groans of the entity as the black fog surrounds the whole place. (Y/N) only keeps quietly sobbing as they cling to the spider leg sticking out of their chest. And though they knew the entity is the main responsible of their current torment, they were too overwhelmed with emotions to properly process their actions.

Surprisingly, the spider-like being didn't disappear right away, probably feeling pity for their situation and allowing them to cry for a brief moment, most likely to compensate this unplanned mess they have to deal with.

To everyone's surprise in the camp, when (Y/N) finally arrived they where unconscious, either passed out after such emotional roller coaster or the entity wants them take some genuine rest. Whatever the case it, it didn't matter, what matters is that their fellow friend is back save and sound, right?

As one of the survivors decided to take them closer to the bonfire for warmth and comfort, they could swear they heard some weird noises from afar.

It resembled a demonic cry filler with rage, so distant yet menacing. Everyone instinctively shivered.

And though (Y/N) successfully 'survived' yet another trial with the executioner, almost everyone had the gut feeling that the next encounter they have with the beast, it will not end good...

They all take a glance at their still unconscious form.

Poor (Y/N)...

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 2 part 2

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

here's another Agatha reflection that I didn't notice yesterday - it's a theme, I tell you

she's essentially doing what she does at the beginning of Wandavision, although with no prep time and no magic for costume changes: a ditzy over the top wife with the made up farway husband

I'd get a couple more candles back there, Lilia. You missed a spot.

But jokes aside, you know what she's doing? She's taking the piss out of agatha. this is Lilia we're talking about, the Seer. her job is literally to See. she knew who and what Agatha was the moment she stepped in, and frankly it's insulting that Agatha would try such cheap tricks on her. this is a little "fuck you agatha" before they get down to business and lilia can tell her to fuck off too

and yes, agatha underestimates lilia from the start, which is the point of lilia's character and the lesson she has to internalize. but the thing is, lilia IS amazing, powerful and wise from the very beginning. this whole scene is Lilia being better, smarter and more powerful than Agatha, she just doesn't have the self-confidence to recognize it

(but WHY beauford?? best name she could have picked)

lilia IS in control. she sets the pace of this encounter. agatha is a step behind, which is rare for her

fuck off, look at that stupid condescending little face

YASSS read her for filth! but let's recap her exact words (so I have an excuse to listen again to Patti's exquisite delivery and voice control)

"You've been under the influence of another. Someone you hurt." Wanda. And we go back to Agatha torturing Wanda and what it's doing to her, the guilt she feels.

"They took your agency. For three years." Agency is one of the main themes of this show and something that will touch Lilia up close too.

"It's not the first time your witch kin betrayed you." Not the other way round! Yes, Agatha has betrayed, she has hurt and killed. But we need to acknowledge that she was betrayed by her kin, her coven, her community first.

"But you survive, in a way few do." Agatha is a survivor. She dragged herself out of a hellpit, and she was maimed and turned into something horrible in the process. But she fucking survived.

"In fact, that's why you're here." Lilia knows EXACTLY what Agatha is planning, she knows that she's here to kill and she knows why. She knew from the start.

agatha's face falling more and more

YES. FUCK YES. THE PERFECT DICTION TROUGH GRITTED TEETH. SHE IS NOT INTERESTED!! GIVE THIS WOMAN ALL THE MONOLOGUES BECAUSE SHE'S GONNA CRUSH THEM

I know, Billy. this is also the way I look at stage goddess patti lupone

SHE IS CRYING AGAIN! DO YOU SEE IT!!! DO YOU SEE THIS SHIT?!!?!? SHE'S CRYING AT BEING SEEN SO CLEARLY, BECAUSE SHE'S ALWAYS HIDING. AND SHE'S CRYING WITH RELIEF, TRIUMPH AND GUILT BECAUSE SHE'S FOUND THIS AMAZING EXTRAORDINARY WONDERFUL WITCH AND SHE HAS TO KILL HER SO SHE WON'T DIE HERSELF TONIGHT

DON'T TOUCH ME, I'M IN A GLASSCASE OF EMOTIONS.

that's a predator right there

nuh-uh babe, she's got your number. you are not going to win this one. (i'm drinking up all the details in her room. look at that old singer sewing machine, that's a 70s or 80s model - everything in the room is at least 40 years old. Is she making herself a quilt? is she cold at night? we know she doesn't have the money to pay her bills)

I KNOW, BILLY!!!

lol, you know when patti told joe locke something like, 'sorry you're stuck here with all these old ladies'?? and he was like, no you don't undeRSTAND

(I mean, Patti has met plenty of gay boys. she understands.)

Lilia jumps for a moment to episode 5 and hears the ghost of Agatha's mom yelling at her. (aw, her chairs are all mismatched.)

Billy is always so polite. and look at Agatha's body language, she's doing the same thing she did when torturing Wanda, kind of hugging herself. both predatory and defensive, because, once again, she is not as comfortable as she seem. she is not being sincere, she is out to manipulate lilia, and she's not happy about it

I live for lilia's rants about the commodification and gentrification of the queer witch community (look at those gorgeous italian plates!)

she actually did bite a kid once

"when I was chased out of every village I passed through for accurately predicting tragedy? NO, I do NOT. BEAT IT, harkness!" I adore her delivery. and also. ouch. ouch. my sweet lilia. so many years, so much pain

When watching this scene for the first time, you identify with Billy and just sit back and enjoy these two extraordinary witches and actresses working together. the first episodes are high on comedy but they all have a serious, upsetting undertone, and it's especially gratifying to see how both actresses work with voice, face and body language to express what they can't say explicitly. Lilia is an incredibly old, wise, experience witch, but also tired, alone, humiliated. She's been jumping through time and she's really frightened about it. And right now? She's quite literally going against the most dangerous serial killer of witches in known history. She can stand her own against Agatha and then some, but she is not confident enough to see it yet.

A question that reads ironic but is delivered without a hint of irony. Why are you dragging a child into this? You of all people. Why are you putting a literal child in danger?

an ironic answer also delivered with no irony. it's threatening, and it's also protective of Billy

agatha gambles: maybe she can get lilia mad enough later and get blasted anyway. maybe she has other means to steal (a kiss, mayhaps?) And Billy better not hear this, she's not gonna kill him or anything but, you know, keeping her options open. just in case.

lilia DOES NOT need to return to her clairvoyant glory. lilia is one of the most if not the most powerful seer. her isolation is self-imposed. agatha is completely out of her depth here.

case in point: agatha does successfully con jen and alice, but she does NOT con lilia. not even close. she had nothing. lilia was in control of the conversation the whole time, seeing through agatha the whole time, and she was always going to say no.

"Three of Pentacles." collaboration, community, singular voices waiting to harmonize. Lilia REACHES THROUGH TIME and MAKES herself join Agatha. How fucking heartwrenching is that???? Agatha never tricked Lilia into doing anything. Lilia is sitting at the tarot table in her Glinda costume, for the first time fully confident and fully aware in her power, and she just - she grabs herself in the past and says, this is your family. this is your coven. you have chosen it. go and reclaim it. that is why Lilia follows them to the Road. not because Agatha is powerful, but because Lilia is.

and present Lilia is just so scared. she knows this is going to kill her.

FUCK I love this show so much!

(and a quick shoutout to @sapphicjew, I'm loving your commentary!)

go to episode 2 part 3

[deathbxnny]

Alrighty cool, thank you for clearing that up (and in such a timely manner too)!

So, lemme cook here... with some Angst + Hurt/Comfort >:D

Arlecchino with a Fem!S/O who's the "Mother" to the children of the House. She was among the survivors of the previous Knave's regime over the House of Hearth. With her and Arle having had perhaps a kind of mutual crush that was only truly pursued after Arle killed "mother".

Basically, the scenario for the request is when Arlecchino' and her's S/O are taking care of one of the kids of the House after they're badly injured after a mission, and... needles to say... they don't make it. And during when Arle and S/O are visiting the kid's grave to pay their respect's, S/O begins to muse "you'd think I'd be used to having to bury children, after..." before starting to break down.

(Part two) (Part Three) (Part four) (Part five)

Ooooh, I love your brain, Anon!! Thank you so much for this great request!! I have to admit that whilst writing this, I actually liked the idea of making this super angsty and kind of bitter (like most of my fics lmao-) so I hope you like it despite the lack of comfort anyway-

Content: Heavy angst, vague mentions of past child abuse, murder, death, reader is Female and referred to as "Mother/wife", mentions of heavy injuries and blood, controlling behavior from/ooc Arlecchino?, kind of bitter ending, children dying, grief Reader has she/her pronouns ((Not proofread!!!))

Buried angels and that odd wish to live. (Arlecchino x Fem!Reader)

In a way, you often wondered why the young ones often wished to live when they knew that their end was nearing. Their eyes would widen, breaths becoming sharper and shorter, mouths closing and opening in panic before they'd whisper those words you had heard so many times. Their deaths always followed closely after, eyes dimming, their soul finally disappearing with the blown out candles, the sweet scent mingling with the smell of blood and burnt flesh. In the light of the moon filtering through an open window, you'd see the grim reaper staring at you in mirrors and your crimson stained palms, a thoughtful look on her face, one asking a simple question she might forever ask you.

"What did you expect?"

And you'd reply by looking away from your own image, away from the guilt and self-doubt and into the eyes of the woman who made all these children utter that odd wish in the first place.

Your hands shook, held up high as you peered into the crime of a mother who couldn't save her child, raised as though pleading for the forgivness of a god that was mightier than the one you worked for. One that was less cruel, despite the heart everyone claimed she had. And yet, they were enveloped by a towel instead, that wiped away the sins and hurt, even if just for a moment. "There is... nothing we could have done to save her, Mother." Lyney whispered quietly to you, perhaps afraid of being too loud and disturbing someone who couldn't even ever bother to hear him anymore. He tried to be reassuring, but it did little when you just couldn't look away from your wife.

Arlecchino. The Knave. A highly ranked harbinger, whose heart always belonged to you from the start, although with great difficulties that took you years to overcome.

The first time she made you stain your hands with blood was when she killed the woman that raised you two, the first and only woman you ever called "Mother." Although the gentleness and nurturing part of her title was just a simple facade, it still shaped you both greately. You had sworn to do better, to become a better mother to all the children you both took in after marriage and Arlecchino... she seemed to have trned against that title. She believed that being a "father" was more fitting. The right way to raise the children of the Hearth family. Cold and detached, yet firm and guiding.

It made you opposites at times. Painfully different opposites. You became a secret haven of safety for the children, a place they can hide away in, whenever their "Father's" wrath came after them. And you've fought so hard to be this gentle. You killed, murdered, slaughtered your way out of fate. You dragged yourself out of hell, you bled, you cried endless tears. You wanted to prove that you could do better and you ultimately did now... or so you thought. You began doubting it years ago, and it's what made you find their wish to live so odd. Was it an instinct, or did they actually view their life's with you two as desirable, something to live for, when all they did in the end was suffer?

"Mother." Lyney said again, this time a little louder, this time enough to make you glance up at him. His face was a blurry shadow, the light falling over his shoulders and illuminating his head like a halo, as he pushed the towel rather hastily into a nearby laundry basket. You'd never get the stains out, and so it would most likely be thrown away, perhaps burried with the young girl. "Let's... get you cleaned up, okay? I... we will take care of the rest." The change in his wording made you press your lips together. It wasn't anyone's job to do this except your own, and for a moment, you imagined yourself curling up next to the child that died crying and begging for you to save it.

You stood up only barely on shaking knees, trembling hand reaching out to close the small girls eyes, and you could feel the cold tears and skin stinging your palm. "It is alright, Lyney. Your father and I will take care of her ourselves..." You looked over your shoulder at the woman who had yet to move or say anything ever since she silently entered the room a while ago. You could see the cold glint of her eyes in the dark, her face otherwise covered by the shadows as she sat calmy and collected in her chair. She knew it was over the moment the girl was brought in by a couple of Fatui agents, th failure of her mission being crystal clear by the deep wounds and burns on her body. She never stood a chance. She wasn't experienced enough, not skilled enough. But the weak get eaten, as the Knave would often say.

Lyney gave you a hesitant look, his mouth opening to protest before he stilled at his Father crossing his legs expectantly. He understood the silent order. "... Ofcourse, Mother. Call my name if there is anything I can do for you." He said, a hand on his chest as he bowed before quickly taking his leave. When the door creaked open, you could have sworn to see the flickers of Lynette and Freminet staring back at you solemnly before they disappeared in the presence of their brother. You stared at the closed door for an unknown while, nearly zoning out, until you let out a shaky sigh. "Make her grave beautiful, perhaps with a blue ribbon attached to it. She loved those." You muttered, the exhaustion finally hitting you full force and making you feel faint. Your body felt heavy, feet dragging across the floor as you also made your exit, the only awknowledgement you received being in the form of the woman leaning her head against her palm idly whilst she closed those cursed eyes of hers.

---

There wasn't much of a funeral for the child.

A couple Fatui agents simply made a hole in the ground like they did with all the others and then lowered the small casket into it, before tossing dirt back in until it disappeared and only the stone with her was left as proof that the child ever even existed. It was a routine at this point, one everyone was used to. Everyone but you. Perhaps the years had made you soft. Perhaps the love and gentleness you gave these children had made you weak. But here you were, standing under the rain and staring at the grave for hours now, unmoving. The water had drenched through your clothes, ran down your face, made you shiver from the cold, despite feeling too numb to fully realise that. Arlecchino stood at your side, an umbrella laying in the wet dirt by her heeled feet from when you pushed it out of her hands and away from you defiantly.

The silence was deafening, filled with the constant tapping of water against your clothes, the metal on the Knave's uniform, and the stone of the sea of graves around you. "How many..." You whispered weakly, trying to form words through incoherent thoughts and the lack of sleep you've had lately. "... do I have to see die before it's enough?" Arlecchino said nothing, and you were nearly convinced that she didn't hear you if it wasn't for her hand twitching.

You let out a disbelieving laugh, a hand covering your face, trying to ease the pain that plagued you deeply. "You'd think that I'd be used to burying children by now... but I... it hurts me." You didn't want to break. In fact, you had never broken before. But as you stood there amongst the many angels that you burried, the many angels that had all once stained your hands red, you began to wonder why you ever even agreed to this. You weren't like your wife. You couldn't be a "Father". You just didn't want to be one.

You buried your face into your hands, imagining the suffocating feeling of their final wish being the same as the pain of strangulation. They reached for the skies and reached for freedom they could only brush shortly with their fingertips before they were covered in dirt to never see what they desperately yearned for again.

"We always took pride in having become something better, different than her... and yet look at us, Peruere! We just became exact copies of her instead! Oh, the shame!" You whispered through strained sobs, voice distorted as you crumbled to the ground in guilt. You had been defeated, and yet Arlecchino still stood so tall, her eyes staring at your shivering and trembling form. She didn't say a word, or perhaps she didn't know what to say. "How many children will you make me stain my hands for?" You asked finally, but the silence told you all.

Peruere loved the children you raised together. But Arlecchino, the Knave, had an objective, a mission. Eat or be eaten, a reality that even hurt her deep down. And yet the curse she had since birth prevented her from feeling it any further than a passing acknowledgement.

"... Stand up, (Y/N). We need to get home... our children await us." She simply responded after your heavy breaths became shallow, and you simply laid there limply at the foot of the grave. But her voice conveyed a certain gentleness she only ever extends to you. It was like the warmth of a summer rain, refreshing and light as it rippled through your heart. With swollen eyes, you watched her reach an ungloved hand out to you, her gaze expectant and yet so unreadable. You felt like a child that powered itself out after a tantrum, the exhaustion and defeat crippling your soul, when you finally just took her hand after what felt like a long moment of consideration.

She hummed a gentle praise against your ear as you slumped against her, face pressed to her shoulder whilst you trembled now from the cold that nipped at your skin through your drenched clothes. Arlecchino wrapped an arm around you, her pensive and yet still so stern gaze drifting through the graveyard filled with those buried angels, as you often called them. Perhaps it was a moment of calm reflection, that made her grab onto your face and wipe away a tear.

"You are nothing like her." And yet, the Knave didn't deny that she might have fallen to her fate herself. Just not you. Never you. "These tears, this hurt you speak of, they are all proof of it. You shed tears for them, for us. Only a good mother could do such a thing." The words she spoke had a deep meaning, one only you two understood, and that made your heart flutter. You looked away, trying your best not to burst into tears again at the tragedy of the situation, but it was so hard when Arlecchino got like this. She only rarely showcased such blatant affection, such blatant declaration of her deep yet rather complicated love for you as her wife. "Please... Let's go home..." You simply whispered, which made her nod in approval.

You gazed up at the skies as you walked away, sunlight beginning to filter through the thick clouds and making you frown bitterly as it warmed your face. Arlecchino's hand meanwhile rested against your back, her watchful eyes gliding across the endless meadows you passed by, and for a moment, she could hear her children laughing, squealing and frolicking through the tall grass. They chased each other in a game of tag, running as fast as they could away from the two of you, over a hill and into what the Knave imagined to be their freedom far from her cold and stern ways. She cracked a bitter smile, one of acceptance as she glanced down at your tired, silently crying and trembling form.

Arlecchino was perhaps wrong after all. Maybe in the end the children did need a loving, nurturing mother instead.

What a shame, that it was too late to go back now.

Alright, so this took me all day to write, and I'm not sure if it's good, because I'm still very sick... but I still hope you liked this, Anon, and thank you again for the request!!!<33

[madamspellmans-met-tet]

what are your lilia calderu headcanons?

this is what I could think of right now! :)

SFW

Backstory

The Maestra was a mother figure to her but she didn’t get everything she needed from her. She wasn’t warm enough since Lilia has always been a gentle soul. The hardened, sarcastic exterior she now puts on with new people she adopted because of her Maestra.

Heavy on the survivor’s guilt. For one, because of her coven in Sicily and also because of her witch sister who were killed during the trials, where she managed to get away after being tortured.

She had a wife who fell victim to the witch trials and who she’s been looking for ever since hoping that their paths will cross again in the form of a reincarnation.

In the comics she has a son apparently whereas in AAA we don’t know. Either she didn’t have children bc a) lesbian and b) she was scared to miss out on too much because of the “gaps” or she lost her son too in a similar fashion where she saw it coming but was powerless against it. In this case, if the son existed in this universe, I believe the vampire Lilia fought and got the scar from turned him and he went on to live with the other vampires since he was afraid he’d hurt his mother if he stayed with her.

She met Stevie Nicks in LA when she and Lindsey were doing small gigs. Lilia had a little crush on her. More on that here

General

Loves stuff like needlework, knitting, crocheting. Her maestra taught her and it’s her way of remembering and feeling less alone.

She’s also made all the beaded curtains herself in meticulous detail. It kept her company on many nights.

Amazing cook, grows weed, incredible singing (other ppl have mentioned this before so putting it in one point bc I so agree)

She’s worked as a singer in small jazz bars but eventually stopped because the tips dwindled as the centuries went by and the signs of age began to show. The pay wasn’t enough on its own.

Severely touch-starved. When someone touches her she freezes at first and then gets really emotional (without showing it) and will not leave the side of the person who touched her because she hopes they’ll do it again.

At the same time, she’s a recluse by choice. With her psychic business, she can dose human contact so that she doesn’t get overwhelmed with other people’s feelings and the visions she gets about them and the helplessness she feels.

Because she’s been on her own for so long, she’s very much stuck in her ways and particular about how she does things. So when you start dating her, you have to learn and adapt. And she appreciates this greatly.

She buys jewellery every time she visits a new place.

Big on little kisses.

She knows she’s hot.

NSFW

this woman has a thing for being called “mama” I don’t make the rules. Her mommy kink is bigger than reader’s. She started it and she gets off on it. (maybe because she missed out on being a mother bc of her “gaps” cf SFW section)

after having lived for more than 4 centuries, she’s tried just about anything and ended up being almost bored by sex. this is why she focuses more on connection and closeness during sex rather than the act itself. She can be really filthy when the mood strikes her though.

She likes to soft dom but also bottom. And she’s really big on rewarding you, whether that be with praise, kisses, cuddles, or orgasms.

She prefers soft yet intense over rough unless you specifically ask for it.

She likes having her tits played with. It makes her emotional.

Knows how to use her unique nose for your pleasure. Especially loves having you ride her face.

[cure-icy-writes]

Everyone talks about cannibalism as a form of love, but no one has really talked about cannibalism as survivor's guilt in dungeon meshi. More specifically, how it manifests as Senshi's fear that he's somehow exploited his friends, that he used them and consumed their flesh to keep living, that this injustice he committed is forever part of him in a horrifying visceral way. He fears that he ate his friend to live, that they're together forever in a horrible melding of flesh.

Together forever doesn't mean love, in this case. It means guilt. It means he's haunted by the memory. The trauma has stuck with him for so long, crushed by layers and layers, that he doesn't know how to go on without it, and that's why it's such a relief when he finds out that it wasn't true. He didn't eat his friends, and by extension, it was an accident that they died and it wasn't his fault and they wanted him to live. He finally gets closure. He finally feels like he has permission to continue living.

It's... man. I mean, Senshi is like the patron saint of people who enjoy fat hairy bear panty shots and people with an unhealthy relationship to food who are learning to eat three meals a day with his help. You can always imagine him, telling you to fry something nice up with olive oil, that it's okay and perfectly normal to crave fatty meats for your body, that malnutrition makes you feel like shit, that carb loading on bread is a great idea. He deserves someone to say that to him in return. It is okay to live. It wasn't your fault that you survived. I know the world is terrifying, and you will not escape it unscathed. You have permission to live, to be happy, and to eat a good meal with friends.