#dc please stop making them suffer

[shihoerusu]

Family Time at Selina’s house

[warmilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

Dc x Pjo

Part 5

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Diana is seething, she's filled with rage, the lies Bruce fed her?

"I'm very worried for their wellbeing..."

"I miss them very much"

"they're so young, I don't want anything bad to happen to them"

Asshole.

She kicked the door of the justice hall down, startling the kids who had gone back on patrol from trying to find (Name)

"hey what gives?" Flash asks

Superman raised his eyebrow "you left so suddenly, mind telling us where you've been?"

She looks at batman's sidekicks and then at him, while staring him straight in the eyes "the kid is dead" she says

"what?"

A silence washing over the entire room

"the lady who attacked your house, that wasn't an ordinary lady, in the eyes of mortals she may look normal, but in the eyes of divine beings... It's a monster, that monster was an empousa, a poisonous fire breathing monster who feeds on the blood of mortals and divine beings alike" Diana thinks about how she'll explain everything to J'onn later, but figure that he's probably reading her mind right now

Her suspicions are confirmed as J'onn nods at her

"your kid, (Name), they're a demigod, because of that they're a target for monsters, they're gone, eaten, sorry Bruce"

Crap Diana thinks, was she too harsh? She was just too angry

Ignoring the fact Diana just announced Bruce slept with a god, Superman placed his hand on Batman's shoulder "My condolences Bruce"

Everyone was giving their apologies to the bats

She didn't look at the widened eyes of batman's sidekicks, she noticed but chose to ignore the sound of Dick collapsing into a chair, she heard didn't pay attention to the footsteps of Damian who had to run out of the room

Cass stiffened up, she trembled as if resembling a cracking statue, Steph wants to cry, but she knows very well that she doesn't deserve to cry over you, Barbara just- it's like she just stopped working

As much as she feels so cruel right now, she knew it was the only thing that will keep you hidden, if not, they'll keep trying to find you

Green arrow crossed his arms, but it was clear he was disturbed by the death of a 12 year old kid "Diana, please elaborate"

"Bruce here, had intercourse with a god, that led to (Name) being born, monsters attack demigods, people who are half god half human such as myself, without proper protection monsters kill demigods easily, and (Name) suffered that fate, monsters attack demigods while they're young and tasty and leave them alone as they grow older, they don't feed usually on humans, just animals and demigods"

It seemed like Batman or more appropriately for this situation Bruce wasn't even listening, his mind still stuck at the announcement of your death

"If it'd make you feel better, you can take a break for a while... I know what it's like to lose family, we all do, let yourself grieve Batman, you might be a hardcore vigilante but you're still a father" (to everyone but name) Barry suggests

Starfire has been trying to calm Dick down, his breathing has become irregular and unstable, switching between deep and short breaths

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Jon runs after Damian, it looked like any second, the unbeatable demon spawn fell to his knees

"Damian! Are you okay!?" Jon asks

"I-i thought it'd only last a few days... Maybe a week if they're incompetent, or maybe months if we're unlucky" Damian started to cough

He took off his robin mask and took a deep breath "Since there was no body, I was fine, I thought they're okay, maybe a few injuries here and there, but they're alive so it's fine, but- the reason there was no body... Was because she was eaten- by stupid, how'd -" Jon didn't know what to do, between the both of them, Damian was the composed one

Then two of his siblings came, Jason and Tim

"what the fuck? Demon spawn?" Jason was surprised, and immediately glared at Jon, accusingly looking at him for making his brother this way

Jon put his up defensively "I didn't do anything, promise, I'm trying to comfort him!"

Tim knelt down with Damian "what happened?"

"(Name) is dead"

And suddenly it feels like nothing matters anymore

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"okay! And this'll be your bed!" Selina ended the tour of the cabin

Selena Beauregard, Daughter of Aphrodite, she was your sister, Gosh you have a sister! And she was nice! She wasn't like Cass who for some reason, closed her eyes everytime you tried to communicate with her

Barbara pretended to be busy, too busy, what do you mean you have to work? Didn't your workplace get burned down by two-face two days ago?

Steph- at least she was honest, she straight up told you she' didn't want anything to do with you

A guy with blonde hair and blue eyes walked out of the bathroom, a nice change from the black and blue eyes you're used to

"hey! You're our new sister! The one who was flirting with that Hephaestus kid-"

"Aster! (Name) Told me they were just friends and if they were flirting what's wrong with that? Love is love" Selena came to your rescue

Aster tilted his head confused with the way you're shifting "what's wrong?" He asked

"aren't people in Greek mythology who are named after flowers turn into them?" You nervously fiddle with your fingers

With that some of your siblings who are in their respective spaces burst out laughing and Aster is hugging you laughing whilst explaining that in Greek mythology "the people came first, not the flower"

That seemed to calm you down a bit, then another girl, whose name is Drew spoke up "so (Name) who's your mortal parent?"

You freeze up at this question but the other kids seemed normal about it

"don't worry (Name) it's some game we play, cause mom's standards are high, we compare mortal parents" Another one one your brothers said, his name is Castillo, he had a faded hair color of blue to purple that reminded you of Ramona flowers

(this is actually canon in Pjo, lmao)

He continued "my father was a famous k-pop idol" he bragged

A little girl then shouted "My dad was a model for Designer clothing!"

Selena rolled her eyes "So whose your dad (Name)?"

You didn't want to answer that, but at the same time- this is the first sibling playing you've ever been in, you're included here!

"my dad is Bruce Wayne... You can look me up on Google- but he, he really wasn't the best- umm dad"

"THE BRUCE WAYNE?" Someone gasps

"i thought his name was Brucie?"

You hear in the background

"I didn't know he was an asshole" Aster muttered

"come on bro, the guy parties all day and he's with children, how could you ever think that guy's a good father?" Castillo shrugs his shoulders

"that's okay (Name), a lot of mom's lovers are vain, taking it too seriously in their heads that they slept with the goddess of beauty, that's why mom stopped revealing herself, there are rare moments, but they're rare" another sister of yours says

You honestly feel so at home here...

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I'm now realizing that the "Neglected daughter" fandom is literally so small, I just saw like three of my readers in another fic I was reading XD

Let's support each other!!!! :3

Also the characters without description are canon characters, people who are actually in pjo

The one with descriptions are OC's!

So Drew and Selena are canon characters! :3

Callisto and Aster aren't

I hope you enjoy the chapter!

@wpdarlingpan @mountvesuvu @nathaly36 @delias-stuff @vanessa-boo @bat1212 @sadslasher13 @ellaprime7

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP: The Real Blood Son

It's a year after Damian came to live with them that he decides it is an excellent time to bombard Bruce with his news.

"I had a blood brother." He says to Tim after the other commented how important blood meant to Bruce-ie, not enough to make him get rid of his other sons. "He was the first from the artificial womb mother made with Father's DNA; however, he was disposed of once his heart condition became known. I highly doubt you will last even twice as long Drake-"

"What"

Bruce didn't know that he could make his voice that cold. That dead. What in the world does he mean disposed.

Damian goes still. The kind of still where he isn't sure if he just earned a punishment and is trying not to react to the fear. "My elder brother. Did mother not inform you?"

"Damian," Bruce struggles to level his tone at Dick's hard stare. "She hadn't even informed me of you. Please, can you explain more about your brother."

The youngest nods. "He had no name, but he was my biological brother. He was forced to grow to age of three before they realized he was defective. Grandfather had him sacrificed to the pit."

Jason growls "what do you mean?"

Damian looks confused- as confused as he can with his league training kicking in. "The Lazarus pit is made from the bodies of young virgins. No older then ten. They are sacrificed in exchange for the Infinite Realms' power to sink into the water. The children are not aware of what is happening to them until the very end. They do not suffer."

Bruce feels sick.

They talk a bit more, on how certain followers throughout history were more then happy to offer the great Ra's their own children to renew the pit. How Damain had watched three children when he was seven be sacrifice- it happened every five years- and how the children were given the best week of their lives.

They purposely given the most joy they could feel before the blades to make the Pit as pure as possible. He talked a lot about watching the youngest- five years- be laughing and splashing in the Lazarus water before his mother cut him down, his screams drowning in the green liquid.

"They say the Pit absorbs the last emotion of the sacrifice. Grandfather hopes the children realize the importance and honor they have to be ended for a glorious cause, but occasionally a few are disloyal. When Todd had taken a dip, the previous Renew, had a brilliant girl who figured out what was happening and attempted to escape. She failed, of course, and her arm was amputated in a mission, but she died angry. That's why Todd had such strong madness compared to-!"

"SHUT UP!" Jason roars suddenly, eyes glowing green, and for a brief moment, Bruce swears he hears an undertone of a young girl in his scream "SHUT UP! YOU DONT KNOW ANYTHING! YOUR OWN BROTHER IS IN THERE"

Damain scowls "it's a honor. My brother's body was defective. But he at least had aidded in a glorious ritual."

Bruce can't help it; he leans over the BatCave Railing and hurls his dinner. Damian finally realizes that something is wrong.

They host a funeral for his three-year-old son, who died without a name, and place his gravestone next to his parents. They explain to Damian why the Renewal ritual is horrific but Bruce feels it take years before his son can see that.

Jason, went out into Crime Alley to let off some steam and had been going on a rampage against the underbelly of Gotham. He can't find it I'm himself to stop him.

Bruce asks Constantine to come over and do a small ritual, to hopefully unbound his child and let his son soul move on. Constantine warns that with the kid's name it may not work and that they could only free souls they share blood to but the English man tries anyway.

They send his son their prayers, and hopes. And they try to put him to rest.

Across the Infinite Releams to three dimensions to the right of the Wayne's soul resting ritual, The Fenton's adoptived son, Danny Fenton jolts in his English Class.

The strange stabbing scar above his heart- which is why he never takes off his shirt- burns then cools as if someone had tried to place the temperature-changing ointment. He rubs his best, confused.

What was that?

He'll have to check with FrostBite. Maybe his heart condition is acting up again. It happens every five years even though no doctors his parents have taken him to could figure out what it was.

Until Frostbite. The yeti claimed it had something to do with dark arts, but he's unsure what type.

Frostbite is still doing more testing.

"I wish you had lived, brother. I wish I knew you name"

The wind whispers, and Danny feels a flash of deep longing and grief before it's gone. Yeah, he needs to talk to Frostbite.

[haveihitanerve]

Alfred Pennyworth is to Blame

Okay first- let me start this by saying I love Alfred Pennyworth. He is the one who raised the great Bruce Wayne, hes a badass, and hes a killer Grandfather. But thats just it. He’s a good grandfather. Not a good father. I see so many people giving Bruce shit for how he treats his kids and then praise alfred as the savior, the only good responsible adult in the world, the one who should have taken all the kids and left Bruce because he ruined them and Alfred would have done better. But thats not true. I fully believe all of the kids would have suffered under just Alfred’s care because, well, he doesn't get it. Bruce’s prime motivator for almost al of his children is that they have shared pain and grief and he helps them work through it. Alfred? So many people have said being a grandparent is easier than being a parent- and its true. Because you don't have to deal with actually raising this child. You get to be the “fun one”. You don't have rules, you spoil them, you give hugs and advice. The actual parent is the one who has to criticize and raise you and punish and teach everything. Do I think Bruce could have raised his kids on his own? Probably. Do I think Alfred definitely helped raise them to be as amazing as they are today? Hell yeah! But Bruce, and I firmly believe this, is such a “terrible” dad, because Alfred was his. Alfred, who doesn’t call Bruce son or even Bruce because first and foremost this boy is his charge, his master, not his child. Bruce was not raised on much affection from the butler, because thats who he was- a butler. Alfred does his best, its not his fault- this was a job that unwillingly turned into a lifelong dedication of suddenly raising a child, but its not enough. And people need to realize that. Maybe, Bruce isn't that great at communicating because he was raised by a mostly silent butler. Maybe Bruce doesn't say I love you quite that often because Alfred never did. Maybe Bruce is so strict because he was raised by a man from the military. But, lets take a look at his kids. Dick Grayson. Dick Grayson is arguably one of my favorite Batfam members, and he became the man he is, overcoming his trauma and being nice and funny and joyous, because he had Bruce in his life. “Robin needed to help take down the man who murdered his parents. ‘So he could turn out like you?’ So that he wouldn't.” Because Bruce took him in and helped him overcome his trauma, Dick became better. Dick is what Bruce would have become… if he had had a Bruce in his life. But he hadn’t. He had an Alfred. 

Anyway, just my thoughts. It makes me so mad when people are so quick to serenade Alfred and shower him with love and then shit on Bruce so hard… when its fucking alfreds fault. Well, not fault thats not the right word but still. Bruce is, unfortunately, my favorite DC person ever and its a hard battle to fight and defend but I’ll do it gladly everyday. Please stop hating on Bruce only to turn around and applaud Alfred. No. Thats not how this works. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. 

[this-loser]

Silent Prayer

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Author's Notes: So, I actually haven't written in a while and for those who liked my previous stories I apologize. I deleted them from the account and forgot that I didn't have them saved so they are gone forever. Recently I have been hard on myself about that plus my writing. I ended up going inactive and recently going into the DC fandom, especially because of my love for Jason Todd, I got back into writing again. This is the first time I've written for Jason, bunch of scrapped ideas before this, so if it feels out of character I must apologize. Anyway, enough of my talking. Please enjoy!

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「WC: 863」

「Summary: He's unable to sleep but maybe a little music will coax him into sleeping」

「Warnings: I don't use Y/N, This might be a little sad tbh, Nothing explicit just wholesome fluff, This is shorter than I originally thought it would be but I'm okay with this」

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「Song name: "In Dreams" by Roy Orbison. In case you'd like to listen to it while reading look it up on either YouTube or Spotify.」

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It was never silent. Not in Gotham City. From the police sirens to the neighbors or the people outside the apartment building going on about their lives. No one pays any mind, depending on where you're looking, to the fact that this place was one of the biggest shitholes. No one could tell Jason otherwise.

He'd lived on the streets. Did things that he shouldn't have done, but he needed to survive and witnessed firsthand how god-awful the people in the city can be. All of that had been seen through the eyes of a child.

Was he proud of his past? Depends, but for the most part, no.

Reflecting doesn't help.

He knew that. It only made things come back, and the emotions left him sour. Especially when the original point was to sleep, something he was having trouble doing. Again.

Jason sat up, the blanket pooling at his hips as he ran a hand through his hair. The sound of a vehicle honking caused him to lift his head, looking at the window blinds. A few seconds pass by before he relaxes.

"Hmm..." The softness of your voice drew his attention, along with the blanket moving as you turned over onto your left side. "Jason," "Go back to sleep, baby." He crooned, stopping you from continuing your sentence and then leaning down to you, his hand pushing some of your hair out of your face as your eyes fluttered open. "Shh, just go back to bed. Everything is alright."

He was bullshitting, but not to worry you. Jason knew that you'd be up without another second if you knew his insomnia was bothering him again. "Just sleep." His hand gently cupped your cheek as he kept whispering coaxing words to ease you back into sleep, blissfully unaware of his suffering.

"Jay," Through tired eyes, you look at him. The darkness hides his face; however, you can make out the look he gave you. A soft reassurance that would have fooled anyone if they didn't know him well enough. That is, if they ever broke past that permanent scowl he always had. The look alone drew a huff from you. "Liar." He froze, the look quickly morphing into a disappointed frown. "Please, sleep. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay." He brought forth a weak smile, his hand caressing your cheek. "Trust me, you need more sleep than I do, I'll be alright." "Jason..." He shook his head, stubbornness kicking in as he leaned closer, pressed his lips against your temple, then pulled away. "You're gonna go back to bed. No arguing about it." You whined at his stubbornness, and although that made him chuckle, he didn't let up.

You pulled a hand from under the blanket, lifting it and grabbing his arm. "No. I'm not giving up that easily, Jason." He bit back a groan at your stubbornness, internally kicking himself for hoping that you'd actually give in to his demand. You sat up slowly and let go of his arm as you reached over the end table on your side, grabbing your phone.

It was still early morning, and Jason clearly wasn't having a good night. "Jay, it's 4:37 A.M." He groans at the observation and leans back against the headboard. "I know, Genius..." He grumbles, looking away from you. "You're welcome." You mumble, now going through your phone. A few seconds of silence go by before the room is filled with soft music from your phone.

"I softly say, a silent prayer like dreamers do,"

He glances at you, the song playing as you set your phone back onto the end table. "Music?" You nod, looking at Jason. "Why not? Might help you sleep." "Not really my type of music." "Too bad. You've got to deal with it since it's my choice." You lay back down, moving over to him and throwing an arm over his hips, burying your face into the side of his thigh. "Who's the artist?" "Roy Orbison." He nods his head slowly, the name not sounding familiar to him. "Melancholy as hell, though." He added, looking down at you and resting his hand on your head. "Mm." Your eyes flutter closed, the soft tempo of the song starting to lull you back to sleep.

"In dreams, you're mine all of the time,"

He leans his head back. Taking in the lyrics and how melancholy they are. "Actually, they are kinda peaceful." He whispers, his fingers running through your hair. "Except for the "Candy-colored clown" bit... That part doesn't sound all peaceful to me." A light scoff comes from Jason as he stares at the bedroom door and feels his eyelids become heavier as the song continues to play.

"In beautiful dreams"

He blinks a few times as a wave of sleepiness crashes over him, but he pulls himself back and gently pulls your arm from his hips. You make a noise of protest as he lays down, pulling you into his arms once he's lying on his right side. You sigh in contentment, relaxing again and peacefully resting as Jason's eyelids close. The melody of the song coaxes him into a dreamless sleep.

[describe-things]

notfriendlyhougen said 2 hours ago

not reblogging to feed the trolls or whatever but @describe-things please get those pride flags the fuck off of your profile if you actually care so little about queer people and the like by not voting in support of them

[ID: A screenshot of the reply showing the text above. End ID.]

@notfriendlyhougen "stop letting people make their art accessible if you don't support genocide"

ok fascist. You really think you can use Queer people as an excuse to support genocide. You're really that dedicated to pinkwashing genocide to uphold white supermacy you're gonna get mad that I provide people with accessability tools. Do you not understand how pathetically racist and queermisic this is?

You cannot fucking claim you support Queer people if you're going to use our existance to uphold genocide. You are not supporting Queer people by using us as a bludgeon with which to uphold white supremacy and genocide.

Legitimately what has to be wrong with you to make a statement like this. "stop providing people with accessibility tools if you won't support genocide"

Yeah, no, that's not how this works. You do not get to use Queer people to support genocide.

None of us are free until all of us are free. You cannot fucking sacrifice Palestinians or anyone else to win "freedom".

You racist fascist shitheads do not get to pinkwash genocide and pretend that Queer minorities are the "real villains" when we refuse to play your fascist racist genocidal game.

What part of "Queer as in free Palestine" do you not understand.

I am lesbian and transgender. I am a working-class, secular Jewish socialist. So let my first words be these: I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Arab and Muslim people in this room and around the world in the battle against the real axis of evil: the White House, Pentagon and Justice Department. And with every breath and every sinew, I fight for Palestinian liberation.

-Leslie Feinberg at the Al-Fatiha international retreat in Washington DC in the spring of 2002

@notfriendlyhougen you will never get Queer liberation without Palestinian liberation. White Supremacy and Genocide will never pave the way for Queer liberation.

Don't you fucking dare tell actual Queer fucking minorities that we're harming ourselves by giving a shit about people suffering literal gods damned genocide. Don't you fucking dare try to use us as a weapon to silence opposition to white supremacy and colonization.

Voting for Genocide is never voting for the rights of Queer people. And the fact that you want to pretend otherwise just goes to show how despicably fucking evil you've allowed yourself to become.

You want to pretend you care about Queer people but you really only mean Privileged White American Queers. You don't give a single shit about anyone else.

Just fucking say you want to go back to brunch and leave fucking Queer people who actually have morals out of your fucking excuses for why you think it's okay to uphold colonialism, white supremacy, and literal out and out genocide.

There is no Pride in genocide. You cannot fucking weaponize us to support genocide.

I hope you spend every waking moment of the rest of your life suffering in shame for what you've done and what you're going to do.

Don't you fucking dare pretend you care about Queer people when you're fine with them being slaughtered on live TV as long as you think it'll benefit you.

You are not taking a stance for Queer rights. You are willingfully and proudly supporting genocide and white supremacy. And you do not get to fucking weaponize Queer people to justify it.

The fucking gall to demand I stop providing people with accessability tools because I refuse to support genocide. Do you have any fucking clue how absurdly racist and queermisic you are?

[unrestrained-balderdash-art-blog]

Going on a Riddler fanart break

I'm having a break from posting Riddler fanart to Tumblr. The backlog will still be posted on Cara and Instagram (both @ tbalderdash), and if the break is long enough for it to catch up I will post things made during the break on there before Tumblr. I will still be posting bird art here. I will still post fanart for other fandoms here if I make any (I am currently undecided about non-Riddler DC). The break will be for at least a month. I will probably come back when the OCD medication has kicked in for a bit. Thank you for all of the support on the last post. I don't want to take a break, but I have to for my mental health.

"Organised" ramble about reasoning (this is heavily influenced by neurodivergence/mental illness and I am not trying to sound like an entitled/ungrateful twat. I don't want to guilt trip anyone, please don't feel guilty):

The Timezone Curse: Tumblr has a reverse-chronological dashboard. I am British. I live earlier than the majority of the userbase. I have no idea what time to post things so they don't get buried. Recently I've tried to stop waiting for the exact right minute to post things, as it doesn't stop them from flopping.

Likes vs Reblogs, (and OCD?): I will preface this and say: a lot of this is my brain's fault. Since Likes don't do anything to spread things, my brain gets upset when things keep getting Liked without Reblogged. Unless it is from a bird fan on the fanart, better artist, or irl friend, Likes mean nothing to me. I know this is silly and irrational, but I can't help it and this is the main reason why my brain is suffering posting fanart. I hope medication will fix my feelings. Additionally, OCD brain keeps trying to find a reason: Am I dislikable? Is my art bad? Does it have no appeal? Is it aphobia? Did I do something cancellable without knowing and now everyone hates me? I (think I) know the answer is people just don't use this website that way, but my brain is never sure. This is why I don't have the problem on the other websites, every like helps the algorithm and actually means something in my brain

The combination of the Timezone Curse and lack of reblogs means my art often gets barely any reach (or reach my brain deems meaningful). I desperately want to feel like part of the Riddler fandom community. Unfortunately, due to Tumblr making me suffer (overwhelmed by compulsive need to scroll entire dash, repulsed aroace, and simple posts being able to make me ruminate unpleasantly for a long time) I find it very hard to follow new blogs or connect with people on this site. I love birds, but I need Riddler interaction. I can't look at much fandom on other sites, as they have barely any/no tag filtering, which means I will suffer if I look for him.

Why it's just fanart and not birds affected by this: I started off as a fanartist with no expectation to get big with birds, so I had a que sera sera attitude and I post them whenever they're ready, I didn't expect to get big. I am more fulfilled when it comes to the bird interest (more community interaction + every day can have different birds out there + people in my real life are interested in birds). Additionally, the bird art spreads a lot more (due to bird blogs reblogging). Bird art is my "job" art (it is where I plan to make money from) whereas Riddler is where my passion lies the most (I still love the birds but I have many other ways of interacting with them without needing art). This means I get more emotionally invested in the Riddler art than the bird art

Is art becoming a compulsion? This applies to the birds as well, but since they're "job art" it doesn't matter too much. I keep being worried about not posting enough Riddler art, and feelings of social media sometimes overshadow the joy of creating - I keep thinking about posting, rather than doing. I get too anxious to make art that is "unpostable" (eg: self-insert and him hugging), especially due to the fact I'm trying to get more professional. I feel like there's more I want to expand on this but it's been too long and I'm tired. This break might help me do more high-quality art instead of having to churn it out out of fear of everyone forgetting me.

Sorry for all the text. I don't know if I've explained everything very well but it's been an hour and usually if I post something after 8 it fails, which I don't usually want to worry about but it's a bit important for an announcement like this

[sequinsmile-x]

Surrender

She opens her mouth to say it’s her, but Aaron beats her to it. The words out of his mouth before she can say them, as if he'd stolen them from her lungs, just as he had with her breath in the hotel before they came here. Making her laugh so hard she’d almost forced her wine out of her nose. A moment that felt so long ago now she could barely hang onto it.

"It's me."

A Minimal Loss AU

-x-

Hi friends!!

This...got away from me. Massively. But if there are two things I love, it's writing these idiots realising they are in love and AU's of Minimal Loss.

Sorry this ended up being a day later than promised, but I kind of like how it turned out.

Please do let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: Canon typical violence/mentions of blood and injury

Words: 6.5k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

The first thing Emily does when she gets to the airport is upgrade her ticket. 

She hates flying commercial, which she knows is a champagne problem, so as soon as Aaron asked her to go to Colorado for an undercover assignment with child protective services, she groaned. She was happy to do the work, but the idea of sitting wedged in between two strangers in economy for over five hours was enough to make her decide she’d cover the cost so she could sit in first class, with the intention of re-reading the research Penelope had pulled together on Benjamin Cyrus so she could make sure she was as prepared as possible. A feeling deep in her gut that she couldn’t explain telling her that they were out of their league on this one, that there was something they didn’t know. 

“Emily?” 

She turns from where she is standing in line to see Aaron behind her, his go bag over his shoulder, and she frowns, “Aaron? I thought Reid was coming with me.”

He flashes her a tight smile before clearing his throat, “He couldn’t make it,” he says, offering no further explanation, “I decided to come in his place.” 

She nods, a mix of excitement and trepidation settling in her stomach, burning her chest as it bubbled upwards. One of the reasons she’d been so keen to take this assignment, to get away from DC for a few days, was because of him. She needed time and space, recent feelings she hadn’t expected overwhelming her every time he was near. 

It started when he knocked on her apartment door, his heart on his sleeve and as vulnerable as she’d ever seen him when he came as close as he came to begging when he asked her to go to Milkawakee with him. A sign she’d passed a test neither of them knew she’d been taking, her unwavering loyalty to him, to the team, even in the face of his disinterest and distrust of her enough to push away any lingering resentment he’d felt about her initial arrival. 

They’d become friends after that, something that she’s sure surprised him as much as it had surprised her. Aaron had come to her place the morning after they got home, his eyes lingering on the white bandage on her head as he said he’d come over to check on her. He’d looked so uncharacteristically nervous, so unsure of himself, when she joked that he could have just called her, that she’d let him in. They’d sat together and talked over coffee and breakfast she ordered in, because she had no food in her fridge, and everything was different after that. 

She had been the one to check in on him after Haley had divorce papers sent to the office. Emily had got halfway through one beer before she left the bar, unable to have fun with her friends when she knew that Aaron, the man who had quickly become her best friend, the person she knew she could go to and receive no judgement, was suffering alone and in silence somewhere else. She made it back to the office as he was leaving, and smiled wryly as she offered him her spare room for the night. 

He took her up on the offer and she stopped off at a store on the way home to buy him his favourite kind of scotch, one she didn’t like, and they sat on her couch, shifting between silence and mindless chatter, talking about everything except his broken family. 

That night she pretended she didn’t hear him crying in her spare room after they went to bed, and, for the first time but certainly not the last, she pretended she didn’t feel overcome with the desire to hold him close. To protect him. To storm across town and give Haley a piece of her mind over how this was handled, even though she knew deep down Aaron wasn’t anywhere near blameless for the breakdown of his marriage. 

After that, she noticed her feelings for him, the way she’d get butterflies in her stomach when he was near, or how just being around him made her day better, were getting stronger. The man she had once thought she’d never like let alone anything else quickly becoming the person she wanted to be around all the time. Leaving her feeling like nothing short of the teenage girl she had once been, not the grown woman she prided herself on being now. 

It was in New York that she could finally put a name to the feeling. When watching the footage of the explosion that could have, and should have, killed him, made her heart clench. The air in her lungs turning to stone as she struggled to heave in a breath, leading to a momentary response that JJ had picked up on. She’d waved it off, managed to move past it in the chaos of the moment, but it’s when it all fell into place. Puzzle pieces finally clicking together, the picture clear to her for the first time since she’d felt that initial pull towards him. 

She was in love with him. 

It was only further confirmed for her when relief washed over her when she saw he was okay, that he’d walked away from what had killed his friend. It was overwhelming, something she could have easily drowned in, and she was grateful for the short, but quiet. journey home. The nature of the case meant everyone else, Aaron included, fell asleep, and she could keep an eye on him, protecting him silently and privately. 

She was in love with him, and even though there were moments when she was sure he loved her too, his gaze bright as it occasionally lingered on her a little too long, she felt paralysed by it. Frozen in place as she convinced herself nothing could come of it, that he was still so hurt by the divorce that she’d only break her heart in the process. 

She’d come second all her life. To her mother’s job. To every partner she’d ever had, something always took precedence. To the cause whilst she was in Vienna, well aware if Clyde and the others had to sacrifice her to take down Ian they would have done. She wouldn’t mind if it was only Jack she thought she’d come second to, Aaron’s love for him, how good a father he was, one of the many things she loved about him, but she refused to be a rebound to his marriage. To be someone Aaron could push his love onto until he found somewhere more stable to put it. A more permanent home for it all. 

She nods and clears her throat, pushing her love for him back into the box it belonged in, the lid never quite fitting properly, allowing parts of it to always flow free. 

“Well,” she says, smiling at him, “I hope you brought clothes that make you look more like a social worker and less like a fed.” 

He frowns and looks up and down and his usual outfit of a suit and tie “What’s wrong with-”

“Next please.” 

Emily turns as Aaron is cut off by the woman at the desk behind her and she smiles and nods, stepping forward before she looks back at Aaron, “I’m about to upgrade my ticket,” she says, nodding towards the desk, “I can pay for yours too-”

“Em, no, it’s okay,” he says, already shaking his head, achingly familiar with her generosity, “I’ll be fine.”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Aaron, just let me do this,” she says, beckoning him up to the desk with her, “Knowing you’re stuck in economy will really ruin the taste of my champagne.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head at her, and he considers arguing with her, but she simply raises her eyebrows at him. It was a conversation they’d had more than once, her willingness to spend money, to do so without thinking, something he was still uncomfortable with. But he knows he can’t say no to her, that this was how she showed she cared, and he selfishly wanted to experience every moment of it she offered him. Letting it allow him to believe for even a second that she felt half of what he felt for her. 

Her beauty had always been undeniable, even as she stood here just a couple of paces at him, a look on her face he’s sure she’d give a child if they were misbehaving. He now thinks it’s one of the reasons he’d been so resistant to her being on the team at first. That his attraction to her, even when he was still married to Haley, was somehow her fault, a reaction he knows was nothing short of unfair. 

He knows he shouldn’t have been surprised that her beauty was more than skin deep. That it shone from inside of her too, her empathy and kindness second nature, something she did without thinking or trying. She helped him find somewhere to live after his marriage ended, let him stay at hers that first night when the idea of going back to his empty home with divorce papers in his briefcase was too much to bear. She’d gone furniture shopping with him, her distaste for his taste clear as she gently made fun of him, insisting that he clearly needed her. 

He realised he was in love with her the moment he heard an officer was down in New York when Detective Cooper was shot. For a terrifying few moments, he’d thought it was her. Well aware that she’d always put herself between danger and someone else, a tendency to self-sacrifice that rivaled his, and the fear, immediately chased by the relief made him realise what had been in front of him for longer than he cared to admit. He loved her. More than he thought possible. 

There were moments when he wanted to ask her out, to make one of their regular dinners an actual date, but he always held himself back. Sure that she deserved better, that she didn’t need the complications of being with a divorced father. So he stopped himself every time, convincing himself that he could be happy just being her friend. 

“Come on,” she insists, exchanging a wry smile with the desk agent who was watching them with interest, “You know it’s a drop in the bucket for me.” 

His eyes meet hers and she smiles at him, a smile that could convince him of anything, and he nods, “Okay, fine,” he relents, pushing down the rising discomfort at letting her pay for this, “But I’m buying dinner when we get to Colorado.” 

She rolls her eyes at him but nods, “Fine, you can buy dinner at whatever wonderful establishment the tiny town we’re going to has to offer.” 

His response is a smile before he passes over his passport and boarding pass to the woman in front of them, and it makes her stomach flip. Forcing her to bite the inside of her cheek in an attempt to stop her smile from spreading.

It’s a moment she looks back on in the coming days, a flash of hope and happiness that keeps her going when everything goes wrong. 

___

It all goes downhill very quickly. 

The death of the woman who worked for Child Services, her name escaping Emily in amongst the worry about everything else, set everyone on edge. Emily stands in the corner of the chapel, well aware of Aaron standing near her, the smell of his cologne, of him sneaking out from underneath, offering her more comfort than it should. 

“They’ll be on their way by now,” he says quietly, and she turns to look at him, her eyebrows furrowing, “The team. They’ll be on their way.” 

She nods and looks back at what’s happening in front of them, carefully analysing everything that was being said, the power that Cyrus had over everyone unsettling in a way she hadn’t experienced before. 

“I bet you wish Reid had been able to come,” she says quietly, grateful for this moment that almost felt normal amongst everything. A few moments alone with her best friend, the man she loves, enough to ease her rise anxiety a little. The fact they were powerless, stuck in here with no way of escaping, feeling a little easier to swallow because he was the person she was stuck here with. She looks at him and shrugs slightly, “That way you wouldn’t be stuck in here.” 

Aaron frowns at the thought of it. It’s enough to make him tense, every muscle in his body tightening for a moment as he considers what she’s said, thinking of how he’d feel if he was stuck outside, watching the compound from a distance, knowing his options to help were limited. Here he could see her, could reach out and place his hand on her arm if he wanted, provide comfort to the both of them as things continued to escalate. 

He knows he couldn’t do it. That he couldn’t stand out there and wait for the hostage negotiators to work it out, or for the inevitable stand down with a man who was clearly on the edge. That the idea of a minimal loss situation, when she could be part of that loss, was unthinkable. 

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere other than here with you,” he says, the serious tone to his voice enough to make her turn to look at him, her eyebrows furrowed. He sighs and reaches out, briefly squeezing her shoulder before he can stop himself, dropping his hand before someone can see them, “I would have had them tear this place apart to save you.” 

She smiles at him, because she knows even though he means it right now, it isn’t true. He wouldn’t risk everyone like that, he’d do what he had to do. Because he is a good man, an honourable one, and that was part of why she was in love with him. 

Any response she may have had is cut off as Cyrus announces to his followers that he’s poisoned them all. His speech sanctimonious as he eventually reveals he has done no such thing. It makes Emily and Aaron look at each other, fear they are trying to hide from the other, but failing, reflecting in both of their eyes. 

“This is…” she fades off, her eyes flicking to Cyrus, not missing how he was watching them, his face stern as their eyes meet. She looks back at Aaron, “I don’t think this is going to end well.” 

Aaron nods, his agreement nonverbal as Cyrus approaches them. Aaron clenches his teeth as he watches how the other man looks Emily up and down, leering at her in a way that makes him want to hit him, his protective instincts thrumming under his skin. 

“You two are looking mighty cosy back here,” he says, looking between them, “You guys worked together long at CPS?”

Emily smiles at him, “I’ve only been there a couple of years,” she replies, drawing on reality and adapting it, something she’d done during her time with Ian. The lies easier to remember if they were born out of truth. She nods towards Aaron, “He’s been there a lot longer.” 

Cyrus looks back and forth between them, a smile that turns Emily’s stomach spreading over his face, “I’ve got to say,” he says, stepping towards Aaron, his hand firm on his shoulder as he goes to move past him, “You really don’t look like any social worker I’ve ever seen.” 

He squeezes Aaron’s shoulder before he leaves the chapel, sleaze and narcissism following him like a bad cologne. 

Emily blows out a steady breath, concerns that their tentative cover could be blown increasing by the second. Her worry for Aaron, her jokes the night before that he looked nothing like a social worker as they ate apple pie at a local diner reverberating around her head. Turning from a gentle way to make fun of him to something that might genuinely put him in danger, stealing the breath from her lungs. 

“I hope the others get us out of here soon,” she says, her lips pressing into a firm line when she looks up at him, “He’s already escalating with this test with the wine.”

“Everything will be fine,” he replies, and she almost allows herself to believe him. To be drawn in by the comfort he always seemed to exude, drawing her in like a moth to the flame, something she’s so sure would one day burn them both. 

She isn’t sure how much time has passed, what day it is anymore, when they are dragged unceremoniously from the seats they’d taken, huddled together in the back row of the chapel. She’s pulled up by her arm, something that makes her yell out before she can stop it, her muscles protesting the sharp movement. 

“Leave her alone,” Aaron seethes as he’s pulled up himself, one of Cyrus’s lackeys on either side of him, holding him in place. 

“The boss wants to see you both,” the man holding Emily up says, his breath fowl as he leans in closer. She makes a point of not reacting, of not giving him the satisfaction. Her eyes briefly meet Aaron’s and she nods, silently letting him know that she is okay. 

Aaron clenches his jaw, tight as he’s forced down a hallway, focusing on the footsteps behind him, of Emily’s heeled boots hitting the floor, a rhythm that brings him comfort. Assures him that she’s okay because she’s with him and he won’t let anything happen to her. 

Their eyes meet as they are forced into seats opposite each other in a small hallway, the space between them so small their knees almost touch. 

“Which one of you is it?” 

They look at Cyrus, and she feels her heart drop into her stomach. The fury on his face, the tone of his voice, led her to only one conclusion. 

He knew. 

Her eyes flick to the supplies the team would have sent in behind him, the supplies she knows will be bugged, and she looks back at him, well aware whatever happened next the others would be able to hear. 

“What do you mean?” She asks, purposely playing dumb, desperately trying to gain some time to figure out what to do, the bad outcome she’d been fearing since they stepped onto the compound feeling inevitable. 

Cyrus chuckles bitterly and steps words them, leaning down so he is at their level whilst they are sitting, “Which one of you is the FBI agent?” 

Emily can feel Aaron’s gaze burning into the side of her face but she doesn’t turn to look at him, knowing it won’t help them. That any hint that they were both lying could be deadly. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aaron says, his voice measured as he looks at Cyrus, his eyes stern as he stares him down, “We both work for CPS.” 

Cyrus smiles again, shaking his head before he stands back up straight, pacing as he shakes his head. He turns back to look at them as he pulls the gun from his holster, pointing it straight at Emily’s head. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t do anything other than stare straight ahead, but she hears the sharp intake of breath from Aaron. The exhaustion from the last day or so, the lack of sleep and food and water enough to make his usually unbreakable exterior crack. 

Cyrus chuckles, “Oh, she’s fearless isn’t she,” he says, pressing the gun into her skin, pushing the bangs out of the way with the barrel of it so he can see it, see the pressure it applies to her temple, “So sure of herself.” He keeps the gun in place and leans in, his face so close to hers she can feel his breath, can see the plaque  on his teeth, “If only you were a few decades younger,” he says, smirking at her, “You’d be perfect.” 

He stands up straight and points the gun at Aaron instead, smiling at him as their eyes meet, “Maybe it’s you,” he says, casting a glance back at Emily as she makes sure she doesn’t react, despite every part of her screaming as she sees a gun pointed at Aaron’s chest, “As I said, I ain’t ever seen a social worker who looks like you.” 

She knows they are running out of time, that Cyrus isn’t the type to be above just starting to shoot, and she blows out a steady breath as she looks at Aaron, his eyes locked with the other man’s, both of them unwavering. She can’t help but think about how much she loves him, how she knows she’s strong, that she’s seen and done more than anyone else knew, but she wouldn’t be able to handle seeing him killed in front of her. Wouldn’t be able to deal with the guilt of costing a young boy his father because she hadn’t said anything. 

She just hopes, if they make it out, Aaron forgives her for it. 

She opens her mouth to say it’s her, but Aaron beats her to it. The words out of his mouth before she can say them, as if he'd stolen them from her lungs, just as he had with her breath in the hotel before they came here. Making her laugh so hard she’d almost forced her wine out of her nose. A moment that felt so long ago now she could barely hang onto it.

"It's me."

He flashes his gaze to hers as he silently tells her to be quiet, his attempt to protect her clear. It's an all too brief meeting of their eyes before he's pulled upwards by Cyrus, not using the strength she knows he has against a man they both know he could take.

Her stomach twists, the bitter taste of guilt and agony climbing up her throat at the realisation he was doing this to protect her. 

She watches as Aaron is thrown to the ground, held in place by the man standing behind her, his grip on her shoulder so tight it would hurt if she could feel anything. Cyrus kicks Aaron several times in the gut, drawing out groans that Emily is sure she’ll never stop hearing. 

“You had enough, cop?” Cyrus says, kicking him in the head before he spits on him, making Emily’s body tense, anger running through her veins, 

“I can take it,” Aaron grits out, spitting as he rolls, his palms on the floor as blood drips from his mouth. For a moment, Emily thinks he’s lost his mind, that he’s antagonising Cyrus, and she shakes her head, “I can take it.”

She looks past him to the boxes of supplies and it dawns on her, she was talking to the others, not to Cyrus. Letting them know not to come in, not to risk everyone on the compound, and for a moment she hates him for the honour that made her love him. Terrified that it would get him killed. 

Cyrus’s mocking  smile falls from his face and he kicks Aaron again, forcing him onto his back, his boot pressing firmly into his chest, putting pressure on already damaged ribs, “You can take it, can you?” He asks, putting more pressure on Aaron’s chest, making him yell out, the pain stealing his breath. “Maybe you can take this too.” 

He pulls his gun back out of his holster and aims at Aaron’s left arm, pulling the trigger without a second thought. 

This time, Emily can’t control her reaction. It makes her yell out, gaining Cyrus’s attention, seemingly reminding him she was in the room. He looks past her to the men behind her. 

“Get her out of here.” 

She’s pulled to her feet and tugged backwards, her eyes meeting Aaron’s as he looks up at her, his face already bruised and swollen from Cyrus’s attack. 

They lose eye contact as she disappears around the corner, and the last thing she hears is another thud, another kick aimed at the man she loves.

___

When Aaron wakes up, the first thing he notices is the pain. 

He isn’t even sure when he fell asleep, doesn’t remember passing out, or anything much past when Cyrus shot him. He groans, opening his eyes and blinking them against the dim light of the room. He looks around a little, unable to do more than simply turn his head, even though somehow hurting his chest. He was in a bedroom, lying on a mattress that he was sure he’d consider uncomfortable in normal circumstances. 

“You’re awake.”

He turns his head a little sharper to his right, groaning when the movement rocks his whole body against the lumpy mattress, and his eyes meet Emily’s. Something he knows is relief washing over her face as she stands from the seat next to him and sits on the bed, the sight of her hand wrapped around his the moment he realises she’s holding it. 

“Em,” he says, swallowing thickly as he rests his head back down, “What…what happened?”

“I convinced him to put us in the same room,” she says, squeezing his hand, something he actually feels this time, “I’m not sure if he believes I’m a social worker,” she says, laughing humourlessly, the sound making her chest ache as it escapes, “But I think he’s more distracted by the fact that this can’t go on forever than worrying about us anymore,” she swallows thickly as she looks at his face. One of his eyes is almost swollen shut now, and his lip is split. The sight of it makes her ache, her heart cracking in her chest because she knows it’s her fault. 

That he had been trying to protect her. 

He tries to sit up but can’t, the pain burning in his abdomen, the familiar feeling of cracked ribs stealing his breath, “Em, can…can you help me sit up?”

She nods, already standing up to provide support as he sits up, her hands on his back taking most of his weight as they work together to have him sitting against the headboard. The new position eases some of the pressure on his ribs, and he looks at his left arm. His eyes land on a strip of blue fabric over his arm, blood staining the fabric, just beneath the tie he’d insisted on wearing, and he looks back at her. The bottom of her shirt was ripped, a strip of it missing at its hem, revealing some of her pale skin. 

She looks down at herself and tugs at the ruined shirt, a vain attempt to cover her exposed skin, she sits next to him on the bed, closer than she usually would, desperate for any comfort she can soak in from him, their situation and how dire it was settling in now she could no longer concentrate on waiting for him to wake up. 

“I never thought I’d say it,” she says, looking at his arm, her eyes fixed on the makeshift tourniquet and bandage she’d put on it, “But I’m glad you insisted on wearing the tie.” She looks at him, her breath catching in her throat as their eyes meet, “The bullet was a through and through, I heard it hit the floor,”  she explains, “We just need to get it stitched up when we get you to a hospital. You have cracked ribs,” she says unnecessarily, worried what what happen if she stopped talking, concerned that if she wasn’t talking about this her anger that he’d done this for her would win out, “And your face is pretty messed up,” she smiles sadly when he chuckles at the way shes said it, his right hand flying to his ribs when it hurts, “But you seem okay apart from that. I’ll feel better when you’re seen by a doctor though,” her smile slips from her face, “You…you were unconscious for a long time.” 

He watches her carefully as she looks down at the bedspread beneath them, the movement making her hair move. The usually soft and shiny locks stuck together with sweat from the last couple of days of not being washed. He spots a bruise on her temple as her bangs shift and he frowns, reaching out for her without thinking, ignoring the painful pull in his ribs as he pushes her hair out of the way to get a better look at it. 

Her eyes snap to his as soon as his skin touches hers, his skin warm and soothing as he gently runs his thumbs over the bruise left behind by Cyrus when he presses the gun against her skin. 

“Em-”

“I’m fine,” she says, reaching up to capture his hand, linking their fingers together to drop their hands to the bed, not missing the relief on his face as the pressure is removed from his chest, “It’s just a bruise.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing, his hand tight around hers, showing strength neither of them was sure he was capable of right now. She smiles and shifts closer to him, their thighs touching, something that brings them both more comfort than they would ever admit to.

“Aaron,” she says, her hand squeezing his, “You had the shit kicked out of you, you were shot…” She drifts off, shaking her head as she chokes on a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “I’ve got one tiny bruise, I’ll be fine. I am fine.” 

She clenches her teeth, her jaw tight as she looks at him, everything she’d been pushing down for months mixing in with what they’d been through breaking free. Any reason she had for not talking to him about this before, about keeping an emotional distance, long gone. Because in the time she was separated from him, when she knew Cyrus could have been killing him and she wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. Aaron’s sacrifice for her, the way he’d given himself up without second thought in an attempt to protect her, removed any previous fear she had that her feelings were one way. That he was mistaken in how he felt about her, so clouded by affection and love for the wife he had lost that he was pushing the feelings onto her. 

He loved her. He’d almost gotten himself killed for her, and she felt like she should be the brave one this time. 

“Why did you sacrifice yourself like that?” She asks, even though she’s sure she knows the answer, the way he’s looking at her, touching her, the only confirmation she needs. 

“You ask that like you weren’t a few seconds behind me,” he says, smiling softly at her, “I saw it on your face. You were going to let him hurt you to protect me.” 

She can’t deny it, instead, she looks down at their joint hands, his blood dried under her fingernails, a stain she’s sure she’ll always see, “Aaron…”

“You know why, Em,” he says, his words soft as she slowly looks back up at him, her wide eyes meeting his, “You know why.” 

She closes her eyes and blows out a steady breath, shaking her head as she laughs wryly, “I’ve been convincing myself for months that you didn’t feel the same way,” she says, opening her eyes, hoping he will ignore how they shine, “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

He smiles, a lopsided thing because of his swollen face, but it eases something in her gut, “The same reason you didn’t,” he says, wishing he could pull her into his embrace, that he could hug  her as tightly as he’d wanted to for longer than he’d care to admit, “I was worried you didn’t feel the same way,” he shakes his head at himself, “I’m still not sure why you do.”  

He’d spotted it, the final puzzle pieces about how she felt about him slipping into place, the moment he sacrificed himself to Cyrus. A look in her eyes he’d never seen before, love and affection and anger slipping past her well-built defences for the first time since they’d met. 

She sighs, shifting closer, their faces close enough now she could lean in and kiss him, “Aaron-”

“All I’m saying sweetheart,” he says, the nickname slipping free without him meaning it to, the use of it making her heart swell, “Is you are way out of my league.” 

She shakes her head at him, “You’re ridiculous,” she says, locking away the information for when they were out of here, reminding herself to tell him all of the reasons he was wrong, to tell him he was perfect for her again and again until he believed her. She looks at him, lost in the colours of his eyes that she’d never seen so close before. Flecks of gold she knows she’ll count one day soon, something about him that she would know and no one else would, “I love you.”

He smiles, relief easing some of the pain in his chest as it washes over him, the words he’d never expected to hear from someone other than Haley sounding nothing short of magical from the woman sitting close to him.

“I love you too.” He says, and she smiles widely, something he’s sure should feel out of place given their situation but it feels perfect. She leans in to kiss him but he stops her, shifting back to stop her lips from touching his, “Not here, not like this.” 

She frowns at first, irritation forcing her to pull back a little, but it is gone as soon as it is lit in her belly. The fire of her anger put out by the way he was looking at her, the romantic fool she knew that lingered under his hard exterior shining through. As absurd as it feels, she knows she’s right. 

She never wants to remember their first kiss being in this place. 

She nods and presses her forehead into his, her eyes closed as she breathes him in, “You’d better not die on me then. Otherwise, I’m going to be really pissed.” 

He chuckles as she pulls back, his hand tight around hers, the warmth of his skin a much-needed reminder that they were both still here, that they were alive. “Deal.”

___

They get separated in the explosion, and for an agonising couple of minutes, she thinks she’s lost him after all. It’s only when she sees him limping out afterwards, his good hand pressing into his damaged ribs as he makes his way to her side, that she feels anything close to relief. 

It was over. 

She cries when he hugs her, his good arm around her back as he pulls her close, with no real strength behind the action. Tears she’d suppressed for what felt like forever burning down her cheeks. When she pulls back to look at him, she sees tears on his face too, the relief they felt for getting through this ordeal palpable. 

If the team thinks the hug is odd they don’t say anything. And they also don’t say anything when she insists on getting in the same ambulance as him, refusing to let him out of her sight for even a moment until she’s forced into another room at the hospital. The team meet her there, her go-bag over JJ’s shoulder. She hugs her friend gratefully before she goes to the accessible bathroom, washing quickly with water and hand soap before throwing her hair up and changing into fresh clothes, abandoning her ruined shirt in the trashcan in the corner. A token of these last few days she didn’t need to keep.

The next time she sees Aaron is a few hours later. She’d sent the team to the hotel, and all of them trying and failing individually to get her to go with them, and she feels nothing short of glad to be alone. To have some time to think about the last few days, everything she’d seen and experienced. The feelings for the man she loved that she’d finally given in to, her white flag of surrender stained with his blood remorse that it took almost losing him to get him. 

She’s led into his room by a nurse who quickly leaves them alone, and she smiles as their eyes meet. He still looks awful, his face black and blue and somehow more swollen than when she’d last seen him. There’s a bandage on his arm now, stark white and clean, and he has a couple of IVs, one of which she’s sure will be antibiotics to stave off any infections he may be at risk of. 

She smiles as she sits on the edge of his bed and is grateful when he reaches out for her immediately, their hands linking together like it was something they’d always done. “Hi,” she says, feeling strangely embarrassed by the simplicity of her greeting, “How are you feeling?” 

He smiles, “As okay as a man with five cracked ribs, and a new hole in his arm can be.” 

She huffs out a laugh and shakes her head at him, “Aaron.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, lifting their hands to his lips, pushing back a groan at the pain that licks up his chest at the movement, before he kisses her knuckles, “I’ll be okay, I promise.” 

She nods, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she tries to figure out what to do next, what to say, and she clears her throat, “I…never said thank you,” she says, her smile shaking as their eyes meet, “For saving me from him hurting me.” 

He nods, squeezing her hand and pulling her closer, grateful when she shifts towards him, her presence more of a balm to him than any of the medication the doctors had tried to make him take. He’d refused them all for now, wanting to make sure he was clear-headed for this, for her, so that there was never any part of her that would doubt this was what he truly wanted. 

He shrugs like it was nothing, like he couldn’t have died for her. Like he wouldn’t have if that’s what it came to. 

“It’s what you do, for the person you love,” he says, and she smiles widely, her cheeks aching with it. She knows they have a lot to talk about, that their confession in the room they’d been locked in was merely the start of it all, but she knows whatever comes next, at least she’ll have him by her side. 

“I guess it is,” she replies, her eyes drifting to his lips before flashing back up to his. He nods gently and she leans in to press her lips against his. 

They lose themselves in each other, surrendering to the love they held between them, and in that moment nothing else in the world matters. 

-x-

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[brandwhorestarscream]

Ideas for AUs quality not tested:

Batman(guano-man edition aka DC comics recent cannon) gets Adopted by IDW Prowl!AU Suspicious Bastard off 12d chess

Faeformer!AU -The bots meet Fae? The bots are the fae? There are fae species of cybetronians?

G1: The Musical!AU Aka why are we singing and how do we stop?!

TFA Bots discover all the Matrices!AU

Missfire is Starscream's longlost heir!AU

TFP Megatron discovers High Magik instead of Dark Energon!AU

Optimus' TFP resurection instead was him getin possessed by Prima.

Gladator Orion Pax Rizzes Aprentice archivist Megatronus

Ok I can't possibly expand on all of these so lemme just grab my favorites!

1. When you say TFA bots discovering multiple matrices, what exactly did you have in mind?

2. Role reversal megop YES

But most importantly: holy shit I love the idea of Prima possessing Optimus! The gods have been watching in silence for millions near billions of years, and they are completely fed up with their mortals creations' bs. When Prima sees his brother on the verge of death with the tainted Matrix, he finally decides that enough is enough.

When "Optimus" returns, he's very clearly not himself. Where he was gentle, reserved, and emotionless, Prima is incredibly strict, haughty, and full of righteous, thunderous anger. The God of Order and Divine Judgement has every intention to clean up the mortals mess, and he'll be as heavy handed as he pleases. He cares for cybertronians as a species, not so much as individuals. Each of the individuals on earth are deeply flawed and rife with putrid sin, and he'll cleanse and correct every single one of them without mercy

Tbh this has been playing on repeat in my mind ever since I first read it. I can already hear his judgements and punishments for a few of them! But we'll first go with Megatron, because now that Optimus has been dealt with, he's at the top of the list.

He beholds Megatron with intense disdain and disappointment: "You've fallen so far from grace, you've forgotten everything you originally fought for! Where is the freedom you promised? Where is the fairness, where is the justice? You dared to seek solace in Unicron, and for that you shall lose all that you've worked for!"

The punishment he gives Megatron is rather sinister: he peels away all of his progress, takes away everything that makes him who he is today. He erases all of his gladiator experience, turns back time on his body and reinstates the way he was when he was still just Disposable #16. He warps and winds back his personality, putting him back into the mindset of that softspoken, hopeful little poet who used to dream of a free utopia, while still leaving him all of his memories of all the atrocities he's committed, how many lives he's snuffed and how many worlds have burned over the course of the fighting. He is once again D-16 in mind, body, and soul, but now haunted by all the horrific things he did and witnessed as Lord Megatron. His suffering will be his penance 😌

I really really really love this AU so please for the love of god let this pick up!!

[autumn-foxfire]

Time to watch my second DC movie!

Why doesn't Shinichi like Eri? Huh? I know he kind of said it as jest but it's a bit weird.

Shinichi must feel so awkward about Ayumi's crush on him XD Poor guy, the life of a little kid can be cringe, I can remember all the very awkward curshes I had on poor boys when I was that age too, well I guess crushes would be an overstatement as I doubt it was really a real crush.

Sonoko: "I don't like women!"

Ran, takes immediate notice of the pretty woman (I know what you are, Ran).

It's very sad that Sonoko says without Ran, Kogoro would be lost, and she's very right. The parentification of Ran is such a sad thing and even worse is that it will never actually be treated as such...

And again, a pretty woman shows her face and in front of the wife he supposedly has feelings for, he can't resist trying to approach them.

Shinichi, the messy eater... And you know the only reason he is was so he could be "entraced" by Ran's lips due to a dumb fortune he heard earlier <.<

Even in movies Kogoro is such a gross man and Eri should just really divorce his ass already. He was sharing such a nice moment with his former wife too and he had to go ruin it by fawning over a women who probably only ever showed interest towards him because it was her job...

I do not believe that Shinichi wouldn't know Megure's name.

Poor Agasa, attacked in the butt. And not in the fun way.

Shinichi: I won't let you escape!

Also Shinichi: Stops chasing the criminal in order to catch an old lady he knocked over because he's a good boy like that.

Agase's pajamas are cute!

Ran: Would you shoot me? (Please tell me you wouldn't)

Shinichi: I dunno.

Sorry, I know it's supposed to make Ran look deeper into the incident but it's so goddamn funny too. Yeah girl, I know this upsets you but I might just shoot you one day too! And then he does.

Shinichi: We won't crash

Thought 3 second before they crash.

What a gaudy building.

That is a teenage girl you are saying this too <.< The older men in DCMK just can't resist being creepy toward teenage grls.

Shinichi, you are, in every definition, a brat. Embrace it.

Yes, you are all being hunted for sport, let's pretend to be suffering from a poisoning. People are dicks.

Ran, 17 degrees isn't chilly T-T That's a nice temperature, maybe not for wine, but it is for me.

Shinichi goes to rescue someone and then needs to be rescued. He wanted to be the damsel in distress for once.

That took Kogoro a very long time to realise his daughter had not surfaced yet.

Ran is lethargic because she inhaled a lot of water, but Shinichi is not even though he just did the same thing. Guess they need the excuse as to why she gets kidnapped later.

I feel bad for Joe, he just wanted to make amends with someone and was murdered for it.

You know what, I agree, blow up this gaudy building.

When you realise Ran actually didn't have to be here at all because she never would have been targeted but was to give Shinichi someone to save as she's only ever used for that in the movies... She deserves so much better...

"Haha, he insulted her cooking so she moved out," No he insulted the effort she went through to thank him, even if it tasted bad, fucking eat it it. Kogoro is horrible even in gags...

[pandoraimperatrix]

Wandering Word's Meta (Part I)

Since I'm getting to the end of this story, I've decided to share with you a little meta that may or not be included in the main story.

Reminder that everything I'll write here only applies to My Fanfiction. Please for the love of GOD do not use this as some claim I'm making over the DC or the HBO Max's show canon.

Parallel Universes:

I take mostly what I understand as parallel universes from Doctor Who and Tsubasa Resevoir Chronicles/xXxHolic lmao. And from the DC canon Pre-Infinite Crisis. I don't think multiple Earths per se, but multiple timelines and diversions made by choices that change the path a timeline should or not take.

So, what made Dick1's timeline (from the show till just about the beguining of the 3rd season) so different form Parallel!Dick (our protagonist)? I honestly don't know. But there are two major diversions, though:

1- At the end of the troubles with Trigon, Parallel!Kory doesn't leave instantly. She stays for the ride and, even though she planned to leave, go back to Tamaran and her duties, she stays because she is in love with Dick, her freedom and her children.

2- When Parallel!Jason dies, no one brings him back and Parallel!Bruce goes mad, he kills the entire rogue galllery even the woman he loves, Selina, because she tried to defend her friends. P!Dick goes after him to make him stop, but P!Kory would never let the man she loves hurt his own father, so she goes instead, but since her powers were messed up because of her conflicting feelings, P!Bruce kills her easily. P!Rachel releases Trigon out of grief and their entire timeline start collapsing, because P!Rachel's powers are an Anchor keeping the fabric of reality weaved together.

I understand Trigon as an anomaly, it's always the same Trigon through all the parallel realities, in his prision he lives out of time and space always trying to break through.

Gar and CADMUS

One of the things that frustrates me about how I wrote this story it is the POV system... I have never written like that before and drives me a little bit crazy, but it was something that made sense when I started writing. We have P!Dick's POV and Kory's POV, all we learn about the other character's lives are through them.

The things we miss:

1- How the abuse and violation Gar suffered through his entire life, reaching the worst point by his kidnapping by CADMUS broke our boy. If the Chief put him in a internal prision (reason why he couldn't change into different animals), CADMUS violated him by pushing him out of that cage and into the wild, it is a different sort of control, but just as violent. In the Doom Manor he was never nutured as a child should, but he was protected and loved (by Cliff, Rita and Larry within their own capabilities), it was a house of monsters and he was the only one that wasn't monstruous, the one had never hurt anybody, that could look in the mirror and not feel ashamed. CADMUS broke that.

2- After Dick dies, Gar, who was holding himself by the skin of this teeth, goes down in a spiral as starts lashing out, hurting the people that remainded in his life with rashness, because, deep down, he thinks they will also leave and for his own protection he tries to reject them first.

3- He starts befriending the people hurt by this actions because of CADMUS, even if they don't remember him or what he did. Gar believes that it's own him to try to balance the awful things he did with acts of kindness or at least to reconnect to his own humanity by making the effort of humanizing the people that he hurt, because never again he wants to look at another scentient being as a piece of meat. But it isn't easy, there is a lot of guilt, a lot of fighting the conditioning.

Rachel's Powers and Importance

Same problem with Gar. Rachel at least gets a little more from the main narrative because she's not only a character, but also the Plot Device juggling this whole story together lmao

1- Unlike Trigon, Rachel is not an Universal Constant, that means that it can have other Rachels through parallel realities, but most of them are not Trigon's dauthers. Some of them are pretty regular girls without magical troubles. They are all still lesbians and gothics who catfish men online to afford Demonia Boots (THEY ARE EXPENSIVE) and Hot Topic clothes.

2- There was only One Rachel that supposed to the Portal. But something made the universes diverge and they became two, but this dissociation should have never happened, and instead of equal in power, P!Rachel got the small stick, and that's why Trigon consumed her, BUT because she wasn't the Perfect Portal, he was not able to break through completely.

3- When our Rachel ripped the walls between universes to snatch P!Dick since her own model had got himself killed, the other universe collapsed. It doesn't exist anymore, and now only one Rachel in the the entire multiverse has powers, all of them, and Trigon is locked in the prision she created for him.

4- So, what powers does Rachel have? She is a reality manipulator, she has access to the laws of the time and space and she can bend and twist them IF she her soul is strong enough for her to take the toil of doing such things.

I'll write Part II (mostly about Tamaran) whenever...

You can go on my ask box and make your own questions and theories, I'll love to read and chat about them!!

[miracle-sham]

I posted 46 times in 2022

15 posts created (33%)

31 posts reblogged (67%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ramos123

@maribat-calendar-events

@ao3feed-maribat

@miracle-sham

@ghostdoodlen

I tagged 34 of my posts in 2022

Only 26% of my posts had no tags

#issa's stolen a - 16 posts

#maribat - 15 posts

#sham's posts - 15 posts

#mgi mixer - 13 posts

#maribat mixer 2022 - 13 posts

#mgimixer - 13 posts

#maribat mixer - 13 posts

#maribat? get in! - 12 posts

#mlb x dc - 10 posts

#ml x dc - 10 posts

Longest Tag: 124 characters

#also totally didn't have this one sitting in the drafts for month and forget to post it until now either nope definitely not

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Of a Sinking Severed Heart—Bleeding 'Til the End.

| {MGI Team Mixer Event Alphabet Soup Drabble — Letter P} |

| {Blue, Sapphire, I Want To Go Home To My Wife, Soulmates} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Link] |

———

| Dragons with soulmates were always said to have hearts made of the purest gemstones. Inevitably this led to them being hunted or captured for the wealth they could grant upon their death. |

| But sometimes, the reason for capturing one is far worse. |

———

| Word Count: 1,029. |

| Warnings/Tags: Major Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced non consensual drug use, blood and injury, angst, hurt/no comfort, grief/mourning, non-graphic non-consensual body modification/amputation, dragon Tim Drake, dragon Marinette, and soulmates. |

———

| A/N: Here's the last fic of the event, finally cross-posted to Tumblr! |

| Please make sure to read those tags carefully before reading! But if you're able to handle that sort of content then I hope you enjoy! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. |

———

 This couldn't be it, this couldn't be the end. Not here, not now, not for her.

 Tim was helpless to do anything but watch from beyond the sickly green wrought iron cage—poisoned spikes on both the inside and outside of the bars to prevent any attempts at escape.

 Not that it stopped him, mind you. But all that brought him was mocking laughter, a cursed amulet preventing him from shifting back to his human form, clipped wings, horns cut, snout muzzled, sapphire scales torn and patchy—making it hurt to move, talons declawed—phalanges removed so they wouldn't ever grow back, and a cocktail of drugs fogging his mind and torpefying his body, all to keep him from being able to break out on his own.

 Marinette was his precious loving soulmate, she's a part of his hoard as much as he is of hers. Their hearts beat in sync. He could feel the distant frenetic desperate pulse of her heart tethered to him, completely in time to his equally pounding heart despite the distance between them. He could also feel the stinging scratches and scrapes on her hands and knees on his own, the deep ache in her muscles and bones in his, the flaring stabs across her torso and shoulders with every movement she makes in his as well, just as if those were his injuries instead of hers alone.

 She could probably feel the numb agony of the undoubtedly permanent damage done to him in this cage. How she was still able to keep going, keep fighting, with the pain slowly killing him—them—, was beyond him.

 That was how their soulbond worked, an eye for an eye, a heart for a heart, a soul for a soul, pain for pain. Bearing what the other is taking, sharing the burden of their suffering.

 A blessing and a curse, always being able to tell whether your soulmate was hiding injuries or overworking themselves to the detriment of their body. It was… it was probably a relief for her, in the time after his capture—to know the Joker's been keeping him alive.

 Marinette's heartbeat stuttered as the fight drew away from the cage and out of his sight. Heart in his throat, Tim barely holds back a desperate keel. He can't afford to distract her now—

 Electricity, surging through his body. Lancing pain whiting his vision out.

 He could barely hear her screams through the crackling around him. No, no, no, no—please.

 Maniacal laughter rang out clearly above the thundering of their shared heartbeat and the sizzling searing of electrical burns tearing through their bodies.

 And oh, oh…

  Oh no.

 If he thought the electricity was bad enough, then the five pinpricks of pain in the centre of his chest shouldn't have been noticeable.

 But it was. And brutally so. His chest. Ruptured open. Tearing and shredding apart like something was being ripped out. Or well, not his chest. But Marinette's.

See the full post

8 notes - Posted December 6, 2022

#4

For Whom the Bell Tolls as Asphodels Alight.

| {MGI Team Mixer Event Alphabet Soup Drabble — Letter A} |

| {Clouds, Soulmates, Tattoos, He's dead again, Phantoms, I would die for you, Yeah but you won't shut up for me will you, Kisses, Cruel summer} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

| [Original Post Link] |

———

| Soulmates are each born with a tattoo of plant that grows with them until they die. |

| And Marinette is too late to prevent her's from wilting into ash as the city burns down around her. |

| Word Count: 794. |

| Warnings/Tags: Soulmates, Major character death, Fire, Angst, Hurt no comfort, Grief/mourning. |

———

| A/N: Miracle-Sham here, this is my first published piece for the MGI Discord Team Mixer event, and the first part of our team's alphabet soup collab! So I decided to start us off with an angsty bang by setting Gotham on fire. If angst isn't to your taste then check out the other chapters as we've got some wonderful tooth-rotting fluff for other letters! Regardless, I hope you all enjoy reading both this and the rest of our chapters! |

| Also this is a repost as the original post disappeared from the tags half an hour after posting so if this is familiar, that's why :l |

———

 Gotham burns with her people. Glowing golden in the grim morning sun as every window reflects the rising pyres, despite the thick clouds of smoke choking the grieving streets.

 And there is a fragility to the world as the ashes settle, and hope is rekindled yet again. It is not so much a precarious peace in the aftermath of tragedy, as it is the lurking dread that this isn't over yet after all. But it is. And magic cannot undo all the harm and damage that has been wrought—it cannot solve everything—even if Marinette hasn't just been a few agonising moments too late in reaching Jason’s distress beacon. In reaching him.

Keep reading

 Robinson Park, where his beacon guided her, has been hit the hardest, scorched to the bone with not even a single shoot of flora surviving. She can heal that at least, help Poison Ivy regrow old and new plants alike—courtesy of the additional powers the Ladybug Miraculous has granted her. Marinette cannot heal the ashen asphodels wreathed around her wrists, however—no matter how desperately she may try.

 A soulmate tattoo severed at the grasp of death—never to bloom once more; after all, he's dead, again and there are no second chances left, not for him, nor her.

 Marinette has watched that soulmate tattoo grow upon her skin, from a cluster of tiny seeds when she was but a baby, to vibrant shoots with unfurling linear leaves when she entered school for the first time, to the few earliest thin buds after donning the earrings, to the wreath of blossoming star-shaped flowers upon meeting him. And now? It's wilting—dead—like the city around them, and his ashen crumpled corpse cradled desperately in her arms—bleeding coldness into her bones.

 Truly, it is a bitter knowledge to grasp within her hands, that she can wish it so he had survived—or travel back so that she can prevent it from happening in the first place. To watch her soulmate tattoo bloom once more, she'd give anything.

 But a bitter knowledge it is indeed, for no matter the wish, Marinette can never make it, as the cost will always far outweigh the heart-rending temptations.

 The phantom of his last words echoes in her mind as she blinks back clouding tears.

 “I would die for you, y'know.” Jason had said it with such a heartfelt but casual tone, as he leant back against a gargoyle unperturbed with a cheeky grin on his face. Had he known back then? That his words would ring true—that they were the death knell tolling for himself? Or had he seen the death knell toll for her, and took its claim upon himself instead?

 Never before, has she regretted her final words in response to him, more. With a roll of her eyes, she had snorted, grumbling with a playful exasperation. “Yeah but you won't shut up for me, will you?”

 But now the words leave the phantom taste of ash in her mouth.

 And his silent answer to that had been the twinkle of his eyes as he then knelt before her, all chivalrous like, and took her hand in his—cupping it gently as if she were something precious—before peppering the back of her hand with sweet kisses.

 That was the last she had seen of him, before they had split off to deal with the tragedy descending on Gotham.

 And now the city and her people have been left to mourn what has been lost to the cruel summer flames.

 Slowly, like the sleeping of the dead, Marinette stands—with Jason still softly held in her arms. A pall of ash clouds the streets and skies as she begins the long trek back to the roof they had designated as the recall point. Then, once they reach there, they'll need to head back to the Batcave so that Jason can be interred in the family's private mausoleum at the back of the gardens.

See the full post

9 notes - Posted June 8, 2022

#3

Jasonette July 2021 Masterlist.

———

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 1: Hurt No Comfort} |

| Yet So Poison Entwined We Fracture (YSPEWF) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

—

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 2: Protection} |

| Amidst the Howls of Death Your Divinity Gives Me Breath (AtHoDYDGMB) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

—

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 3: Grave} |

| Memento Mori Cries Our Shattered Souls (MMCOSS) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

—

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 5: Fairytale} |

| Stitch Your Ragged Wings and Hope to Soar (SYRWaHtS) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

—

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 2, Day 7: Guns} | (Chapter 1)

| Die Like the Butterfly Shoot With Their Guns (DLtBSWTG) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 2, Day 10: Light} | (Chapter 2)

| In the Atelier's Glow the Pupa Phoebus will Eclose (ItAGtPPwE) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

—

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 3: And They Were Roommates} |

| Crack Your Bones and Say Those Lies (CYBaSTL) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

—

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 4, Day 19: Mistakes} |

See the full post

12 notes - Posted May 12, 2022

#2

A Brush With Death and the Fangs of Regret.

| {MGI Team Mixer Event} |

| {What other secrets did you keep from me?, Phantoms, Clouds, Would you just stop treating me like something you're trying to fix, Crimson, Wanna bet?, Am I safe with you?, and You hit surprisingly hard for the weakest member of your team} |

| Monsterhunting is a dangerous business, Marinette knows this well with how many close calls she's had over the years but perhaps this is the closest call to date. |

| Injured and answerless, she's forced to reckon with the missing pieces and gaps in her memories and hope she makes it out alive with her humanity intact. |

| Though it's starting to look more and more unlikely with every step she takes. |

| Word Count: 4,361. |

| Warnings/Tags: Alternative Universe—Fantasy/No Miraculous, Horror, Dread, Gothic Horror, Survival Horror, Unreliable Narrator, Monster Hunter Marinette, Vampire Jason, Alchemist Jonathon Crane, Memory loss, Blood and injury, Canon typical violence, Implied/referenced Character Death, Major character undeath, Implied/referenced vampire turning, Good Sibling Jason, Hurt Marinette, Hurt Jason, both deserce hugs, Angst, Mild hurt/comfort, Hallucinations, Loss of control, Loss of senses, Loss of trust, Swearing, Mind Mamipulation, Implied/referenced non consensual drug use, Implied/referenced needles, Unethical human experimentation, Near death experiences, Panic attacks/disassociation, ambiguous/open ending, Unreality. |

———

| A/N: Regarding the tags, please make sure to read all of them carefully before reading because even though most of it is all implied/referenced, it is still pretty dark/angsty. Also regarding the panic attack/disassociation those don't technically happen but they're the closest words i could think of to accurately describe what Marinette goes through during this fic and it gets a little heavy at point. If you struggle with unreality this may not be the fic for you because there is some very explicit unreality throughout the fic as a main theme, so if you're unsure please be careful. |

| If you think or know you can handle this kind of content, then I hope you enjoy this au! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. |

———

 Run! Marinette's mind screams. But her throat burns and her body aches like she's just gone toe to toe with an animated grotesque. And maybe she has! It's not like she can actually remember anything from the past three days, just a harrowing black void where her memory is and the knowledge that three days have passed, a fact that's waving red flags in her mind. Not to even mention that the rest of her memories predating the lost ones are blurry at best and incomprehensible at worst right now. After all, missing time and messed-up memories are dangerous symptoms for a monster hunter like herself to be experiencing, especially when disorientated and alone in an unfamiliar place—she knows that for certain at least. 

 Stifling a hiss between her teeth, Marinette dives, rolling into the nearest room and darting to one side of the door frame. Then, by hooking her fingers around it, cautiously shuts the wooden door—reinforced with iron bars and bolts—partially, until it's only barely ajar; as to make as little sound as possible to find her by.

 The manor house's basement is a maze and she's oh so vulnerably lost. She can't afford to stay here—stay still—for long. Holding her breath for a moment, she waits. The seconds pass like the dripping of blood from the deep gash curled across her collarbone and throat. Luckily though, the other new injuries she awoke with—littering her arms, legs, chest, and throat, looking dreadfully like signs of torture—are freshly scabbed over and haven't seemed to have reopened.

 A small mercy.

 Perhaps a little too violently for the stealth she desperately needs, she slams her shoulders back against the stone wall inside the room and lets herself slide to the floor, legs giving way beneath her. The impact will probably bruise nastily, knowing her luck.

 She hasn't got time to clean the wound on her neck, meaning she'll still be easy to track via the scent of her blood but really, it's too late now all things considered, and there's no water or alcohol she could even use to do so in the first place anyway. Scrabbling for a scrap of cloth, she tears the bottom of her tunic and wraps it with practised deftness around her neck to cover the gash in a temporary bandage—better than nothing.

 In, two, three, four. Her shoulders shake as she struggles for every slow breath, desperately willing her heartbeat to steady from its frenetic rhythm.

 Out, two, three, four.

 Footsteps approach.

 Marinette freezes, pulse skyrocketing and breath hitching in terror. No, no, no! He's coming, he's coming, he's coming!

 Who, she doesn't quite know but what she does know, is that instinctual fear for her survival clouding her mind.

 Closer, and closer, floorboards groaning and moaning in warning. Only accentuated by the scraping prowl of hardened leather soles against the wood.

 Bloody fingers scramble at the crossbow resting on her belt, silver bolt at the ready.

 The footsteps reach the threshold of the doorframe, nails squealing in the floorboard beneath the boots. Hinges on the door wailing as whoever lurks behind, slowly begins prising it open like a coffin.

 Quick as a flash, Marinette yanks the crossbow from its belt hook and up at the now-open door. Without hesitating to aim, fires. There's a clunk of the mechanism activating and a twang as it shoots.

 Thunk, as it misses.

 “Shit! Fuck!” An almost familiar voice yelps, sounding strained with a growl between their teeth.

See the full post

13 notes - Posted June 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Fwigid They Fwoze Midst H-Heawt Thawing Woes.

| Apwil Fowols |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

| E-Evewyonye awways thought Wadybug was unbweakabwe. That she w-w-was immunye t-to nyegative feewings, unwike the west of Pawis. That she w-wouwd nyevew fawtew, nyevew faiw, nyevew faww. And so nyo onye couwd have e-expected when twagedy w-wagedy stwikes and Pawis fawws at the hands of hew once bewoved hewo. |

| Nyow who couwd save them aww, f-fwom the icy cwutches of a devastating Akuma? |

| And wouwd anyonye e-even t-twy to save the o-once bewoved hewo, o-ovew the countwess suffewing civiwians? |

———

| Word Count: 4,970. |

| Warnings/Tags: Akumanette/akumatized Marinette, Implied/referenced character death motif, Temporary character death, Not really character death, Grief/Mourning motif, Blood and Injury, Canon-typical violence, Minor violence, Snow/ice powers and theme, Frozen apocalypse/icy wasteland, Lovers to enemies, Hurt no comfort, Angst, OwO/UwU speak/translated. |

———

| A/N: So I wasn't actually going to post anything today until this morning before college, I remembered a conversation with Saf nearly a year ago about wanting to post a fic in complete UwU speak on April Fools and not having written anything in time. So here's half a fic in UwU speak because the full fic (which is hurt/comfort and Angst with a happy ending as opposed to no comfort) because I could not bring myself to translate over 10k into OwO speak whilst in class. 5k is my limit, plus again the last bit of the fic is unfinished. Anyway the entire time I spent translating this i kept thinking "I'm so sorry to whoever actually reads this in it's entirety". |

| The full fic, when completed, will not be in UwU speak and will be posted as a separate fic btw. So uh yeah, enjoy reading this and suffering I guess! And Happy Apwil Fowols :3 |

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Was it awways doomed fwom t-the stawt? Mawinyette wondewed howwowwy wowwowwy, eyes fwickewing fwom fwozen wuin to fwozen wuin. Bawewy Wawewy visibwe fwom within the seething fwuwwy wuwwy of snyowfwakes.

B-Bweak.

Bwinding.

An unyending expanse o-of gwistenying and swiwwing snyow and ice. Awmost too bwight and too obscuwing to see anything ewse. Even despite t-the d-duwwnyess of nyight.

A white-out iwwuminyated by the snyowgwow.

N-Nyow, the onwy company w-wompany she couwd keep wewe the i-immowtawised fwozen statues of the peopwe who wewe unyabwe to escape the devastation of the descending bwizzawd she wwought. Theiw siwence of wife was deafenying.

A chiwwing mockewy wockewy o-of what had haunted hew nyightmawes.

Kicking hew wegs idwy fwom hew pwecawiouswy wecawiouswy pwecious position on the w-waiwings of the Eiffew Towew, the famiwiawity wamiwiawity of the action a-awmost buwnyed as cowd as the fwigid city i-itsewf. Was this how Chat fewt? She mused, stawing at the bweached white a-and faded bwue spots of hew W-Wadybug?—Fwozen Heawt? Wady Bwanc s-suit. S-Shaking hew head, she couwdn't hewp but cuww hew w-wips swightwy wightwy in distaste. M-Maybe it's iwony wony that I-I didn't end u-up in bwack w-with wed spots wike aww the fawse Wadybug Akumas.

But hew nyew cowouws a-awe what she desewved. An echo of hew once-pawtnyew; just as she w-was an echo of the hewo s-she used to be. Especiawwy Weciawwy in how the a-accents of hew nyew suit echoed the suit the ice powew up gave hew, with the cwystawwinye and snyowfwake pattewns covewing t-the once-wed-nyow-white pawts, and the ice bwue cwystaws awong hew waist and a-awound the yo-yo.

P-Pewhaps, thewe was some smaww comfowt in t-t-t-that the destwuction she c-caused was wittwe i-in compawison to that of Chat Bwanc's. She tiwted hew head to t-the side and stawed up at the nyight's snyow gwow-wight cwouded skies. Hew moon was stiww intact f-fow onye, nyot that it was v-visibwe f-fwom hewe any wongew though. Though, nyot quite a s-s-s-smaww mewcy w-w-wewcy so much as a-anyothew chiwwing mockewy wockewy, weawwy.

She c-cwenched hew fists, so that the icicwes cwinging t-to the metaw dug into hew suit's gwoves. Fow two, onwy hew Pawis had b-been affected this time. And fow thwee, hew death toww was signyificantwy wignyificantwy wowew, what with onwy kiwwing a-a huge swathe of Pawis' popuwation as opposed to how he wiped out aww wife except h-himsewf. Hew Pawis stiww h-had suwvivows wuwking within the desowation. Tweading twacks thwough bittew winds, cwinging to swowwy wowwy petwifying hope. Suwvivows t-that wouwd scweam and cwy and yeww and twy e-evew so futiwewy wutiwewy to fight whenyevew they saw hew, weduced to a wwaith of h-hew fowmew gwowy wowy. The onwy sounds othew than the c-c-cwunch and cwackwe of ice and snyow, ow the tinkwing of i-icicwes in the wind.

Nyot to mention, hew H-Hawkmoth stiww wingewed on. With his bwack ice gwazed goadings that fwactuwed hew m-mind wike hew and Chat Nyoiw's bonyes benyeath his buttewfwy wuttewfwy staff.

A haunting wemindew that she had fawwen, faiwed them, that even theiw bewoved wittwe hewoes wewen't i-infawwibwe.

Scoffing to hewsewf, Wady Bwanc shook hew head and shifted hew position so t-that she couwd c-cuww u-u-up i-into a b-baww and west hew heavy weavy head upon hew knyees. Though, thewe was nyo cwown to weigh hew down, just the cowd hawsh wastewand that she h-had wuptuwed in wime.

(It was awmost iwonyic stiww, that the ice powew up suit she once wowe so w-wong ago, gave hew an icicwe tiawa but h-hew a-akuma fowm did nyot.)

Nyonyethewess Pawis as i-it was a-and nyow is, had fowmed the fweezing pwison of h-hew own making. Even with Hawkmoth's infwuence shattewed wike the ice of his statue's fowm, W-Wady Bwanc was tethewed—ice-bound—to Pawis. A cwuew twist o-of iwony w-wony that with hew fwozen heawt, Hawkmoth had ensuwed hew weaknyess was the w-wawmth, the h-h-heat. T-To e-ensuwe nyothing wouwd thaw hew heawt, especiawwy weciawwy nyot s-some pitifuwwy witifuwwy despewate pwofessions of wuv, fwendship, and cwaims t-that the weaw hew was s-stiww i-i-inside and that she just nyeeded to fight his infwuence.

Biting back a bittew w-waugh, she ignyowed the nyeaw siwent w-whispews in the back of hew mind cwying those vewy same pwocwaims. Something Hawkmoth hadn't anticipated. Especiawwy Weciawwy s-seeing how hew once-pawtnyew had tuwnyed out aftew so wong in isowation. Wouwd that be my fate too?

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18 notes - Posted April 1, 2022

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[sixofpomegranates]

STRANGERS TO LOVERS READER AND SPENCER WHERE READER MOVES INTO THE APARTMENT BELOW SPENCER AND HEARS HIS LATE NIGHT CRIES FROM NIGHTMARES AND THEN ONE DAY SHE HAS ENOUGH AND GOES UP THERE WITH BLANKETS AND COMFORT FOOD AND IS LIKE "IDK YOU AND YOU DONT KNOW ME BUT YOU'RE SUFFERING AND I HATE IT SO MUCH PLEASE LET ME BE HERE FOR YOU"

♘ 𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ♞

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

A/N: Love it. Wanted to make it smut, refused to because it wouldn't have been healthy. Listened to this song: In the middle of the night by Elley Duhé. Made it the title of this one shot. <3

CW: Angst & Comfort | Mentions of Spencer's Canon Trauma, PTSD, Nightmares, Consumption of Food, School/Exams, Storms/Thunder, Making out,

**********

*picture does not describe the looks of the reader*

**********

Living in DC is expensive. No, technically living anywhere on your own is. I think you only ever truly learn to appreciate living with family once you're on your own and have all those freaking bills come in every month.

That was why I was very glad to have found this new apartment. Rent was a dream for my broke grad school student's butt, there were no cockroaches, and the neighborhood was safe.

The first three months were amazing to get settled in... Then, out of the blue, it started.

Every single night I would wake up to someone's crying and screaming coming from the apartment above mine.

The first time I had woken up to it, my whole body had started to shake and I was sure I was involuntarily becoming a witness to a gruesome murder.

As my hands finally stop shaking violently, I called the cops. I didn't know what was going on up there but I wasn't risking the possibility of somebody desperately needing help and not getting it.

Sitting by my window, I watched the police arrive and walk into the apartment complex. Ten minutes later, they walked out accompanied by a man. The streetlights weren't bright enough that I could make out his face but I noticed that he was significantly taller than the cops.

He seemed to know the policemen, waving them goodbye as they drove off again. Then he walked back inside.

I had expected him to knock on my door, be rather annoyed that I had sent him the cops, but no. Nothing. Not even crying or screaming.

Half an hour later I went back to bed and hoped to be able to sleep again after that scare.

This was now happening every day for the last week. In the middle of the night, I would get woken up by desperate screams and cries. By now I had heard them often enough that they didn't scare me anymore but rather became an annoyance.

I had started sleeping in the living room since it seemed like our bedrooms were right above each other's, giving me a first-row seat to whatever was going on upstairs... But sleeping on my couch hadn't been enough to block out this new nightly occurrence.

Work and grad school were hard enough as it was. I knew it sounded selfish but I really didn't need this man keeping me up all night with his night terrors.

One morning, I had just treated myself to some McDonald's breakfast, I met my next-door neighbor Mr. Brown. Having run some errands for him before, it was safe to say that I was on his good site. Therefore, I decided to ask him about the neighbor that was stealing away my precious hours of sleep.

Mr. Brown was fortunate enough not to hear the screams, so it really had to be the location of my apartment. He also told me that the man living there was a doctor working for the FBI. He had helped out Mr. Brown before I moved here but a few months ago had vanished. Just as of recently, he had returned and that was something I knew first-hand.

My neighbor seemed to think very highly of this doctor, so I held the conversation short and didn't mention just how upsetting my lack of sleep was becoming.

*****

Nine nights. Nine nights I had now been the victim of my neighbor's screams.

In two days I had a very important exam and I just couldn't lose any more sleep than my nerves already made me do. I needed to be in top shape but due to the lack of sleep the last two weeks, I struggled with headaches almost every day.

So as night nine woke me up at 3 a.m. I did something completely against my nature. I put on some shoes and walked upstairs to complain.

Knocking against the door of this Dr. Spencer Reid I was desperate for just two days of calm sleep, but the man opening the door seemed like he could use them as well.

"Yeah?" He asked groggily, making me realize that his seriously troubled-looking appearance had taken the wind out of my sails.

"Hi, Dr. Reid, is it?" I ask rhetorically and he nodded. "I live in the apartment below you. I'm [y/n] [y/l/n]. We didn't have the pleasure to meet yet."

"How can I help you?" he said, the dark bags under his eyes baring witness of the last nine days that seemed to have him even less rested than me.

"I- I can't sleep," I told him, the confused look on his face had me realize just how stupid and like a blatant pick-up line it sounded.

"I- I can hear you. Every single night. I know it is really unsympathetic of me to ask of this but please, please I really need to sleep. I am a grad student and I have an exam coming up. I-"

"I understand," the doctor said, interrupting me while brushing through his messy mane which seemed to once have had curls until they weren't cared for anymore. "I have some rough few months behind me. I'm sorry for the inconvenience I was causing you. It won't happen again."

I couldn't quite read this man. He seemed sorry and ashamed but every emotion seemed drained of energy. He really seemed to need some sleep.

"Thanks. Goodnight," I told him out of politeness, walking down the stairs and going to bed.

Goodnight. What a stupid thing to say to him.

*****

I was so ready for the weekend. My exam was written, homework done, and the next few days I didn't have to work.

The doctor had also kept his word, the last two days I had slept like a baby. I was already starting to forget how disturbing the past two weeks had been but coming home, I was hit with more information about my new neighbor than I was comfortable with.

Just before I could enter my apartment, the doctor walked up the stairs supported by a dark-haired woman while another blonde one walked after them.

"I can walk on my own," he grumpily tried to assure the women, the brunette shaking her head. "Reid, you collapsed today. We're going to get you to bed and you're going to get some rest."

Like the nosy bitch I am, I slowly started walking after them, only to hear the doctor answer, "I can't." "Yes, you can. We're gonna make you some tea and then you'll sleep a little," the blonde replied motherly, only to have him shake his head.

"I- I can't sleep," he told his friends as they opened his apartment door. "Why not?" The dark-haired woman asked.

The doctor snapped around to look at her. "Because-" Then his eyes met mine as he noted me standing by the staircase. "Because I'm a burden for the people around me when I try."

The answer had been for his friend but he said it while looking at me, making me realize that he had forced himself to stay awake the last few days so I could peacefully sleep without getting woken up by his nightmares.

"Hi," I mumbled, the guilt for being so self-absorbed spreading in my chest. He echoed in reply, "Hi."

As his friends turned around to look at me, he cleared his throat, standing on his own like he hadn't needed help up the stairs mere minutes ago.

"How- How was your exam?" The doctor asked me in a clumsy but surprisingly sweet attempt at small talk.

"Good," I answered, and once again he echoed me. "Good."

I forced myself to smile through the guilt I felt. I had been so annoyed by the nightly wake-up calls that I hadn't considered the tall they must be taking on the man living through them.

After staring me down for a moment, the blonde looked back at the doctor. "A friend?" She asked pleasantly surprised, but he shook his head promptly.

"Neighbor," he answered, getting into his apartment but forcing his friends to stay outside. "Thanks for driving me," he told them before closing the door and leaving all three of us alone.

Sighing deeply about it, the brunette shook her head. "I need a coffee."

Then she looked at me, reaching out her hand. "Emily Prentiss and that's Jennifer Jareau," she said, her blonde friend waving a little. I shook her hand, answering, "[y/n] [y/l/n]."

My one toxic trait was definitely that I was a fixer. When I saw something that simply didn't work, my instinct told me to fix it. In this case, it was the doctor's hopeless attempts of sleeping. He had forced himself to stay awake for me, now I had to find a way to fix his problem.

"Can- Can invite you to coffee?" I asked the women, and they smiled at each other.

"I smell a bribe," Emily chuckled, having seen right through me.

"I just..." Taking a deep breath I said, "He didn't sleep the last two days because of me."

Jennifer smiled at me. "Please don't think that this is your fault," she said. "Spence has been through a rough patch lately. It is normal that he has troubles sleeping."

Shaking my head, I answered, "No. It really is. I- I live in the apartment below and I heard him having nightmares – or whatever is going on when he tries to sleep – every single night the last two weeks. Two days ago I told him that it was keeping me up and I had an exam..."

Emily nodded, finishing the story for me. "And he decided to stop sleeping so he wouldn't wake you up anymore. Oh, Spencer..." She sighed.

"I just feel guilty and wanna help." "That is sweet of you, really. But the help he needs is therapy and some time," Jennifer smiled.

What the hell had happened to this man the last couple of months?

"Where was he the last few months? Some job for the FBI?" I blatantly asked, making the women stare at me. "Gossip travels fast amongst neighbors," I said.

After a while of silent stares being exchanged, Emily looked at me. "Prison."

Then she started walking down the stairs while a cold shiver ran down my back. "Are you coming? You promised coffee," she called back at me.

I looked at Jennifer for a moment before hurrying after the brunette.

*****

Laying in bed that night, I couldn't sleep. Not because of the doctor having nightmares again but because of all the things I had gotten told by his friends.

Wrongfully imprisoned, beaten, attacked, mother kidnapped, the fear of her being dead, and having to face the psychopath who did all this to him.

These three months have been more traumatic for him than some complete lifetimes for others. His friends clearly troubled by all that happened too.

Watching TV in the future, I wouldn't wish for a more adventurous life or daydream about being an FBI agent because of some show I had seen. Thinking about it, I was pretty happy with the life I had.

As I rolled over for what must've been the hundredth time, I could hear it once again. The doctor was having another nightmare. Just this time it was only 10 p.m. Normally, I'd get woken up around 3 a.m. which made me believe that he most likely had tried sleeping through the day so that he would wake me up at night.

Contemplating for a while about what to do, I got out of bed. Soon he would wake up and stay in the stressed out and tired state for the rest of the night.

I should've just minded my own business and not force myself into a situation I couldn't relate to anyway... But my helper's complex really started hitting me harder than ever before.

Grabbing my keys, I walked over to the pizza place across from our apartments, and armed with food I walked back upstairs.

I had to knock a couple of times, but finally, the doctor opened the door. Rubbing his eyes, trying to hide away his tear-stained cheeks, he greeted me. "Ms. [y/l/n]. Hello. I'm sorry. I- I know."

"Was a bad one, huh?" I simply asked, cutting all this polite bullshit.

He gave me a tortured smile, "I'm starting to get used to them. I'm sorry I woke you up... again... I just was so tired. I thought... I don't know."

Lifting the cartons of Italian food, I said, "I happen to have a bunch of food. Would you let me in so we can share it?"

He looked at me bewildered, for a moment seeming thankful that I didn't plan on leaving him alone with his mind again, but then shook his head. "I- I can't accept that offer."

"Why not?" I asked, making him sigh. "I like my privacy and- and I am not good at the whole 'meeting new people' process."

That rejection wasn't directed at me but at himself. I already knew he thought himself to be a burden, so I decided to ignore it and decide on his behalf.

"And I like my sleep," I smiled. "Guess we're both going to pass out on some of it."

"[y/n]..." he mumbled, startling me a little. I really liked how my name sounded on his lips, it was almost like poetry begging me to leave him suffering.

Pressing the food into his arms, I walked past him into his apartment.

"Oh, wow," I mumbled, realizing that our apartments had the completely same layout. "That's like I just entered the library version of my apartment," I said more to myself than the doctor, staring at all the books on the built-in shelves.

"I- I like to read," he explained, looking at the stacks of books on the floor who hadn't found a home on the shelves yet... Or rather, a place. Those shelves were packed.

"Thought so much," I answered, watching him put the food on the dinner table.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered, looking at me for advice, and I smiled. "Some plates and cutlery would be smart."

Nodding, he walked off into the kitchen. When he came back, a little upset, putting the plates down. "Why are you doing this? Why- Did Emily or JJ ask you to check on me?"

They had given me their phone numbers for the case I noticed him struggling, but no.

I shook my head. "They didn't." "Then why?" He asked again.

Letting out a sigh, I answered, "Look, I know we don't know each other, but you're suffering. And I hate it so much hearing it every single night." Taking a step towards him, I noticed the tears in his eyes. "Just please let me be there for you. I don't think I could forgive myself if I'd just left you to suffer alone."

"That's called a savior's complex, or messiah complex, or Christ complex," he blurted out, hands moving up to gesture with them. "It- It's a state of mind in which an individual holds the belief that they are destined to become a savior today or in the near future. The term can also refer to a state of mind in which an individual believes that they are responsible for saving or assisting others."

I stared at him, making him blush. "The- The second one is the one applying to you." "Okay," I answered since I had already figured that much.

"I'm sorry," he said, making me shake my head. "Don't be, Dr. Reid."

"Spencer. Please just... Just Spencer," the doctor corrected me, almost embarrassed over me using his title.

I smiled at him, looking at the dinner table. "Okay, Spencer. Can we eat while you psychoanalyze me?"

He nodded and I could swear he tried hiding the emotion about not being alone. Both taking a seat at the table, I began opening the different boxes and put them onto the plates.

*****

"So, what is it that you dream about?" I asked while we ate our desserts.

Emily and Jennifer, or like Spencer called her JJ, had done us a favor by telling me about what had happened to him. I had mentioned that they had told me about the last month as I had bribed them with coffee, and Spencer seemed remarkably glad about it although he refused to talk about these things himself.

Instead, he just kept on rambling about TV shows and books. He was telling me so much after having eaten his first plate that I felt that he hadn't had somebody to talk to like this in a very long time.

Also, he devoured the pasta and pizza like it was his last meal. Maybe it had been the prison food or not wanting to eat alone as he came back home, but he seemed to really have needed it.

Now, that I was seeing his face light up and smile, I was also to notice that he was quite handsome and sweet under all that sleep-deprived trauma of his.

Poking his tiramisu with the fork, he said, "I- I am back in my cell and although I know it's a dream, I cannot wake up. I just keep getting jumped and am afraid. It feels like having an anxiety attack while I am sleeping."

"Isn't anxiety a part of PTSD?" "They call it PTSS now," he corrected me. "But, yes it is."

"Than what is causing the anxiety?" I asked, making him sigh.

"That this might be the dream, he murmured. "I- I know it sounds absurd, but I haven't really slept in so long that I'm afraid that every time I wake up in my cell is the reality and being back home is the dream."

Taking a sip from my coke, I looked at Spencer. "Is it so hard to believe that it's over?" He nodded. "I thought I'd die in there. And to think that now I am eating Italian food with a pretty woman who barely knows me and still wants to be here..."

His face started to turn the deepest shade of pink I had ever seen on a face. He had just called me pretty and although I wanted to squeal, I played it down cool. "You're just saying that because I brought you food," I giggled.

A grin on his lips, he slightly shook his head, looking down on his dessert.

"So," I started to stir the conversation back to his nightmares, "You're subconsciously thinking that once you're having a good nighttime's rest, you'll wake up back in prison? That won't happen, Spencer."

He nodded, smile vanishing. "You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can. Logic is on my side in this case," I retorted stubbornly, making him conclude the obvious. "You're a stubborn woman."

Soft laughter was broken by the loud sound of thunder and the felt vibration of its intensity. I didn't mind storms, I actually found them quite soothing.

Yet, I exclaimed giggling, "That was loud." Looking over at Spencer, I could see his hands shaking, face having gotten pale. "Are you okay?"

"Loud," he answered quickly, putting the fork aside.

"Do you want me to put the food away?" I offered, trying to navigate through this burst of anxiety he felt.

As Spencer nodded thankfully, I got up and began cleaning up. Washing the dishes, I did with him standing next to me. Another loud thunder had made him join me in the kitchen. He looked tired, the warm food seeming to have given him some comfort, but he was still on high alert. No chance he would sleep once I left.

Maybe I should just stay, I had spent a fair share of the last two weeks on my couch, another night on one wouldn't hurt.

"I have an-" I started, the same time he began stepping closer and saying, "Can you-"

We both stopped, and I gestured at him, "You first."

"Do- Do you think you could stay the night?" He asked quickly and uncertain then shook his head. "That was inappropriate of me to ask. I'm sorry, you have better things to do."

"I actually wanted to offer it anyway."

We smiled at each other a little stupidly, then another thunder roared through the night. Spencer closed the distance between us, practically jumping into my arms.

"Hi," I exclaimed in surprise, looking at him. "Hi," he answered, arms wrapped around me so tightly I feared he'd snap me in half.

Standing there and staring at him, I noticed his eyes beginning to focus on my lips, his tongue licking over his own. Watching his eyes become dark and face coming closer, I closed the distance between us.

That had definitely not been part of my plans, sex wasn't a good coping mechanism, and yet, I didn't fight against it. Our lips were pressed roughly onto each other's. Violently hungry he backed me against the kitchen counter, hands starting to roam my body, making moan into his mouth.

"I- We need to stop," he growled into the kiss.

"Why?," I whispered back, letting my hands wander into his hair.

Ripping his lips from mine, he answered breathlessly, cupping my face in his hands, "Because I'd use you to get rid of my build-up tensions. You deserve better than that, to be courted properly. You're so precious."

"I'll still stay the night though," I answered, making him lay his head back and chuckle. "You're so stubborn."

I nodded, "That's part of my appeal."

Placing another soft kiss on my lips, he smiled against them, "It is. And once I am no longer a complete basket case, I promise I'll pay you back for it with the best dinner date possible."

That night I didn't spend on Spencer's couch but in his bed. As he had requested, nothing more had happened than sweet kisses in the dark. We had fallen asleep with our limps entangled in one another and only once I had to wake him up gently, having awoken to his cries.

In the morning, I was up before him, taking in the view of his peaceful face. As he opened those beautiful hazel eyes, a soft and weary smile followed when seeing me next to him.

"Not a dream," he whispered, pulling me closer and pressing his lips against mine.

Yet for me, it felt like it was one that had only just begun.

[bratz-kitten]

Nikola Stojanovic’s degree theory 

— you can learn more about his theory here and here. he was the maker of this theory, i’m simply passing the knowledge i’ve researched on him in a more simplified way!!! trigger warning for mentions of death and violence for the 11º, the 15º, the 18º and the 22º degrees 

according to nikola’s research, each degree is connected to the sign it rules: 

aries degrees — 1º, 13º, 25º - taking action, fighting spirit, not giving oneself up to fate, struggle, war, can indicate abuse, labor, diligence, leadership, beginnings, etc

taurus degrees — 2º, 14º, 26º - money, food, the earth, stability, luxuries, voice, singing, etc

gemini degrees — 3º, 15º, 27º - communication, gadgets like televisions or phones, self-expression, books, siblings, neighbourhood, etc

cancer degrees — 4º, 16º, 28º - home, nurture, traditions, loyalty, faith, mother, water, etc

leo degrees — 5º, 17º, 29º - attention, life, fame, light, children, creativity, self-expression, monarchs, entertainment, strength, hair, etc

virgo degrees — 6º, 18º - to diminish, to make smaller, improvement, health, work, routine, pets, to be of service, etc

libra degrees — 7º, 19º - fairness, law, business, partnerships, fashion, beauty, charm, luxury items, music, art, etc

scorpio degrees — 8º, 20º - the 8º specifically is connected to death, wealth, to take from others, manifestation, secrets, insurance, sex, jealousy, pregnancy, etc

sagittarius degrees — 9º, 21º - abundance, expansion, wisdom, college, travelling, to explore, etc

capricorn degrees — 10º, 22º - to take control, public attention, coldness, fear, depression, rationality, ambition, father, etc

aquarius degrees — 11º, 23º - divorce, surprises, high places, high tech, new technology, humanitarianism, organizations, friends, networking, etc

pisces degrees — 12º, 24º - sleeping, drugs, alcohol, lethargy, the unconcious + our psyche, emotional dejections, feet, madness, shadows, unclear, endings, etc

0º represents the basic characteristic of the sign - it acts in its purest form. for example, if you have the 0º in aries sun, aries here acts in its most potent, pure way. 

that way, if you, for example, have your ascendant in pisces at the 13º, you’ll express aries characteristics + all that is connected to taking action, to fight. now, knowing this, this theory can manifest itself in different ways. 

i’m going to give an example that he talked about in his website that i found simple to understand yet powerful. when nikola was discussing with another astrologer, he wanted to talk about his degree theory, so he took a look at the birth chart of the wife of the other astrologer, and after a minute of analyzing it, he said as follows: “Your wife called a carpenter to the house and ordered a larger bed to be made. When the carpenter had finished the job, you went to bed and realized that the work was not properly done. One measure was right – the bed was long enough - but the other one wasn't – the bed wasn't wide enough, it was still narrow”. the look the other astrologer gave him told him that his brief analysis was absolutely correct.

his reasoning behind it was that the wife’s 12th house (which rules sleeping, beds, bedrooms) cusp began at the 21º of aries, and the ruler of that house, mars, was at the 6º in virgo. aries simbolizes to create and the 21º, a sagittarius degree, simbolizes to enlarge. so, his wife wanted to create (aries) a larger (sagittarius/jupiter) bed (the 12th house). because mars, the ruler of the 12th house, was placed in virgo (someone who renders services, a worker), she called the carpenter to the house. her mars was, however, in virgo at the 6º which is a virgo degree (virgo simbolizes diminishing, making smaller), which meant the measure of the bed had to be smaller than needed. therefore, the cusp of the 12th house (the bed) at the 21º (sagittarius - larger, longer) signifies that the bed was both long enough (enlarged), and mars in virgo at a virgo degree (6º) meant that it was not wide enough (it was narrow). nikola established connections between degrees, the signs, the planets and the houses where they fell and the aspects that they made in order to make this kind of predictions. 

he also found a few degrees to be connected to significant things. 

THE 2º DEGREE - SUPREME POWER 

nikola, through the research of the birth charts of many people throughout history, observed how those who contained planets, houses and aspects (+lunar nodes, arabic parts, vertex and of course, the four cardinal points: the IC, MC, AC and DC) in the 2º degree were those who made remarkable achievements, who wielded extreme power and were highly respected. he got to this conclusion by analyzing the birth chart of queen victoria - other rulers at the time had more powerful aspects than she did, but allas, they weren’t the ones to almost rule the entire world - it was her, so he began noticing the pattern between power and the 2º. literal jesus himself had his mercury in pisces in the 2º. i myself have four degrees at 2º, so it’s nice to know my dreams of starting a revolution, overthrowing the government and achieving world domination are supported by the astros

THE 5º DEGREE - EROTICISM 

this degree is connected to beauty, desire, sex appeal, receiving sexual attention. many sex icons like marilyn monroe, jean harlow and mata hari had it present in their birth chart. nikola talks about this being the best degree in his eyes. considering that it’s a leo degree, it’s all about living, having fun and enjoying life. 

THE 11º DEGREE - DIVORCE / SUICIDE 

both the 11º and 23º degrees of aquarius indicate divorce, but, according to nikola, the 11º is connected to suicide.

THE 15º DEGREE - CAR ACCIDENTS 

this degree, when connected to scorpio + the 8th house, can indicate car accidents.  

THE 18º DEGREE - PURE EVIL 

simbolizes a bad destiny. to nikola, this is the worst degree you can have. it can indicate rare deseases, tragic accidents. he says there’s no good about this degree but i absolutely disagree. not to be a hopeless optimist or to pretend to possess half the knowledge that he does but i think it’s pretentious to assume that a degree is literally all bad and that there’s nothing we can do about it — that takes away from our free will and our inner strength. Many, many people have this degree present in their charts (i believe nikola had it himself), it’s all about facing hardships but, well, that’s life.

THE 22º DEGREE - TO KILL OR BE KILLED 

nikola has found this degree in the birth charts of murderers + people that were murdered. his significance of “to kill or be killed” is quite literal. now, i want to remind you that this is the worst case scenario and that this degree can manifest itself in many diferent ways - just like the 18º and the 8º. the death can be figurative. for example, donald trump’s chart: he has his sun in 22º, and his mercury in 8º - and I’m afraid he’s quite alive at his old age and kicking it, even if he’s suffered a public destruction. @saintzjenx in her degree theory post talked about how this placement can also indicate abandonment. i agree, i have my sun at 22º in the 10th house (the house of the father) and my father was very emotionally absent + physically as well (his work has him working at other cities during the entire week) 

THE 29º DEGREE - CLAIRVOYANCE/PROGNOSTICISM 

the 29º indicates someone with clairvoyant potential, someone who makes accurate predictions, with great intuition. it’s to note that nikola himself had a 29º in his chart, and that he became known for the predictions he made using the degree theory (for example, he predicted that america would have its first black president ten years before barack obama was elected). but he does like to say that he has absolutely no intuition, though - what prompted him to study the degrees was his virgo rising, acording to him, his need to study and put his brain to work. still, he observed how many clairvoyants had this degree. other astrologers talk about this being a degree that means destruction (and when you analyze trump’s birth chart and how he has his ascendant and his 11th house at the 29º, you can very much argue about the truth behind that theory) but all in all, nikola talks about this degree as benefic. 

in case you’re feeling bad, remember i have the to kill or be killed 22º, plus the 8º of death, plus the 11º of suicide, plus the 23º of divorce, plus two of the 18º of pure evil! let’s suffer together besties. on the upside i have four of the 2º so we riding to eternal glory! 

but now seriously, i know some of this is very hard bc obviously life isn’t all fun and games but. remember that we all have free will, life isn’t determined and having a lot of these in your chart doesn’t mean impending doom!! i have them and i’m very much kicking it and i’m not intending to stop. it’s all about acceptance, learning how to work with even the worst degrees in order to make the best out of them. plus, the degrees can manifest themselves in a lot of different ways and a lot more matters than just them being present - like the signs that they’re in, the aspects with which they make and how harsh they are, the house where they fall etc etc. 

please do take your time to read through his website + to watch the interviews nikola did on youtube!! he was an amazing astrologer whose theory greatly impacted the way astrology is studied today. he’s fun to learn from, too, which is a plus

[stxleslyds]

FINE, I WILL BE THE PARTY POOPER.

Can fandom and some of Jason fans please realize that Jason Todd is probably amnesiac and under the control of Ra’s and maybe even Talia in Young Justice?

I understand that you guys are like a bottomless pit of “batfam fluff” but you need to understand that being under someone’s control is not a fluffy thing or “Jason being protective of Talia and Damian”.

Jason is more than likely there against his will, he is a hostage of Ra’s and the League of Assassins.

This picture of “big loving bro of Damian” and “eldest son of Talia” should not exist because you are erasing/avoiding the fact that Jason has been taken by those people for years and he has no autonomy.

For once, take your pink stained glasses off and realise that your fluffy fantasy is not what is going on and Jason is probably suffering like a mad man.

Because while you all like to make up scenarios based on seconds of Jason and Damian content, no one really paid attention to the fact that in last season it was DICK in full Nightwing gear, the one that snapped some of Jason’s memories back.

Jason didn’t remember shit but he remembered Dick’s last name, and Jason saying Gray…son was what made Ra’s aware that Jason was able to talk and/or remember his past.

This is what happens in season three:

“…The reveal still relies on some comic book knowledge to catch, once Ra's al Ghul arrives to put an end to the fighting, and explain that he can't help them find the missing Markov. Having apparently left behind the evil secret society known as The Light, Ra's is following his own plans, and allows the heroes to depart. As he does, the masked and hooded fighter finally speaks, saying only "Gray...Son." The name of Nightwing isn't impossible for him to know, but the response from Ra's is what seals it: "Ahh, your memories are returning... Excellent."”

It really doesn’t look like Jason is there on his own free will, in fact, he most likely wasn’t. Jason has always been picked up by Talia when he was most vulnerable, he was either physically or mentally unresponsive when she was taking care of him, he wasn’t even fully in control of his situation when he was pushed to the Lazarus Pit.

So, knowing that, we can estimate that he wasn’t fully in control of himself when he was resurrected AND in Young Justice’s case Ra’s still has him under his roof, which is the difference with comics.

Let me remind everyone that Ra’s never wanted to save Jason and when Talia helped him recover, Ra’s threatened with killing him if she didn’t get rid of him first. So, having Ra’s (an absolute piece of shit) acting like he could control (and later on, manipulate) Jason in season three, never made me feel like we could have “Jason being fluffy with Damian” because Jason is a hostage of Ra’s and the League.

Also, something that repeats itself in both seasons is the fact that we cannot see Jason’s face, he has his eyes completely covered and so is his nose and mouth. That whole look suggests that whoever dressed him like that doesn’t want anyone recognising Jason.

Jason is a victim in this story and I am sick and tired of people avoiding that BIG FACT over fluffy ideas! Young Justice is a dark as fuck take on the DC universe, so you better start understanding that Jason is not having the time of his life. He is trapped.

AND let’s not forget that Jason is not a fan of people like Ra’s and assassins that do shady stuff. The Jason that appeared in season four looks programmed, he wasn’t “protecting” Talia or Damian, he jumped into action when Jade (Cheshire) ran away from Sensei. And Jason only stopped because Sensei commanded him to stop.

HE WAS COMMANDED TO STOP!

Sensei treated him like a dog, he is trained dog for the league. So, please understand the story that is being told for what it is. Jason is being held hostage and Ra’s has been actively hiding him from both Batman and Nightwing.

I hope that from now on people are more focused of writing scenarios where Dick finds out that it is Jason under the Red Hood and saves him from Ra’s. Or maybe, Talia will listen to what Jade said about protecting their children from that life, and she will also give Damian to someone that can take him away from the League and Ra’s shadow.

Maybe then we will see Jason get away from them, but I don’t believe he will do it on his own free will, he will do it because he was commanded to do that.

I know, that fluffy content is all that some of you guys want, but erasing the true story or the not so fluffy story that might be going on isn’t the way to go with this. Yes, these are fictional characters but it is good to recognise situations for what they really are.

It is lovely to see the beautiful fanart and headcanons, but everyone seems to be missing the actual story, and in the end, it sends the wrong message. Young Justice is a well written, mature cartoon that works with a variety of situations, and when we have content like that, we should respect it.

Comic’s canon might be a little bit blurry with its “batfam” content so yeah go ahead twist it even more, it probably will look better but with Young Justice? It isn’t necessary, mostly when the “fluffy batfam” content is freely available to you as a web comic. Not everything has to be soft/happy times/loving family, and if you paint it all that way then how are we supposed to enjoy these new stories and takes?

You visit the Jason Todd and Young Justice tag and you are plagues from things that don’t fit the narrative of the show. Not everyone is able to see the show now, so they only see what is on the tags, and what is on the tags is not what is really happening.

Jason is not the family bodyguard that sees Talia as his mom and Damian as his little brother.

Jason is the victim of Ra’s and the League who has no autonomy.

[bambiswriting]

Consequence of Krell - Part 1

Part: 1, 2

Captain Rex x Tactician!Reader (she/her) 

Summary: You have joined the 501st and 212th in the campaign of taking Umbara, and now you have to apprehend and arrest the turned Jedi, Krell. But what happens when Krell turns his sights and hurts you?

Warnings: Descriptions of heavy injury, strangulation, choking, vomit, blood, burns, lightsaber wound, head injury, angst, hurt, death. Not a light one!

Word count: 2k

-

The shield dissipated to reveal the imprisoned clones. You watched as Jesse and Fives took the blasters outstretched in Rex’s hands while you stood on the elevator pad with Tup and Kix. The nervous energy was thrumming from each of them. You were of equal mind. Fives, your best friend, glanced over Rex’s shoulder at you. He nodded and attempted a comforting smile. You dipped your head in a sedated reply. Your stomach sat heavy, a weight ready to pull you under. But… no. You couldn’t focus on it. Not now. You had to do right by them. The grief was already at a mounted peak, but there would be time to sit in it with them later.

You didn’t comprehend the sensation of the pad rising until a blaster bumped against your left side. On your right, Rex’s eyes casted sideways to search your glazed ones. Your pupils were involuntarily flicking left to right, searching the empty space between identical heads for a solution. Anything other than this - an alternative to the loss that would continue once you reached the upper level of the command station. Rex grasped your two fingers closest to him and tenderly squeezed. You squeezed back. A silent promise of companionship to one another.

The doors opened, a cruelty from the Force, and clones immediately filed out, surrounding Krell. The objective was to cut off each inconceivable exit, but every man in the room knew it would make no difference should the Besalisk ignite his sabers. Many of them would not leave the tower. And perhaps you would go with them. You took your stance between Rex and Fives, with a desperate plea to the galaxy to allow you to maintain their safety. A hologram by the door pulsated back online, and the noise made you jump, setting the lump in your throat deeper. You aimed your blaster at the fallen Jedi.

Rex straightened. “General Krell, you’re being relieved of duty.”

He turned, slowly, and somehow that was equally as terrifying as staring him directly in those sickly yellow eyes. His two pairs of arms persisted in a fold behind his back, with optimal access to his weapons. The pressure in your head was building. Rex hadn't yet raised his DC-17s. He was the most vulnerable person in the room. You unknowingly squeezed down on your trigger.

"It's treason, then." Those words carried the condemnation of a death sentence. He bared his teeth in such a way that it would have appeared he was smiling.

Finally, Rex pinned his blasters on the target. "Surrender, General."

If the situation owed to it, perhaps you would have laughed. The mere use of a title, still, was abhorrent to you.

Krell initiated a stalk towards Rex, centering himself in the room and widening his stance by the parting of his feet. Please, no.

"You're committing mutiny, Captain."

"Explain your actions."

The clones moved deeper into the room, cutting off the window at which Krell was just policing the Umbaran landscape.

"My actions?"

"For ordering your troops against one another."

"Oh, that." He raised his head, proud, and gestured nonchalantly. "I'm surprised you were able to figure it out… for a clone."

Your clench around the trigger was building.

Out of your left eye, you had identified movement from Fives. You assumed it was a gesture of advancement. But you didn't turn to confirm this. You couldn't move. Your limbs were paralysed.

“Surrender, General. You’re outnumbered.”

You felt the air around you turn stagnant. A rushing noise built in your ears, and then your feet tipped forward, toes dragging along the floor. The gravity shifted underneath you, and you were pulled towards the beast at full speed.

Quicker than it began, you stopped, making contact with one of Krell's fists. Nothing you had endured in this war thus far compared to the instantaneous pressure around your windpipe. Within seconds your eyes felt close to bursting. You couldn't hear the commotion around you, as your blood was pulsing rapidly in your skull.

Safety mechanisms released in every which direction. Rex pinned his pistols, now gripped in a vice, on Krell's skull. "Drop her."

Krell turned to you, talking steadily along the shell of your ear. "Your feelings for him - all of them - are strong, but they weaken you. They compromise your resolve." He raised you off the ground, your legs squirming as you frantically clawed at his fist.

"She intended to shoot me, for you," he squeezed again, sight tunneling on Rex. A noise like a whine escaped your mouth. “Half-breed."

Rex couldn't make the call. Krell's movements were quick and precise. Any one of his blaster bolts timed with a purposeful shove could hit you. His blood was turning acidic.

"Yes… I sense the fear in you. The anger. The fury. Take your weapon. Strike me down."

Your helpless wheeze cut through the rest of Rex's resolve like glass. Your arms had slowed their fight to return the stolen air to your lungs. You were going limp. Your heart was trembling. His hands shook.

"This is the art of war. Executive decisions must be made."

You felt something in your neck crack.

Krell bowed his head. "And you lack the ability to instigate them."

His arms at his back frayed and thrusted forward, sending the men hurtling to the ground. Rex hit the door and his blasters fell with him, skidding out of reach. He leapt with speed to his feet, in time to see the green blade of a saber come down against your back, splitting your armour, through to your jacket and then along your back. If you could breathe, you would have screamed in agony. The image of your eyes wide in torture would haunt his nightmares forever. Krell threw you carelessly across the room, slamming against the wall. Your head suffered the brunt of the contact, and your body collapsed in a heap.

Fives' voice broke into bottomless rage. "I'll kill you!"

The clones needed no instruction. They opened fire. A second double ended saber entered the battle. What followed was a myriad of needless lives lost. Krell cut down men with no remorse. His sabers spun and pivoted, deflecting blaster fire and creating a shield around him. The plasma shuddered audibly, sound reminiscent of gunship engines, faulting, stuttering and eventually declining in an air battle. He leapt between men, massacring war heroes. Most were fortunate, decapitated or impaled immediately and granted an instantaneous passing. Others were left with pieces missing and didn’t have such a luxury of a fast death. They bled out until painfully slipping away. Orange and blue chipped armour was diced and thrown every which direction, 501st and 212th assuming a role of puppets, and Krell was the master. The Besalisk sliced one clone through the gut, and kicked him at Rex, who jumped aside in a dodge. Krell ceased momentarily, just as the remaining men dragged themselves back on their feet, and his eyes bore into Rex.

“I will not be undermined by creatures bred in some laboratory!” His exit was open. He turned and jumped through the window, glass shattering around him and falling to the ground below. He spun in the air and landed on both feet, the shards from the tower raining around him. Then the clones below began shooting.

He should have run straight to the elevator and pursued the fallen Jedi. But the stability of what would normally be his auto piloted instincts had fragmented. The smell of your burnt skin crippled Rex's mind. You were face down, and the wound across your back was glowing as it continued to melt the area in its circumference. Kix ran over then, seemingly directing his focus to you. Unbeknownst to Rex, the medic had already done a sweep, and concluded that no one else in the room who had been on the end of Krell's sabers had survived. He hadn't registered that Kix was speaking to him. Everything sounded muffled. "I've got her, go!"

"Rex, come on!" bellowed Fives.

He staggered on his feet, bile threatening to spew over his lips. Rex clasped a hand over his helmet, shaking his head violently. Damn it, snap out of it! He just… needs to see your face. He needs to see that you're alive.

"Rex!" followed Jesse, taking a large step forward and tagging him on the arm. Rex finally jolted, and cast his eyes to the elevator. The men stood, waiting expectantly for his lead, all of them far worse for wear. He picked up his fallen weapons, ran in and spun to face the door, casting another pained expression on your failing body as the level ascended out of view and he went below.

-

The 501st and 212th sprinted out of the command tower, Rex in lead. They followed the trail of broken glass, passing by a cluster of Umbaran ships. Just then, Dogma stepped out from behind one of the transports, blaster trained on his brothers. "Hold it right there!"

Rex whipped out his DC-17s. "Lower your weapon, Dogma," he commanded.

He hesitated briefly, shaking his head. "I… I can't do that, sir."

Rex's patience was already worn into the ground. "That's an order!"

“It’s my duty.” Dogma flicked his aim between them. "You're all traitors!"

Rex deposited one of his blasters into its holster, then removed his helmet, an attempt to show some relation and find a common ground. "I used to believe that being a good soldier meant doing everything they told you. That's how they engineered us,"

Tup lifted his blaster to Dogma.

"But we're not droids. We're not programmed. You have to learn to make your own decisions." He stared intently at Dogma, his brow pinched.

Dogma switched his barrel on Tup. "Dogma, don't do it."

"Damn it, we don't need this right now!" Fives threw his arm down and scowled. "He hurt (Y/N)!"

That broke something behind the tattoo across his eye. "Is… is she alright?"

"We don't know," Jesse said dejectedly, angrily stuffing his blaster into his other hand.

Tup shook his head. “He just… cut her down. A civilian.”

“He’s the traitor, not us! (Y/N)’s not a clone. She wasn’t made to die this way!”

“That’s enough.” Rex’s words weren’t meant to come out as pained as they did. It was like there was a thick wad of sandpaper in his throat, grinding his voice down to a pained shadow of his usual resonance.

The truth is, you were no longer a civilian. You made the choice to enlist in this war, to try and make the galaxy safer for the future generations. It’s one of the things that drew Rex to you - your selflessness and willingness to join a battlefront, to do the right thing, where others would turn and run the other direction. You were hands on like that, believing in doing it yourself, or not at all. Others would have called you mad.

As much as he admired that about you, it was also his downfall, because he knew you wouldn’t walk away. You wouldn’t leave his brothers. You loved them like family. Hell, they were your only family. And they loved you. Perhaps that would mean he would lose you to it all one day. Perhaps he had lost you already.

Rex squeezed his eyes shut and drew his brows tightly together. He sucked in a breath.

Dogma lowered his weapon, and he was tackled by troopers without any protest. He stretched his arms out in front of him and released his blaster. They pinned either arm behind his back and secured his wrists together with binders.

Rex hesitated. "Take him to the brig," he ordered, pulling his helmet back over his head, then pointing to a couple clones.

"You two, get up there and help Kix! The rest of you, don't let General Krell escape!"

"Yes, sir!" They shouted as Rex and the others ran into the treeline.