#even in death you find community and companionship

[spoopy-moose]

So sad that Kentucky route zero never took off on tumblr because it’s so hard to fandomfy such a work because I have so many words of analysis on this game I love it so much

[lilgoblinbitch]

The Archer Finds a Soulmate 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

girl dad!daryl dixon x fem!reader

a/n: this idea was offered by @yummymeee !! was trying to find fluffy daryl prompts and this one stuck with me.

summary: Daryl is a father of a young girl and has always had trouble trusting new people. When he meets you, everything changes.

warnings: none really, typical twd stuff, just some angst and fluff at the end :)

Daryl Dixon was left raising a child in the apocalypse. He didn't expect to find himself taking care of a baby all by himself after the mother of his child ended up hiding it from him, and on her death bed begging Daryl to keep the baby safe. Of course, Daryl would love his baby girl till the day he died. She was the light of his life. She was the only thing left in this cruel world that reminded him of what made life worth living.

Five years after the start of the apocalypse, Daryl was extremely lucky to have been part of a large community that actually showed not only him, but his little girl, charity and companionship. All he wished for was a safe home and chance for his daughter to grow up happy. Because he never got to have a happy childhood himself, it almost felt imperative for him to manifest his own happiness and prosperity by giving his own kid that opportunity.

"Jasmine! Get outta that pile'a crap and c'mere!"

The five-year-old girl lay on her back in mound of dirt and leaves, swishing her arms and legs back and forth. "Daddy, look! I'm making a dirt angel!"

Daryl scoffed as he peered over at his daughter, who was collecting bits of leaves and sticks and dirt in her hair and probably covering every inch of the fabric of her outfit. An outfit that Carol had recently washed, because it originally got stained with orange juice and pudding. Unfortunately little predicaments like that were bound to happen to any little kid. It didn't bother Daryl, he just didn't want to put more of a burden on Carol.

Daryl stood up from the log he was sitting on, setting the dead rabbit he was working on skinning to the side. "Jas! Ya want food or not?" He called out, waving the playful child over to him. She perked her head up at him, her dark curly hair now decorated with bits of colorful leaves and sticks, almost making her hair look like a Christmas tree in some way. The child obeyed and jumped up from the ground, shaking off the dirt that layered her clothing. And of course, they needed to be washed again.

Joining her father by the fire, Jasmine plopped down on the log across from him and simpered at him. He smiled back after examining her youthful grin and spotting the smeared dirt on her face. "Ya got dirt on yer face, silly girl. Here, wipe yer hands and face with this." He handed her a towel, one that was adorned with pink and purple flowers. She loved that little beach towel. She snatched it out of her father's hands and hastily rubbed it all over her face and hands, then tossing it on the ground. Daryl sighed in distress.

"How many more things of yers we gotta ask Carol to wash?"

"We're outside, daddy. There is dirt, and you say dirt makes us dirty. So it's got to make everything else dirty, right?" Her enthusiasm never failed to make him grin and forget what he was even upset at her about.

"A'ight, watch me, ready?" Daryl grabbed the dead rabbit and continued skinning it, making sure Jasmine was watching him. Her face contorted in disgust.

"I don't wanna do that, daddy! It's gross and it hurts the rabbit."

He ignored her complaining and continued skinning it. "It's dead already. Didn't feel any pain, I promise," he reassured the child. "I just needed to show ya how yer dad makes yer all-time favorite food: rabbit stew."

The little girl shook her head. "No, my favorite food is Carol's cookies, and the Kingdom's cobbler!"

Daryl rolled his eyes, finishing up skinning the rabbit and then sticking it on a stick and placing it over the fire. Throughout their meal, Daryl told her about the time he first ever had to eat rabbit, and how he was around her age. His daughter was always absolutely thrilled to hear stories, especially from her father. She admired him more than he realized. And she looked forward to every Thursday afternoon, because that's when Daryl took her out for walks in the woods, pointing out various plants and showing her how to differentiate between animal tracks and walker tracks. Of course, she was too young to fully understand everything he taught her, but it made him more comfortable knowing that she was learning early on.

Some nights Daryl lay awake, tossing and turning only to say "fuck it" and go out in the woods where he could ease his mind, while his daughter was already fast asleep in the room across the hall. He loved being alone in the woods; just him and no one else to disturb him for a few hours.

However, one night he ended up acquiring company from an unexpected individual: you. Daryl didn't know very much about you, besides the fact that you joined Alexandria not too long after he and his group did. You were quiet and reserved, always keeping to yourself and never being found in large crowds because you were always more content when alone. Daryl often found himself following you into the woods to see what you even did out there, but you were just too quick to spy on. And truthfully, you were afraid of Daryl. You had seen how similar he was to you in some ways; his love for nature and serenity and the comfort of being isolated from the loudness of the community you lived in. You observed him going into the woods and not coming back out for hours, just as you did. He ended up becoming a valued member of Alexandria as he helped Aaron recruit new members to the community. He was becoming more outspoken than you, and that seemed to make you nervous.

Tonight, curiosity got the best of you and you decided to go and see what it was that Daryl the archer father did late at night in the woods, all alone.

Daryl did not anticipate anyone to be as good of a tracker as he was, especially in the dark of night. But being the daughter of a hunter father ended up advantaging you with that skill. So when he heard footsteps and prepared to send an arrow flying and landing between the eyes of a walker, but ended up being face to face with you, he was surprised to say the least.

"Hey, um, Daryl right?" Your flashlight beamed onto his face, and he squinted. "Sorry," you turned it off and shoved it in your pocket, "I just, um...I always see you out here, and I'm always out here, so..."

"So what?" Daryl wasn't in the mood for visitors, especially not annoyingly beautiful women such as yourself. You made him nervous.

Daryl kicked the dirt around with his feet, not looking up at you as you continued to speak to him. "Look, I'm not really a people person, and you probably want nothing to do with me because I never talked to you before...but I–" you stopped to look down at the dirt and shuffle your feet in it as well, involuntarily mimicking Daryl. "I dunno, I just need a friend, I think."

You could feel Daryl's eyes on you now, the glow of the small fire illuminating his auburn hair and the specks of hair on his beard. You swallowed hard, becoming a nervous wreck under his hard gaze. "Why me?" Was all he managed to say after studying your face. You finally made eye contact with him after mustering up the courage to do so. He had pretty eyes.

"Because I think we're alike in a lot of ways." You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and leaned against the thick tree beside you. "And honestly, you're one of the only people I know of that has better tracking skills than me," you added, voice soft and unsure. Unsure of what the mysterious man in front of you was thinking. It seemed like he had so much going on in his head all the time, and that's because he did. His thoughts raced, thoughts about you and how pretty you looked under the sparkling fire and why the hell you were talking to a loser single dad like him.

But you didn't see him like that. You were intimidated by him – always have been, except this time he intimidated you in a way you never expected. He made you want to open up to him, because you could tell now that he was just like you. You went your whole life never wanting to be seen by anyone, but Daryl changed that.

Daryl's lack of words left you in your thoughts once again. What if that was his sign for you to scram? What if he hated you? What if he thought you were a fucking creep for sneaking up on him in the middle of the night in the woods? You couldn't handle the fear of rejection so you took matters into your own hands.

Sighing in defeat, you turned on your heal and started for the other direction back to Alexandria, until you were abruptly stopped in your tracks.

"Wait."

Daryl did not wish for you to leave. He believed you. You were like him. "Ya wanna come hunting?"

Your eyes lit up in elation, and you smiled at him. "Yeah, I'd love to."

After a only a few weeks, you and Daryl became friends. He properly introduced you to his daughter Jasmine, who when meeting you for the first time told you, "You're pretty!" It melted your heart. Yours and Daryl's friendship grew drastically from then on. You respected him a lot, as he did you. The two of you were able to teach each other things about nature and hunting that the other had no clue about; you taught Daryl which herbs were best for different things, and he taught you how to shoot with a crossbow. Of course, your bow and arrow and your dagger were just enough for you already, but it pleased you to know that Daryl actually wanted to teach you.

Soon enough it was evident that you and Daryl were growing a deeper connection than the two of you originally anticipated. But somehow you weren't scared of it. You felt content around him, and it was clear that he felt that way about you, too.

"Jasmine!" Daryl called out, frantically searching the woods for his pesky little daughter. The sun was setting over the tree line ahead of him, clouds painted orange and pink. It was going to be dark soon, and he had no idea where his daughter had run off to.

Daryl found his feet moving on their own, eyes shifting around his surroundings while he attempted to track the footsteps of his daughter. "Jas! C'mon let's go!" Suddenly the sound of a twig snapping filled the air. His heartbeat quickened, and his paternal instincts kicked in. He raced toward the sound, crossbow at the ready.

He was just about ready to shoot whatever was hiding behind the tree but when he saw you walking with Jasmine he stopped in his tracks, lowering his weapon. You and Jasmine both glanced up at him simultaneously, and the little girl ran up to her father and hugged him. A sigh of relief overcame him as he bent down to hug her back. You beamed down at the two of them, admiring how touching the sight was.

"Where were ya?" Daryl stood back up, moving his focus between both you and his daughter. You could tell he was trying his hardest to stay calm, but the fact that his daughter was running off in the woods without him made him feel uneasy and on edge.

"Don't worry, I found her by a stream back there. She told me she wanted to learn how to catch frogs," you reassured him. He grinned and looked down at the girl, who was carrying a red bucket full of croaking amphibians.

"Look how many I caught, daddy!" She lifted the bucket up to Daryl and he peered into it. "Well someone's a professional frog catcher now, ey?" He teased.

The three of you reached the gates and Jasmine hurriedly ran down the street to the other kids outside. You smiled and turned to Daryl, who was already staring at you. You blushed and looked down at your feet.

"Sorry, I should have told you she was with me. She just seemed so excited and I couldn't say no, so–"

"Nah. Don't need to apologize," he interrupted, reaching his hand up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. "I, uh, thank you, fer watchin' her."

A gentle breeze drifted through your hair and you brushed stray strands out of your face, all the while Daryl shifted his weight and gathered the pith to express his feelings at that moment. He needed to get it off his chest.

Your doe eyes only impelled him further.

"Uh..." his anxious eyes finally met your passionate ones. "I think Jas might enjoy having ya over fer dinner t'night."

This time you tittered, nodding your head enthusiastically. "If this is your way of wanting more of my company, just say it, Daryl." Your face muscles seriously ached from smiling so hard. "I... I like you. And I would love to come over, honestly, any time."

Daryl's face flushed a shade of pink you'd never seen on him before. It made you giddy. "I like ya too."

That moment felt so cliche – it felt like you and Daryl were part of a silly teenage romcom film. But you two earned that cliche moment. You were surprisingly capable of harvesting a healthy connection with someone who really meant a lot to you.

The magnetic pull between the two of you grew stronger and stronger, reeling your body closer to his. Your hand instinctively brushed against his, making Daryl's insides mushy.

A smirk ran across yours lips and you grabbed Daryl's hand firmly. "C'mon, let's go make some food for tonight."

That evening you cooked venison stew for Daryl and his daughter, by gratitude of the huge buck Daryl scored earlier that morning. Secretly you loved to cook, but you'd only ever cook for someone who was special to you; back in the day you'd always cook for your father after he'd go out hunting and bring back game that gave you an opportunity to create a mouth-watering recipe. Today, that special someone was Daryl. You truly believed he deserved a decent meal from you after everything he'd done for you. He won your trust and respect – even more so your love.

"Thank you."

Daryl was sprawled out on the couch, staring up at you as you had finished cleaning up the dishes. He had already tucked Jasmine into bed up stairs, afterward coming back down to gawk at you.

You wiped your hands on a towel and set it on the counter, turning your attention the the comfortable man on the couch. "No need to thank me. I wanted to cook for you." You joined him on the couch, drowning in the soft cushion and taking in the homey vibe of his living room.

He sat up, turning his body toward you. That expression was painted on his face again – the one that told you he was doubting himself, or that he was trying really hard to articulate his emotions. You took his hands in yours, a decision that caught Daryl by surprise. "You don't need to doubt yourself anymore. I know what you're feeling, trust me."

Your reassurance kindled the spark of courage Daryl so desperately needed. It was as if you were his god, his creator – the one to send him the message from the sky to tell him it was his time to listen to his heart. And so he did.

The archer's rough, calloused fingers traced shapes over the dry skin of your hands. Your gaze melted him like plastic by the fire, and the words your spoke to him spilled from your lips like a prayer.

"Kiss me, Daryl."

Carefully Daryl parted his lips while searching your face for any uncertainties; there were none. And so he kissed you. He kissed you like you were a porcelain doll, suppressing his strength as to not break you. He wanted this kiss to last forever, and so did you.

Daryl trusted his gut that you were the one for him, and boy was that the best decision he ever made right there and then.

[reason-with-the-underdog]

kaveh's voicelines aren't even subtle about his loneliness

kaveh's voiceline: "haha if you're not me and you dont share my trade, i wouldnt expect you to understand. mmm… it'd be nice to meet someone who did understand, though"

kaveh's sketchbook entry about mehrak: "more than anything, i hope it really can understand what I'm saying"

and then one of his hangout routes is about how even if you can't be understood, companionship is just as valuable

…the takeaway being kaveh might never be understood by the masses despite how he longs to belong to the crowd (chara story 5), but maybe he can have a companion

more fun lines:

"You're not… making fun of me, are you? I've gotten so used to sarcasm that I can't tell what's genuinely a compliment anymore."

:') kaveh...

(also this is why sarcasm sucks for actual communication! this is a PSA from your local ND who doesn't always parse sarcasm well)

"it's best that we go and join him for dinner. sigh That means I'll owe him yet another meal now…"

🥲 he'll get there one day.

the way that he immediately pivots to reassuring traveller in his voiceline about his troubles like "whoops didnt mean to bring the mood down, srsly dont worry about it!!"

^ that is a man who keeps accidentally trauma dumping in public and feels incredibly bad about it

his voiceline about "You might unlock something that can't be put away again" sounds like kaveh's talking about his & alhaitham's fight after all, who else does he truly know as a person?

and then "even if all my hopes and dreams are built on pain and suffering" 🥲🥲

kaveh's so unfamiliar and uncomfortable with the concept of someone being worried about his wellbeing (tbf alhaitham does not phrase himself nicely)

the way that i went from "hehe kaveh cant find a way to politely reject a gift" to "o right kaveh thinks that no one will ever understand him and that he's such a burden on others that it's prob for the best to never be understood anyways"....

its not even subtext he actually says it

sometimes i think about how lonely and alienated kaveh must have felt, probably ever since his father's death...

and how resigned he is to being unknowable, yet unable to see that he also pushes away others (him holding scores and assuming that compliments must be jokes, etc)

[slasherparty]

Hey uh, I'm new to the Beetlejuice fandom, and I was wondering if you could do a bjxreader where the reader dies as of a result of something bj did, and he feels guilty about it? i crave angst, sorry if this is annoying

it’s not annoying! i love reading angst if it has a rewarding payoff. dunno how rewarding it’ll be here, but it’s good for character study purposes either way. thanks anon!

beetlejuice 🪲 x reader, accidental death (whoopsie!)

his hand, it was a clumsy thing... a grotesque parody of life, all bony fingers and inky black nails. it reached out, a macabre puppet show, and brushed against your cheek. a chill, an unnatural cold, seeped into your skin. you should have known better than to trust a poltergeist with such a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"A little surprise for my favorite mortal," he had purred, a sinister grin splitting his cadaverous face. you’d laughed, a light, airy sound that now seemed so far away. it was a mistake, a fatal one. the prank, a harmless little trick, had spiraled out of control, a chaotic whirlwind that swept you away; "away" being precisely four stories down into the basement of your apartment building.

beetlejuice, the self-proclaimed "Ghost with the Most," has always prided himself on his ability to stir up trouble without serious consequences (in his opinion, anyway). however, this particular mishap proved to be a costly error. a well-intentioned, albeit reckless, prank involving a trap door had inadvertently led to your untimely demise.

now, here you were, a ghost, a wisp of ethereal energy tethered to a world you could no longer fully inhabit. in the immediate aftermath, you watched as beetlejuice paced, his usual manic energy diluted to a haunted stillness. his eyes, only moments ago filled with their trademark mischief, were now shadowed with shock and remorse.

a part of you, a tiny, twisted part, reveled in his misery. but the larger part, the part that was still you, ached with a profound sadness. though you'd scarcely begun to process it, you'd been robbed of your life, a cruel twist of fate orchestrated by such a stupid and poorly set-up joke.

yet, as you watched beetlejuice begin to tear himself apart over it, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of peace. perhaps it was the knowledge that he was now there, forever, nothing keeping him apart from you. or maybe it was the hope that, together, you could find a way to make sense of this tragic turn of events.

left as a fragile spirit adrift in a sea of uncertainty and the endless maze of the neitherworld processing office, bj finds himself once again in the position of being a guide (he even dons the hat for you).

as the days turned into weeks, you began to adjust to your new existence. you learned to phase through walls, to levitate, to communicate telepathically. when you weren't stuck haunting your apartment, you explored the neitherworld, with bj's ever-present companionship. he'd become a bit of a helicopter since the accident. even though you were dead now, with virtually nothing around to seriously harm you, you could tell the guilt had riddled him with anxiety.

the sight of your spectral form, a pale echo of your vibrant self, haunted whatever was left of beetlejuice's conscience. the memory of your warm living touch, a spark that ignited a strange, twisted affection, lingered like a phantom limb. you still touch him, just as soft as in life, but it's now a bittersweet reminder of a life cut short, a casualty of his own selfish schemes.

he became a constant source of both comfort and chaos. he would spend hours pouring over ancient grimoires, searching for a way to restore you to life, at the behest of juno who of course discouraged any and all investigation into such dangerous breaches of the laws around life and death. "The rules are there for a reason, you brat," she'd remind him, smoke fuming from her neck. you knew this wouldn't discourage him; nothing juno ever said did. but there was some truth to her words... it would be impossible to truly bring you back to the living world in any meaningful, non-invasive way.

regardless, he's always remained determined to make amends, if not to restore your life then to help you transition smoothly into this strange new existence. perhaps, through this unexpected role, he can atone for his past mistakes… and maybe even keep you around, for as long as you'll still have him.

you've often wondered if bj is truly sorry for what he's done. was his remorse genuine, or was it simply a performance, a way to manipulate your emotions? you could never be sure. but you knew one thing for certain: you were bound to him, a ghostly tether that neither time nor death could sever. and maybe that made it all okay, in the end.

bit of a long one! thanks for reading!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[mumms-the-word]

one thing from DAI that I think about a lot is when you see the gravestones that state everyone's fears in the Fade. Solas's is "dying alone." For a long time I thought that meant like….more like "dying unloved, dying without friends near" but now I think that's too simple for Solas.

I think instead it means being the literal last person in the world, dying completely alone, without spirits or people nearby, just so hopelessly alone in large part because he might have screwed up the world too badly. It's ironic, because I think Solas craves companionship, I think he craves having a community again. I think that's something he comes to enjoy about the Inquisition, or if on a low approval path he would say that's why he prefers the company of spirits. But he can't entirely let go of the kind of community he used to have, the people he used to fight for as a rebel leader. Those were his people, and now they're all dead, or trapped, or sundered from themselves, or twisted beyond their purpose.

Of course, the irony that I think we may soon face with Veilguard is that Solas is so focused on trying to bring back the world of thousands of years ago, to try and reshape the elven people into a community he feels he finally belongs in, that he is only going to cause more death, and potentially (no spoilers, just speculation) death to a lot of people he may already care about in present day Thedas.

If you drink from the Well of Sorrows and tell Solas that you would use it to make a better world, to help it move forward, Solas's response is telling:

You would risk everything you have in the hope that the future is better? What if it isn’t? What if you wake up to find that the future you shaped is worse than what was?

Worse than what was...

I can't imagine the pain and heartache Solas must have felt waking up to a world so unrecognizable that the people within it don't even seem real to him. To wake up and believe that you are the very last of your kind, with no hope for the future. To wake up and think that this future that you created is worse, infinitely worse, than anything you experienced in your past. I can't imagine how alone he must have felt then.

Solas is terrified of dying alone, the last of his kind, without friends, without anyone there around him, the only sorry soul in a world of his creation...I just wonder if we'll see that come back as we try to convince or stop him from making mistakes that might bring about the very thing he fears the most.

[yanderes-galore]

@montygatorshusband said: "My idea was Yandere Glamrock Freddy who gets really attached to a mechanic (reader). Since Freddy had his whole thing with Bonnie, and Bonnie got destroyed, he becomes obsessed with keeping the reader safe. So, Freddy stalks them through their Fazwatch (Which he disguised as an innocent gift). He gets really anxious whenever the reader takes off the watch or even the reader getting a small paper cut. So, Freddy decides to kidnap the reader so they can always be right next to him. In fact, whenever he has to leave, he puts the reader in his chest cavity so they can be *really*be together forever and ever."

A/N: Sure! I love writing Mechanic darlings when it comes to FNAF stories :)

Yandere! Glamrock Freddy with Mechanic! Darling

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Grief/Trauma, Fear of loss, Stalking, Paranoia, Overprotective, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Delusional behavior, Major character death, Forced companionship.

Honestly I've always thought Glamrock Freddy is naturally overprotective of you as a yandere.

However I've never considered the loss of Glamrock Bonnie being the reason behind it.

I really like the idea, actually.

After all, Freddy was very close with Bonnie based on his voicelines.

I personally see them as close friends but either way you can tell they were close.

The fact Freddy lost him would have definitely affected him to the point he's scared to share that same connection with anyone else.

It's unknown what truly happened to Bonnie and Freddy would be scared you'd get hurt.

The Pizzaplex has its own dangers and anything can happen.

Bonnie was an animatronic, you're a human mechanic.

You are even more in danger in Freddy's eyes.

Freddy is the naturally friendly type.

Every human, STAFF or child, is usually met with a friendly greeting.

Freddy would get attached to you rather fast, especially as a mechanic.

You help him get ready for shows and often check him over for damage or corrupted upgrades.

He feels you care for him... so he cares for you too.

Which brings up previous feelings about Bonnie.

Along with an overwhelming fear of losing you like the rabbit.

Freddy would definitely slip you a Fazwatch as a gift.

He's so kind to you and plays it off like a small gift for your bond.

Why are you refusing? This is on him!

Even if you say no he'll clip it to your wrist with a smile.

The Fazwatch allows him to communicate with you and allows him to find your position.

It's a gift, yes, but it also doubles as a way to calm his own worries.

For the most part you tolerate his little gift and keep it on during work hours.

Freddy would definitely panic a bit when you take off the watch.

Even when you work on other animatronics you can feel the watch vibrate as Freddy tries to contact you.

He watches your location like a hawk and is never too far from you.

Even if you take it off before you leave or to not get it messy, Freddy frantically rants about it to you.

You have no idea why he's so worried?

Freddy has shown he's capable to determine when a human isn't feeling well.

He would also be very attentive to when you were hurt.

Even if it's as small as a paper cut he asks what happened.

After that he's dragging you to a first-aid station to have you patched up.

The potential dangers of the Pizzaplex are something he thinks of a lot.

With mechanic work you could get shocked, lose a limb, be gutted...

Oh he hates thinking of that.

Reminds him too much of Bonnie.

His worry may indeed take over to the point he feels you shouldn't go home anymore.

It would take a long while but maybe Freddy feels he can keep you safe here.

He's delusional enough to think you'd be happy in his room, all safe and looked after by him.

In terms of the chest cavity thing I feel it would be a hard fit for an adult.

However, if he can manage it, he'd definitely use his chest cavity to carry you around with him at all times.

For the most part he keeps you in his room and out of sight.

Maybe even gags you to prevent you from screaming....

He hates the idea of restraints or gags but... anything to keep you safe.

Then when there's a performance needing to be done, you'll come along!

If he can fit you, that is.

Maybe he'll even find a way to make it soundproof!

He thinks he's making you happy and doesn't see how wrong his actions are.

Freddy just doesn't want to lose you like a certain bunny...

Could you really blame him for being so afraid?

"I'm keeping you safe, aren't I?"

[cloudrumble23]

Puppet girl wanted her to get to know the other ghosts in the pizzeria. To help her "adjust." To prevent corruption from taking over her soul.

Well fine. Cassidy could do that, even feeling the rage boiling under her skin as she considered the thought of anything other than plotting her revenge on their killer. Did the puppet even care? Probably not.

Still, Cassidy could handle it. She could make friends with that quiet kid who never left the suit. Puppet girl hadn't even had a chance to have a conversation with him yet since she was too busy babysitting everybody else to prevent them from corrupting.

The golden suit was crammed far back in the corner anyway. Nobody really seemed to acknowledge it, and Cassidy knew that the puppet girl only knew about it because she'd put Cassidy's soul there. Unintentional companionship, Cassidy thought to herself, squatting down in front of the suit to examine the eyes.

Sometimes there was a faint pinprick of light when she did this. Other times, there wasn't hardly anything to spot. Today was a bad day. She squinted intently, trying to make out the spot of light that she knew was there constantly, but there was no sign.

Resigning herself to actually talking to this kid was maybe not a good idea. He was hard enough to communicate with on a good day, and today was definitely not one of those. Still, Cassidy dove straight into the suit, knowing she'd have to go deep to find the quiet kid who shared the suit with her.

"Are you down here?" Cassidy called, looking around the eerily red space. "Hello?"

She heard a faint sob in response and hurried over to it, seeing him curled up in a ball on the weirdly colored grass.

"Okay," Cassidy sighed, pulling him upright. "What's the deal?"

The boy had his face buried in his hands still, something that continually frustrated Cassidy. They'd encountered each other briefly before, and he never tended to speak. She knew there was the lingering mark of death on his face, a flag of red spilling down an otherwise monochrome appearance.

In life, Cassidy might've even said he was cute, but she didn't have time for such things anymore.

Her fingers looped around his wrists as she adjusted herself to sit in front of him. "Look, I'm not typically the pushy type, but you're the person I know best out of anybody here, and I'm supposed to be making friends so that I don't get corrupted or whatever. Which means you gotta deal with me."

He didn't respond, even as she managed to peel his hands away from his face, revealing thick, oily tears that spilled all the way down his face and coated his hands. Corruption, Cassidy thought suddenly, a chill running through her.

"Okay..." Cassidy exhaled slowly as he peered at her through his eyelashes, briefly distracted from his emotional turmoil.

She swiped at the substance, hoping it was easy to remove, but she ended up smearing it across his face more. "Umm, oops?"

He only blinked at her, seemingly unbothered by the mess.

"Look, I gotta be honest here. This is way out of my range of knowing what I'm doing. And uh... puppet girl says corruption is bad." Cassidy gestured at their hands, coated in corrupted something or other. "And this stuff looks like corruption."

"Oh," the boy answered softly. He glanced at his hands and then at hers. "I'm sorry."

"What? No, you don't need to apologize. We just need to-" Cassidy took a deep breath, something she wished was still helpful. "Okay, why were you crying?"

The boy's mouth thinned, trembling slightly.

"Never mind," Cassidy said quickly. "Could you tell me your name?"

"I... I guess..." he replied, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm... Evan..."

"Okay, Evan." Cassidy tried to smile at him. "I'm Cassidy. I possess Golden Freddy."

"That's not his name," Evan said immediately, his mouth turning down in a frown. Something flickered in his eyes, a memory of some kind. "His name is Fredbear."

"Uh huh." Cassidy didn't know what to make of that. She really did need to talk to the others, didn't she? Clearly, there were many things she didn't know. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that. I just kinda gave him a nickname, I guess."

"It's alright." Evan clasped his hands together in his lap. "That's a lot of blood."

"Oh, yeah..." Cassidy looked down at her torso, still unimpressed with the fact that the bloodstains had carried through with her death. "It's a symptom of death, I guess."

"Do I... Do I have one of those?" Evan asked, his mouth creasing in worry. "Is it on my face?" His voice seemed to get higher with every realization.

"I-" Cassidy didn't know how to respond as he crumbled into tears again. "Yes? I mean, we all have those. It's okay, don't cry."

Her reassurance didn't seem to get through to him.

"Hey," Cassidy pulled him into an awkward hug, making him tumble half into her lap. "It's not a big deal. Even puppet girl has some bloody marks on her face too. And her neck."

Evan hiccuped. "Really?"

"Yeah, it's something we all deal with. I mean, it still sucks because that's so invasive to just know how other people died, but-"

"At least we're all in it together?" Evan asked, the tears spilling from his eyes no longer dark and inky.

"Yeah." Cassidy tried to smile at him. "We've still all got some stuff we can keep private though, like what we were like when we were alive, but as far as dying and our killer go, we got stuff in common."

"Our killer?" Evan seemed horrified. "He killed other people? Besides me?"

"Yeah? He killed all of us," Cassidy's mouth twitched. "Did you not assume that?"

"I thought it was an accident. He said he was sorry and that it was an accident," Evan started muttering to himself, hyperventilating.

"Okay, I think you need to calm down a little bit-"

"Calm down? We're dead because of him!" Evan's eyes flashed, and the hysteria in his voice increasing as he spoke. "He lied to me!"

The black inky substance was leaking from his eyes again.

"Evan, we all had that feeling of hopelessness that you're feeling right now, and I know it hurts, but please. You'll be corrupted if you don't calm down!" Cassidy felt pressure rising behind her own eyes as she spoke. The threat seemed much more likely now that she was witnessing it happen.

Evan shuddered in her arms as she tried yet again to wipe away the tears. "I'm so bad at this," she said to herself as she continued to make it worse.

"Join the club," Evan whispered, gripping his elbows with what would've been bruising force in life. "I can't ever seem to get anything right, either."

"It looks like I made a finger painting on your face," Cassidy admitted, wrinkling her nose.

Evan huffed out a small laugh. "Probably an improvement to how I looked before."

"Nah, I think you're cute, but I made it worse." Cassidy scoffed.

Evan froze. "You... what?"

"I made it worse?" Cassidy answered with a questioning tone. "Like, I made you cry a bunch, and then I smeared it all over."

"Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense." Evan shook himself out of something.

"Did you always used to cry this much?" Cassidy asked, suddenly curious. She'd never heard him talk so much, and he was going to probably never do this again.

"Always," Evan said regretfully. "My family hated it. Mikey and Lizzie said I was the crybaby of the family, and they were right. It was so stupid. Mikey told me to 'man up' all the time and be a better older brother to Lizzie, but I just..."

"Your brother sounds like a jerk," Cassidy said.

"He's worse than a jerk, since he killed all of us," Evan huffed, peering up at Cassidy's face.

"Wait, what?" Cassidy frowned, suddenly confused. "Jeez, how long ago did you die?"

"Like... four years ago?" Evan answered, sitting up.

"But..." Cassidy was even more confused. "You seem too young to have died so recently. Like, your brother is a full-grown adult."

"No he isn't." Evan's face wrinkled up. "He was only fourteen when I died, so he wouldn't be older than eighteen right now."

"That makes no sense." Cassidy replied, shaking her head. "I died two years ago, and he killed me while wearing that stupid yellow bunny suit."

"Rabbit suit?" Evan echoed. "No, that wouldn't be Mikey. Mikey hated Spring Bonnie. Father kept trying to convince him to have more interest in the animatronics, but Mikey only cared about Foxy."

"Then..." Cassidy's throat tightened. "We weren't killed by the same person. We couldn't have been, not if you were killed by your brother."

"You were killed by my father," Evan told her, his face twisted in a different kind of sorrow.

He's trying to tell me without making me cry, Cassidy realized. How could anyone end his life like that? Evan was too sweet for his own good, and clearly some people hadn't appreciated him the way they should have.

"How do you know that?"

"He never let anyone else wear that suit, Cassidy. Not unless something changed after I died."

"Oh..." Cassidy didn't know how to feel about that. "So, your brother killed you, huh?"

"It was an accident." Evan stood up. "I don't..."

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Cassidy said quickly. "I was just curious."

Cassidy stood up and glanced around a bit. "Do you ever wonder why everything down here is red?"

"Sometimes," Evan shrugged. "I don't see anything in any other color anyway."

"You... don't?"

"No."

"Have you ever left the suit?" Cassidy asked. "I only ever see you down here."

"I didn't know I could leave." Evan blinked at her.

"Come with me." Cassidy said suddenly. "You have actually been living under a rock, for real. Come see where we are."

"Oh. Okay..." Evan reluctantly followed Cassidy as she made her way out of the suit and back into the real world.

"So, this is Parts and Service." Cassidy gestured at the grungy room filled with broken animatronics.

"Who is this?" Evan asked softly, having walked away from Fredbear to trace a line down Foxy's snout.

"That's Foxy," Cassidy answered, coming to stand by his side. "Fritz doesn't tend to hang out around the suit much, not during the day anyway."

"Wow," Evan said, his voice wavering. "They actually made them all into animatronics?"

"Yeah, there's Freddy, and Foxy, and Bonnie, and Chica. They're a bit rusted out, and now they're just used for parts, but..." Cassidy shrugged. "I mean, the kids go around and have fun during the day, pretending to still be alive."

"You say that like you don't," Evan turned to her, clear tears running down his face. Does he ever stop crying? Cassidy wondered.

"I don't tend to join in. I'm a bit too aggressive for the things they like to do."

"What do you like to do, then?" Evan asked, his hand still resting gently on Foxy's head.

"I don't know. I just don't feel like playing anymore. I don't feel like pretending to be alive when I know we were all murdered, you know?"

"I guess..." Evan blinked. "What if you could help kids who were still alive?"

"Help how?"

"I don't know. Cheer them up when they're down or something, I guess. Like you did with me."

"I wouldn't say I cheered you up," Cassidy scoffed. "You're still crying."

"These are good tears," Evan replied.

"Well, I don't think that would work, in any case. Nobody can see or hear us."

"They can't?" Evan sounded disappointed. "Well, that's..."

"They can see the suits moving, at least," Cassidy offered. "It's just that you can't really communicate, and I've only ever used the suits to scare the security guards."

Evan stroked the fake fur on Foxy's head, not seeming to really be listening anymore. His shoulders drooped and the tears were darkening again.

"Hey, what's up?" Cassidy asked, finding herself reaching for Evan's face yet again to clear up the corrupted tears.

"It's nothing."

"Clearly that's not true," Cassidy pointed out, holding her inky hand in front of Evan's face. "Tell me what's going on."

"I want to see my family again. I guess I was just hoping that I could tell my brother that I forgive him and miss him and-" Evan cut himself off with another sob. "It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," Cassidy replied stubbornly. "I bet we can find a way."

"What if he doesn't even come here, Cassidy? What if he-"

"Foxy's his favorite, you said, right? Well, if that's true, we need to find a way to get him back in commission so your brother comes back. And then we can try to find a way to get communication between you two again."

"Why are you helping me?" Evan asked. He looked so silly with his face all squished like this, but Cassidy couldn't help it.

"Because I'd like to do something good for once," Cassidy whispered. "And I think it'd be nice to see you smile."

"Oh," Evan answered as Cassidy stretched his cheeks up to force his mouth into a makeshift smile. "Hey, stop it!"

Cassidy laughed. "Make me."

Evan swatted at her hand, a short huff of laughter escaping his mouth. "I can't!"

"Then you're stuck! Oh no, how terrible it is to smile again!" Cassidy grinned in his face, finally relenting in time to see him naturally smiling.

He giggled. "You're ridiculous, Cassidy."

And you're adorable, Cassidy thought fondly, surprised by the sudden protective urge that washed over her. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I dunno. Depends on if you're ticklish or not," Evan replied, the silver of his eyes gleaming menacingly as he dug his fingers into his sides.

Cassidy gasped, surprised that the same jolt of nerves she'd always felt when she was alive was still possible as a ghost. "Hey!" She laughed, even as she crumpled forward, tucked into Evan's shirt as she continued to struggle.

"You want to know the best part about this?" Evan asked, grinning down at her. "I don't even have to stop."

He was right, Cassidy realized. She was laughing so hard she couldn't draw breath, but since they were dead, it didn't make a difference. It's crazy how much joy there still is, even after dying, she thought, still struggling to squirm free.

Maybe the puppet girl had been right after all. Cassidy just needed to make some friends.

Or a friend, she thought looking up at the laughing boy who shared the suit with her.

There was still joy after death.

Especially with Evan around.

Thank you to @pixlokita for this adorable piece of fanart for this, by the way!

[acesw]

Knowing our Arcanists 11: Зима

Welcome to entry eleven of my series: "Knowing our Arcanists"! This is a series in which I introduce and tell the stories of our fellow characters in Reverse: 1999. For today's character we will be seeing: Зима!

Ah so if we have Tennant for the yuri beam then we have Зима for the yaoi beam. He's also one of the characters we're initially introduced to early in the game, and he also has a generally short story. Lets get started.

Зима is a Russian arcanist who was born on April 28th and was active during the early 20th century. He lived in Russia prior to being taken into the Foundation during his exile. His arcane skill involves the composition of poetry as well as the ability to communicate with the wildlife around him.

A quiet man, he is a poet who actively wrote during the 1910s during the era of the Russian Empire. His poems were popular among the masses and the nobles, receiving a great amount of critical acclaim.

However, his popularity met an end once Зима had been exiled after supposedly writing a poem that went against the Tsar's interests. In the island Зима arrived in, he had initially been with many other prisoners like him.

There, they endured many cold days and nights, and Зима had witnessed death firsthand as prisoners died one by one.

Yet he continued to write. Once running out of paper, he began writing on the environment around him. Snow, wood, stone, any sort of surface.

He endlessly wrote poems that allowed him to reflect as well as his journey on the island. Зима didn't write any sort of political poem, but merely just poems that were about life and himself.

On a cold day, he encounters a chickadee who lived on the island. Naming it as "Зима," the two had formed a companionship throughout this exile.

Over time, he began to communicate with more animals. All animals who were once enemies became his friends, and he eventually felt content and safe with living alone in this cold environment.

At some point, the Foundation had found the penal colony as well as encountering Зима during their evaluation of the area. During this investigation, he had done measures to hide away from the Foundation workers before being eventually being found and interviewed by them. Зима was invited to the Foundation, in which he accepted after some thought about the future ahead of him.

After joining the Foundation, he was assigned to Team Timekeeper after some time, and currently resides in the suitcase.

Зима is a humble but socially inept person. He can be described to as being very quiet and closed off, and often takes the time to avoid interacting with people as much as possible. He even finds it easier to talk to the animals around him considering his ability.

However, he's also politically active and has been outspoken against the Tsar and his actions. Every now and then, he picks up on the news coming from the mainland from the birds who travel to the island.

Зима's passion for poetry can't be doubted. He writes constantly when the ideas comes to him, and will do what it takes to write down his thoughts. He enjoys writing at night and when he's alone.

His poetry grew to become an outlet for his emotions and thoughts about his life and the world around him. Interpreted and loved by many who read them, the ultimate truth comes to when he talks of himself and his experiences. Зима writes not for satisfaction, but to entail his life and reflect on the humanity of the world with words unspoken.

They light a bonfire, Crackling, flickering, And before the fire leaves their eyes, they sing, What did you see? The rocks did not reply, But a young voice says, "Humanity."

-Poem excerpt, Зима's anecdote

[that1emowitch]

At the end of the world / Or the last thing I see / You are never coming home, never coming home

Prompt from @tuna-f-b: Do you still do request? If yes and angst is o.k: what would happend i all the bats died? Like how would the hero community react. The supers alone. Clark having to deal with losing his best friend(?) and the kids he basically co parented- as well as seeing his sons lose their best friends(?) Specially as ships that would be awesome angst

A/N: I'm not crying you're crying (Also, for those who don't know, Izzy is Duke's canon gf and one of the Robins from We Are Robin)

Words: 2504

TW: Mentions of blood, Major character death, Coping with loss, Self-blame, Mentions of relapse (drugs)

“If you’re watching this, I am either deceased or indefinitely unable to continue my duties as Batman. But the world still needs Batman. Gotham still needs Batman. My son Damian Wayne, if he is an adult, shall inherit my mantle— if not, Dick Grayson will take over until he is. In the event that he, too, is unavailable for any reason, the mantle goes to Tim Drake, after him, to Cassandra Cain, then Duke Thomas, then Stephanie Brown, then Jason Todd, should he accept it.”

In the video recording, Batman pauses, taking a deep breath.

“In the unfortunate event that the entire family is… deceased… I have a list of contingency plans on both the Bat-Computer and the Justice League’s primary databases. Oracle will help you access it, but in her… absence… the password is “a6ghr83kc02m”.”

Then video-Bruce takes off the cowl, his pale blue eyes looking straight into the camera.

“I know I was never the best with feelings. But I would like my children, my allies, and friends to know that I’m proud of you. And to my fellow Justice Leaguers… Diana and Clark, I am truly grateful for your companionship. I would never have made it this far without you. Barry, Arthur, Dinah, J’onn, you’ve all been good friends. Oliver, Hal… you’re not so bad either.”

Bruce turns around, and looks over his shoulder, the shadows of the Batcave making the scene even more dramatic.

“I wish you good luck.”

Then the clip ends.

A shuddering breath leaves Clark.

It’s real.

He’s really… They’re all…

He can’t do this anymore. He turns around and walks out the door, leaving the other core Justice Leaguers staring sombrely at the now-blank screen.

He doesn’t know when he started flying, when he started trying to escape. The walls of the Watchtower seem to be suffocating him, but he has enough sense not to just leave the airlock yet.

Instead he finds a corner by a window, far, far away from the others, where he can see a majestic view of Earth, the moon, and the Sun in perfect sync with each other.

He falls to his knees.

His breathing’s uneven, a tear rolls down his cheeks.

Then he feels a hand on his shoulder— soft, trembling, yet steady.

“Kal,” Diana whispers, sitting on the floor next to him. She doesn’t continue— she isn’t sure what to say.

“They’re all going to die, you know? We’re going to bury all of them. Everyone on Earth, everyone we know.” Clark’s voice trembles, in a way Superman’s never does. “It scares me so much.”

“Kal,” Diana says again, pulling Clark into a hug. “It’s okay. We’ve lost… We’ve lost so many of our friends. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to grieve.”

“How are you— how are you so—” Clark can’t form his words properly. He turns to Diana, to see her face tight with grief, eyes misty with unshed tears.

Her voice breaks slightly as she speaks. “I don’t want to believe they’re gone. But… we have to carry on. We’re the Justice League. Our people need us, Kal.”

“So we just go on and on? Forever?” Another tear runs down his cheek. “Ollie, Hal, Dinah, Lois, Jon, they’re all going to… they’re all going to die one day and we just have to… to go on?”

“I’m sorry, but it is the truth,” Diana whispers, her eyes stinging with hot tears. “We must find peace in the fact, right now, that Batman— Bruce, the Robins, they— they were so brave. Brave till the end. And they fell as warriors, defending our world. I’m sure they’ll all reach Elysium.”

“And Dickie, Damian, Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke—” Clark’s voice is hoarse. “They were so young, just kids… I… I know Dick, Jay, Tim, Cass… they were adults, but… they’re gone, they’re gone…”

“They were heroes, like you and me. Don’t forget that.”

“I… I know, I just—” Another shuddering breath escapes Clark. “I just— I…”

“It’s okay,” Her voice is forcefully steady, but with an undertone of heartbreak. “It’s okay…”

Dinah looks around the room, her heart heavy.

Clark has left, Diana’s gone after him— both of them need their space, she knows. They were close to Bruce and the other Bats in a way no one else in this room was.

Was.

The word still weighs down on her.

Hal speaks up finally, breaking the deafening silence. “I always thought he hated me.”

No one replies for a long moment.

“I miss the kids,” Barry says finally, his voice quiet. “They were just… Robin was only 14. The others, even Nightwing, they had… they had their whole lives ahead of them.”

More silence.

“Jason, when he was Robin— do y'all remember? Kid was always my favorite,” Ollie says finally. “Was always so sassy. Roy loves him.”

Loves. Dinah winces, but doesn’t correct him. It’s easier to believe they’re just gone for a little while.

“Bruce was a good man,” Arthur adds. “They all were.”

“Tim was, I believe, the smartest,” J’onn says, somber. “It was his plan that allowed us to save Earth.”

“Damian!” Dinah says suddenly, jumping from her seat. “His… his mother. She shouldn’t have to find out from someone else.”

Everyone freezes, faces tight.

Dinah sighs, looking down. “I’ll do it.”

Then she leaves the room, dragging what feels like a heavy weight tied to her soul. She has to do this.

Roy’s sitting in a corner of his apartment, hugging his knees. All he can think of is Jason.

He’s never coming back.

He can still feel the lingering ‘goodbye’ kiss Jason gave him not two days ago, he can still hear him say, “I’ll be back before you know it, babe.”

He never came back.

He’s dead. Dead— dead dead dead DEAD DEAD—

“Small Red not okay?” A booming voice snaps Roy out of his thoughts. He looks up to see Bizarro’s pale blue skin and cold eyes looming over him. He’s crying. “Red him coming back.”

It takes Roy a second to register that Bizarro speaks backwards. It takes everything in him to not punch him for saying that, for giving him false hope.

He feels something he hasn’t felt in years— feels that whisper in his mind— one hit and it’ll all feel better. Just one hit.

NO! He screams mentally. He feels like bashing his head open.

Instead he lifts his dead eyes to survey the rest of the room— Kori’s on the couch, staring into space. Artemis has a crying Lian in her arms, she’s showing her something— old photos of Jason. Talking, whispering in a broken voice.

No, no he should be the one comforting Lian—

What’s he gonna say?

That— That Jason— That her Papa’s gone forever? That he’s never— he’s never coming back?

No— Jay— Jay deserved so much better, he— he already died once before, he’s been through so much, things were supposed to be better now— not— no, he’s— 

Roy feels Bizarro sit beside him, gently patting his arm.

He snaps out of his thoughts again, turning to Jason’s former teammate, his eyes red-rimmed. His voice raw, he whispers, “Jay’s gone…”

Wally’s standing in the Hall of Heroes, staring up at the holographic projection of Dick— he looks so majestic, so mighty, staring ahead with nothing but hope and courage in his eyes.

Nothing like the cold, dead body that Wally held in his arms just two days ago.

He’s surrounded by his teammates, his friends— Kaldur, M’gann, Artemis, Zatanna, L’gann, Garth— yet he feels so alone.

He sees it again— Dick bleeding out it his arms, his wounds so fatal he died before help arrived. Wally’s the fastest man alive, damn it, yet he couldn’t even save his best friend— his boyfriend. He feels the moment when Dick’s breathing stopped, when his body went limp, when his grip on Wally’s hand loosened.

Everyone’s quiet. M’gann’s stress baking again, L’gann by her side. Artemis and Zatanna are sitting together, Garth’s lingering in a corner, and Kaldur’s standing right beside Wally— close enough for comfort but not so close he’s lurking. He’s shaking.

He can still hear it, hear Dick forcing out his last words, telling Wally it’s okay, that he loves him, that it’ll be fine.

It’s not fine. Not without you.

He wants to scream.

He wants to cry, yell, hit something, do anything.

But he can’t move.

So he just stands there, almost as still as the holographic projection of Dick before him.

Kon is left reeling.

Tim… Tim is…

Tim’s dead.

Tim’s really gone.

He thinks, for just a second, that this is how Tim and Cassie must have felt when he and Bart “died”.

Bart is sitting beside him on the couch, leaning on his side, Cassie’s got her head on his lap. Neither of them speak— Bart’s not even fidgeting— they’re all just trying to be there for each other.

The other Titans are up and about, but staying close for comfort. Jaime and Gar are making food for everyone in the kitchen, Raven and Vic have come back to the tower to make sure the others are okay, and he’s sure Karen’s around too, somewhere.

Yet he feels so empty.

Feels nothing at all.

How can he, when his best friend is dead?

Jon hasn’t spoken in a bit. Not when his Mom brought him his favorite soup, not when Grandma and Grandpa showed up to ‘help’ him and Dad through this, not when Krypto plopped down beside him to comfort him.

He hugs the dog close.

Krypto’s technically Kon’s, but Jon’s sure Kon wouldn’t mind if he stole Krypto for a day.

Another sob escapes him, and he buries his head in Krypto’s back. The dog whines, licking Jon’s hand.

He can’t believe Damian’s gone. 

Really gone.

And he didn’t know just how much he would miss his friend.

Dinah finds Talia Al Ghul on a building in Metropolis, overlooking the city. Her face is tight with sorrow, but she keeps herself in check, her back straight, head held high.

She already knows, Dinah deduces.

“I… I’m sorry,” Dinah starts, unsure of what to say. She knows, from her experience as a psychologist, that ‘sorry’ is the last thing a grieving person wants to hear, but she doesn’t have anything else to say.

Talia doesn’t reply for a long time. Then she says, her voice numb, “I should have known, when bringing Damian into this life, that I would also be bringing him amidst the dangers that come with.”

Dinah’s brows furrow. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything at all.”

“I should have trained him better, I should have kept him close, I should—” Talia takes a shuddering breath. “I should have never brought him into this life.”

Dinah can’t argue with that— she knows how Damian had come to be, and it… wasn’t the best birth ever.

“Now leave, hero,” Talia says, her voice numb and cold. “Go back to protecting the world. Leave me be.”

Dinah wants to say something better, comfort the woman, but she can’t. So she just turns back, and leaves.

By the time Harper Row makes her way to the Clock Tower, there’s already quite a crowd there— Kate, Renee Montoya, Harley, Ivy, Silena, and Helena Bertinili— they’re crowding around Babs, comforting her. Luke Fox and Isabella Ortiz are at the computer, looking through something.

Harper tries to open her mouth to speak, but she can’t get the words out.

She makes her way over to Luke and Izzy, shoulders hunched.

Just three days ago she’d been hanging out with Duke and Izzy and Cass and Steph— they’d all been so carefree, so happy…

And now…

Once she gets close enough she realizes Izzy’s crying, and immediately wraps her arms around the shorter girl. Harper’s trying to hold back tears of her own, too. She feels Luke putting a hesitant hand on her shoulder, squeezing tight.

No one speaks for a long time, they just stand together, seeking comfort in each other.

Then Babs rolls her wheelchair to the center of the room, wiping at her bloodshot eyes. But when she speaks, she sounds surprisingly steady. She’s compartmentalizing, Harper realizes. Putting away Barbara and bringing Oracle back.

“Gotham needs her heroes, now more than ever,” Oracle says, head held high. “We must honor our friends by doing the one thing they’d have wanted— to keep fighting. Keep Gotham safe.”

She sighs, her face tight to fight away tears. “Luke. Batman’s contingency plan, in the Robins’ absence, was to pass you the mantle of Batman. Do you accept?”

Luke’s eyes grow wide slightly, but he straightens himself, looking away. “I… I accept. Dad isn’t going to be happy, but… Gotham needs Batman.”

“Thank you.” Oracle nods at him. “As per Bruce’s will, all Wayne assets, the Manor, and the Batcave are split between Kate, me, Alfred, and Lucius. I… Lucius and I are still figuring out who’s going to take over Wayne Enterprises, but on the vigilante side, I’ve got a plan.”

She turns to Ivy, Harley, Kate, Silena and Helena. “The Birds of Prey are needed here, now more than ever. Dinah— Black canary has offered to help us with Gotham, too.” 

Harley nods, sniffling. Beside her, Ivy speaks up, “The… Most Rogues aren’t happy about this. They’re not rampaging— Bane has fashioned his own version of the Batsuit, he’s going around ‘saving’ people, screaming that Batman never dies. The Joker’s searching for Lazarus Pits and Bruce’s body. Jervis Tetch and Nygma held a get-together yesterday, in the memory of the Bats. I… I think they might help us.”

Harper’s gotta admit, she’s quite surprised about this. Even Babs freezes, taking in this information.

“Gotham needs Robin as much as she needs Batman,” Izzy speaks up from beside her, her voice small but firm. “The Robins can come back, this time you can give us formal training so we can actually help.”

Oracle turns to Luke. “Taking on Robins is your decision, Batman.”

Luke winces at that title— it doesn’t feel like an honor to him, it just feels like an incessant reminder that he’s the last one left. Because his friends are dead. But he nods, anyway, not trusting himself to speak right now.

Then Oracle addresses Harper. “I… would you like to be Batgirl?”

Harper’s heart stops. Memories flash into her head— seeing Steph in the Batgirl costume, seeing Cass in the Batgirl suit, both of whom are now gone.

“N— No,” Harper stutters out, eyes tearful. “I can’t— I’m sorry, Babs. I appreciate the offer, but… Cass was Batgirl. I can’t take her place.”

“I understand.” Babs just nods, lips pursed, misty-eyed. “We will all need to work hand-in-hand until everything settles, we will need to be vigilant. Carry on Batman’s legacy, for as long as we may need to.”

No one speaks again.

They all just let it sink in, hearts heavy.

They’re going to have to do this alone now.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep1 Musings - Dreams, Nightmares, and Faith

Wow. 😍 I love the new title card, with the bomber jets & explosions over upside-down...Paris? Romania? IDGAF--it's cool! I am SO glad AMC took us through war-torn Europe!

Something I found so interesting was the question of whether vampires dream or not.

(Armand stfu omg, him & Les both calling Claudia Infant Death 😅)

In the books, AR's vamps go into deathlike sleep--they're not really conscious, don't get woken up by much unless THEY'RE ready to wake up, and don't dream.

Vamps are like the dead, but UNdead--they're DAMNED. The damned don't get to wish for rainbows when they dwell in darkness. They die with their heartaches and grief, and spread it to others as harbingers of death.

In WWII Europe, societal vampires (Nazis, Soviets, etc) and actual vampires coexist, each preying on the innocent & vulnerable. Louis & Claudia literally tear through the battlefields and waypoints. I was wrong about them eating the dead/blown up body parts--they were feeding on dying soldiers, not ones already dead, but TBH at this point I don't know which is worse?

You feel sorry for Darciana and her revenant "child," sure, but there's also Morgan & Emilia--and what about everyone in that bunker (all those old women & kids), who'll probably starve now that their sole hunter/trapper can't get food for them anymore? Just so these serial killing vamps can eat!?!

Louis thinks "the blood is bad here" cuz they're drinking "misery and hopelessness" in war survivors & POWs etc; but really the misery & hopelessness is IN THEM. LOUIS is miserable (without Lestat). CLAUDIA feels hopeless (with Louis/her own companion). THEY (as vamps) bring misery wherever they go, internally & externally.

You're the walking DEAD, Louis. :( You will ALWAYS be cold. U_U

It's bad EVERYWHERE--love & community is what keeps people going--

--even in the middle of what seems like an apocalypse--be it WWII, or the "flying vampire apocalypse/Great Conversion." Even in a hellish place like the Theatre and the Children of Satan/Darkness. We all need/want a HOME.

Louis & Claudia have been stuck in a figurative nightmare, walking through the valley of the shadow of death along the Devil's Road. But poor AMC!Claudia has actual nightmares. 😭

She tells herself (through her diaries) that she doesn't dream, denying the suffering she goes through, trying to stay strong and not give her trauma power.

The tabula rasa of "infants" and child-like innocence that Armand refers to is just The Void for her. By avoiding her troubles, she's probably giving more power to the things that scare her the most.

AMC KNOWS what they're doing! Claudia's in denial too, and DreamStat's calling them BOTH out on it--but like Delainey said: unlike Louis, Claudia doesn't need a hallucination version of Les to tell her what she already knows--he's in her; he's her father--moreso than Louis, who only ever gets called "Daddy" now when they need to fake it! (Or is it REALLY fake for her? When she gets hurt, she yells for Daddy Lou's attention....)

There's her behavior with Louis', and her nightmares, compared to DreamStat. Cuz Louis' not asleep--he's wide awake, but being awake for him is like living in a nightmare with his eyes wide open. Louis said his own dreams were "erratic and often," but which ones is he even talking about, REALLY? His actual dreams? Or DreamStat; the figment of his imagination he admitted to "inviting" inside his head?

The Disney song goes "Have faith in your dreams and someday...the dreams that you wish will come true." For Louis his dream is obvs Lestat, and obvs by PLatRoA and Blood Communion Looustat's dream finally comes true. But for Claudia her dream is companionship, but also knowledge. She wants/demands answers.

(Only for us to find out 2 books later that all the legends really ARE true!)

Louis's having a crisis of faith--he is SCARED of his dreams, and what it says about himself, and has accepted his damnation with fatalistic & willfully blind cynicism--just like Armand does with the Childrren of Darkness/Satan, he's slowly losing his religion/faith in God (read: their "dead" exes: Lestat & Marius), while doubling down on the idea that they are damned and that all that exists is Hell/Damnation/Satan/etc.

He'd rather believe that baboons are roaming Europe than face another vampire who might reveal more about him than he's ready to accept.

He talks down to Claudia just like Lestat did; and constantly crushes her dreams by being a wet blanket. He gives her NOTHING positive or affirmative to look forward to.

Daciana's suicide is a wake-up call: she IS a good vampire (reltively speaking, ofc). She has dreams and wishes and loving feelings, too. She's visibly in emotional turmoil & pain, which Louis can relate to; acknowledging her as human, and finally looking forward to the future Claudia wants for all of them: companions sharing stories & knowledge & love; "we're a family?"

Louis COULD'VE followed Daciana into hopeless misery, but luckily he DOES have Claudia; them helping e/o to stay out of the fire.

And as sick as it is, Lou also has Lestat, and the comfort of knowing that no matter how bad he acts/gets, he's still alive.

There's still that glimmer of HOPE: "a spark in the dark."

As an aside:

Romania as the "ancestral home" of vampires is hilarious. Claudia's desperate to find out the truth--and she's close, for sure, as there are obviously vamps crawling all over Europe--but my heart just aches thinking about how mind blown Claudia would be if she found out that the REAL ancestral home of AR's vampires was Egypt.

Cinematic poetry, putting AR in the same frames where Louis talks about Dracula--only to drag vampire superstitions a few minutes in, as Louis and Claudia bicker over garlic & crucifixes. XD

[lumienyx]

Why did your Tav fall?

@spacebarbarianweird thank you for the tag💙 the words just seem to never end when I write about my Tav's Feelings™️ so here goes

~

Tav has never quite fallen that far in love with anyone before. His one true love has always been sorcery. Adventures. Freedom. His friends. And so, the experiences with the few lovers he's had over his life seemed like nothing compared to what he feels for Astarion.

It starts as idle curiosity. The pale, sharp-tongued elf who calls himself Astarion is the first of Tav's companions to hint at possibly controlling their tadpoles instead of extracting and destroying them on the spot. Tav is ever one to experiment—and so the way Astarion's mind works is what he immediately loves about him.

Always the one with a creative witty comeback, always coming up with cunning ways to solve a problem, disarm a trap, break into the most guarded of places. Half the group is mortified at the idea of grabbing the Necromancy of Thay, yet Astarion encourages Tav to take it. And then gets so engrossed and excited by its possibilities once Tav decides to give it to him instead of keeping it; he was never one for death spells anyway.

The both of them make quite the team.

Yet for all of Astarion's boldness and confidence, Tav senses the fear. Not just through their Illithid connection, but in the little things Astarion lets slip. When Astarion's hands shake barely perceptibly and his eyes stare at places planes away. When he clenches his fists so hard the nails break skin which mends itself lightning-fast with vampiric regeneration... but Tav notices.

Astarion tells him more too, eventually. But their connection is what gives the most insight. The vision he gets when they first meet, the glimpse that night Astarion tries to drink his blood, the accidental connections since—and those on purpose, as they learn and trust each other enough to use their mind-link for tactical communications on the battlefield. Every time Tav touches upon Astarion's mind there's fear, raw and ugly and ever-present, scratching away at his chest and making it so hard to breathe even as he reminds himself that I don't need to breathe I don't need to I don't need—

Tav wants to protect him.

Even as he sees though Astarion's pretty words and the poetics he uses to manipulate Tav into trusting him, he goes along with it headfirst, unsure of what he's hoping for but hoping for something. Even if it's just to be with Astarion for the time-being. Just to help, in what little way Tav can, just with his company, with his words, with his care.

Tav promises to help him defeat Cazador. Whatever it takes. He will bask in the moment he can Disintegrate that crooked smirk from Cazador's face that keeps haunting Astarion's meditations. He will relish how Astarion kills him, makes him hurt for all the pain of two centuries twofold.

Tav needs to protect him, at some point, it simply crosses the bounds of a simple desire to protect anyone he calls friend.

Tav wants him safe, wants him happy. Wants to find more and more reasons to keep Astarion smiling with that beautiful, sun-bright smile that lights up his eyes. Eyes that stare past Tav less and less as time goes on—and begin to look more directly at him, seeing him.

And Tav sees Astarion in turn.

Sees that brilliant mind, the mischief, the love he has for pure, unadulterated fun. The lust for freedom, power, adventure. The quiet longing for companionship and the silent need to uncover his full potential.

It's at the point when Tav figures out he can use the tadpole to project the image of Astarion's face to him that their minds connect stronger, deeper than they've ever had before.

Such deafening emotion flows from Astarion then, overwhelming Tav, drowning him. Confusion, shock, relief, joy, elation, hope—it all crashes down on both of them and ends up in a passionate kiss that leaves Astarion giddy and Tav weak in the knees.

Tav thinks then, how much he loves this, this kiss, this closeness. Loves being with Astarion and maybe loves—

Tav razes the thought right there on the spot. Too soon, too foolish, not true—how could he ever even tell if he's never even felt that before?

But that's when Tav falls and keeps falling inevitably deeper into that blissful abyss of a novel emotion. He doesn't dare hope Astarion ends there in love with him—but, miraculously, he does.

~

No pressure tags if you want to write about why your Tav fell for Astarion (or any other companion/character!):

@ellekhen @tallymonster @satanicspinosaurus @astariondisapproves @astarions-fangs @thedreamlessnights @justporo @tigers-pat and anyone else who sees this and wants to join in💙

[randybutternubber]

Yippee!!! OC time! This is Angel!

(Art made with a Picrew)

She's a LN child, except due to the weird screwiness of The Nowhere, she has wings. She's 10 years old and isn't very good at flying, but she still can as a last resort. She likes helping other kids, usually by causing a distraction while using her wings to stay out of danger. She can still be knocked out of the air by ranged attacks tho, such as The Butlers telekinesis, The Hunters gun, The Viewers sonic screech attack, etc.

Backstory:

She was raised in a place called The Aviary, run by a monster called The Keeper. The Keeper had extremely long and thin arms and legs, paired with a tiny torso and very tall head. It would keep children contained in cages extremely high above the ground. Occasionally, it would take one and drop it from a massive height, seemingly trying to teach them to fly. Most children died on impact. Those who didn’t were taken and put into individual cages, closer to the center, where they were “cared for” more thoroughly by The Keeper, until they died from their injuries soon after. Angel, due to her wings, is the only one who survived without injury. She had tried to fly away, but had been caught by The Keeper, who seemed overjoyed at a true success. It had taken her and placed her in the pride of place, a golden cage in the middle of the Aviary. It always pays special attention to her, bringing her more food and little gifts, as well as taking the time to stroke her wings or head. Basically treating her like a beloved pet. She hates it. She doesn’t like being caged, she finds The Keeper revolting, and she is incredibly lonely. 

She often watches the other children grouped in the other cages, taking note of how they, while far from being happy, share a sense of companionship with one another. One of them talked to her once. He was close enough that they could speak to each other. He was the one who had given her her name, saying she reminded him of stories he’d heard about Guardian Angels. However, The Keeper had walked in while the two of them were mid-sentence, and upon witnessing their conversation, it had immediately “tested” the boy. Angel can still remember the screams as the boy fell, and the sickening crack as he hit the floor. She’d stared in shock as The Keeper had picked up his limp body off the floor, before opening its mouth and sliding the boy in. It was only when she felt The Keepers hand patting her wings that she fully processed what had happened, breaking down and crying. She never tried to speak to another kid again, and they never tried to speak to her either. She tells herself that it wasn’t her fault, that he would’ve died eventually anyway, but sometimes despair overwhelms her to the point that this isn’t enough. After The Keeper dies (TBD) and she and the others escape, she feels even worse about it, wondering if he would’ve lived long enough to escape if it weren’t for her.

This is all I've got rn! Feel free to ask questions! And thanks for reading this! :D

I LOVE THIS!!!

I like the idea of that sort of twisted affection the keeper has for angel, she’s his prized pet, not a person or his child, just a pet.

I also can’t imagine the sort of guilt and pain from that kind of self imposed isolation that she endured. In a way, I’m sure a lot of ln kids probably have similar experiences causing some to be very closed off to communication. Not to mention the idea of “being alone in a room full of life” that’s going on with her being surrounded with other children yet ultimately being forced to not interact with them for their own safety and still being forced to watch them to fall to their deaths.

She’s in a literal prison made of gold. I also love the irony of her having wings yet still being trapped. In a terrible way, the very thing that saved her from dying while falling was what led to her being not just imprisoned again, but special in a terrible, terrible way.

If you have any more refs for her I’d love to draw her some time. Feel free to visit my ask box or dm me any time I’m always open to talking

[rileys-battlecats]

I really, really love your art and art style and aspire to have the skills like yours some day!

Anywho, what dynamic do you think other apprentices has with Mudpaw?

WAAAA THABKS that’s so nice :’)

I’ve written a bit about the other apprentices’s relationships with Mudpaw in the past, but to go into a bit more depth, I think it’s safe to say that their dynamic changes pretty rapidly over the course of the story.

Pre-Wrentail’s death, White, Puddle, and Hawk are fairly distant with Mudpaw. Not because they dislike him, but because it’s what the rest of the clan has done for practically their whole lives. Because Mudpaw is seen as an outsider, he’s been subtly (and in some cases, not so subtly) excluded from the rest of the clan’s companionship and camaraderie. However, after the death of Wrentail, the clan begins to offer support to Mudpaw during his “grieving process” (briefly touched on in this post and this post if you want to read a bit more about it).

When their mentors encourage them to engage with Mudpaw more, the rest of the apprentices begin to truly try getting to know him. They have a pretty rocky start (see: the “anger issues” video) but begin to bond more with Mudpaw as time goes on and they have more opportunities to open up to each other.

Before they really get to know each other, Whitepaw starts off walking on eggshells around Mudpaw, trying to keep from setting him off (since Mudpaw tends to have pretty explosive outbursts when he’s not being completely silent), but that only really serves to put Mudpaw more on edge. This resolves when Mudpaw realizes that Whitepaw was trying to be kind in the only way he knew how, and Whitepaw realizes that Mudpaw was interpreting his tentative behavior as pity for him and his situation. Things smooth out after that (though Whitepaw will always be just a bit gentle with Mudpaw, it’s his nature) (Mudpaw tries to take it in stride and remember that Whitepaw isn’t looking down on him).

Puddlepaw and Mudpaw tended to butt heads often; Puddlepaw likes communication to be straightforward and honest, and Mudpaw is allergic to being vulnerable with people and hides behind 1000 layers of angsty angry sulking. While Puddlepaw is usually cool and collected, certain circumstances can make them just as short-tempered as Mudpaw, and the two tended to blowup at each other in the beginning. I imagine they have a night where they have an explosive argument and then have a heart-to-heart afterward while star-gazing, and they come out of it with a new understanding and appreciation for each other. Turns out they have a lot in common! The next morning the others wake up and are like “why are you guys suddenly friends???”

Hawkpaw always seemed to be perfect to Mudpaw; she was the perfect apprentice that he could never hope to measure up to, and he found her to be kind of intimidating because of that. However, once she impulsively spills her guts about how anxious she is all the time trying to live up to everyone’s expectations, Mudpaw finds her much easier to be around. She ends up using Mudpaw as her sounding board for both her ideas and her worries, and finds out that Mudpaw is an excellent listener. Mudpaw finds himself swept up in Hawkpaw’s grand ideas and aspirations, and doesn’t mind when she talks about all her troubles with him. He realizes he kind of likes being able to focus on problems that aren’t his; it makes it feel like he’s helping, even if all he’s doing is letting her complain to him lol

[quizzicalwriter]

Time

Pairing(s): Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader, Dina x Platonic!Reader

Summary: Grief with a little help.

Warnings: Mentions of death, depression, grief. Learning to cope with the finality of death.

Word Count: 1.8k

Life after loss; a living curse. Whatever books you scrounged during patrols were weathered and old, mirroring the grief that settled heavily in your stomach, hanging with a fever. It burned in the depths of the night, when the bedsheets grew no warmer than a breath.

They spoke of recovery, mingling the happiness with the sorrow, letting them coexist. You had no idea how to begin that process when even the happy came with a gasp torn from your throat, each movement and memory ending in sobs so harrowing your neighbors became familiar with your grief. The sense of community was kind, torn pieces of parchments with scribbled words of hope tucked into the frame of your doorway, raining down on you each morning you forced yourself from your marital bed.

Some spoke of the familiarity of your screams, how they echoed their own grief. No matter how far it was buried, it was tangible and your beckoning calls would return with no sender, just as their own had all those months or years ago. Grief came from someplace primal, no matter the age, each soul would churn at the sound of loss.

Your home grew scattered, fragments of memories once ringing loud now silent, hushed behind begging your mind refused to cease. Maybe if you begged God enough he’d be kind and return her to you, but even God couldn’t quell the yearning for her. The moments you lay cocooning her pillow, breathing her scent so deep it twirled within your lungs. Her scent warmed you, musk and pine.

Each day that passed lessened her scent, her presence. Time did nothing for your sorrow. Another lie from the many books lent your way, something you recognized in the eyes of those who had gone through something familiar. Promises of the passage of time aiding your grief rung hollow, but soon you found yourself nodding in return, not bothering whoever wished you well with the harsh truth.

In truth, you weren’t sure you could conceptualize what it meant to be without her. Days turned to months, and you still found yourself watching your front door with the same reckless abandon you had at the start of your relationship. She’d return, battered and torn, but she’d be alive. Those hopes would die with each setting sun, the bedsheets limp and frozen.

You visited her grave enough to wedge grass in the shape of your sitting form, a mirror of yourself forever perched in front of her tombstone. You familiarized yourself with the granite, the etchings in the stone. Her birthdate, something approximate she’d made up in her youth. You had found it cute then, but now it soured your stomach. You wanted a date to celebrate her, to feel her presence even if only a passing memory for a moment longer. You had no date, only a vague month.

Dahlias, gardenias. She had garnered enough friends and true companionship to keep her grave ordained with beauty. Even in the rot, the petals curled around her headstone in a pattern so filled with love that even you, in the depths of your grief-grown apathy, found yourself wanting to join them. To shrink down and make a bed out of flowers picked from sadness-fueled love.

Six months, half a year. What did she look like beneath the earth? You pictured her as she was, skin radiant and full. Scars dug into the freckles that lined her shoulders, her smile lines etched into her face, eyebrows lifted in surprise, even feigned. It was the expression she wore whenever she returned home from patrol, from a hunt, finding you bounding into her open arms as though she hadn’t had you on her mind the entirety of her journey.

Your hair had grown, matted near the base of your skull where you rested against your pillow, muscles twisted and frozen in time. In a morose way, you found it humorous. You mirrored a corpse, something tangled and forgotten by time, left only with memories. You stared at yourself in your mirror, how haggard you had grown.

People had done you the courtesy of leaving you be. For the first few weeks, months even, you were left to grieve how you wished. As the weeks turned to months, concern grew within your friends and family. They wished to speak with you, but the front door remained locked, opened only whenever you were required to leave for patrol.

Companionship was something intrinsically human, something many worried would be lost with the outbreak. It hadn’t for you, for Jackson. It rang in the air during celebrations, birthdays, funerals - all of it. There were hugs, cheek brushes, and shared glances with heavy hearts. You wanted to cherish it, you did.

A heavy knock reared you from the continued prodding of your sunken features, the noise continuing to chime through your house as you made your way to your front door. A figure loomed outside, one you recognized without having to part the blind that separated your door from the prying eyes of those outside. You twisted the doorknob before your mind could convince you otherwise.

Dina.

She had loved Ellie, not too long before you had met Ellie yourself. You saw yourself mirrored in her eyes, a shared grief that connected you two with enough tangibility to leave you sick. Her lips didn’t feign a smile, she knew her pain well enough to move forward and envelop you in a hug that mirrored pictures you’d seen etched in children’s books. How a mother would cradle their child after an illness, how siblings would embrace one another after a shared lecture.

You sunk into her hold with a gasp, a lungful of air that seemed to have hung steady in your lungs ever since you learned of Ellie’s death. Unconsciously, your arms circled her, hands clinging to the fabric of her coat as though she were the only thing keeping you steady. You let yourself cry, and she listened. No words were shared in that moment, only tears and whatever strangled air you could manage to scrounge back into your lungs.

An hour seemed to have passed before you pulled away, eyes puffy and nose red. Dina brushed your hair from your face, her hands settling on your cheeks as she gazed back at you. Dina had loved Ellie for years, just as you had. There was no animosity between you, there never had been. You found yourself eternally thankful for it as she led you over to your couch.

“Let’s clean you up.” She murmured, and for once you didn’t fight it. You nodded as you sat down against the cool leather, the fabric creaking beneath your form. She moved beside you, placing her bag in her lap before rooting through it. Her free hand turned you away from her, helping you to rest against the backrest of the couch.

Her hand pressed against the midline of your hair, leaving it flat against you as she brushed away the knotted ends. Winces flashed across your features, yet your eyes stayed locked on an unknown destination in the foreground of your once lively living room. You became familiar with the recurrent pattern of Dina’s breathing, the steady inflation of her lungs paired with a subtle hum that lingered in the back of her throat, as though the silence shared between you two unnerved her.

You couldn’t fault her, neither of you had ever been particularly close with one another, how were you meant to be? Grief had woven you two together, yet the unease lingered. Ellie would’ve joked, made some horrible pun on the quiet. She never liked it, something about it always set her on edge - perhaps she and Dina shared that. You didn’t.

Silence became deafening during the night, whenever you found yourself pining for the familiar call of Ellie’s voice from across the hall. But, now it kept you grounded - here, in a reality where there was no siren to beckon you further. In time you’d fill the air, hum a song Ellie had taught you. For now, it was silence.

“It smells like her. Here, I mean.” Dina spoke, voice cracking halfway through her sentence. “That, uh- pine smell.”

“Her soap.” You replied without missing a beat, a hint of a smile toying with the corners of your cracked lips. Dina hummed, her right hand giving your shoulder a short squeeze before resuming her detangling.

“They had all these different types of soap.” You whispered, finding your chest aching, yet filling with an unfamiliar sensation the longer you spoke of Ellie. “She chose pine every time. Something about how manly it smelled, she loved it.”

Blurry images of Ellie flashed before your mind, her hair tied back, smile upon her face. Her laugh reverberated in the back of your skull, shuddering the memory. You tried to focus on her, her face. All you saw was the pine soap held firmly in her grasp, pale fingers twisted around the paper wrapping. You were laughing then, too.

“I chose roses.”

Ellie had paid for both, holding both bars to her nose the entire walk home. She had never been a fan of roses, the strong scent too ‘loud’ for her liking. She loved it on you, how the day would wear away the stabbing tones and give way to something soft, she’d bury her face into the crook of your neck and breathe deep. You always pushed her away, playfully, of course.

“I see her,” Dina admitted through a sigh of her own. “Sometimes on patrol, I swear I hear her.”

You turned, a shoddy smile twitching your lips as you met Dina’s gaze. “I do too.” You replied, words quiet. “Around the house. In bed. At night, I feel her breath.”

If it had been anyone else, anyone at all, you would’ve refrained from sharing what flooded your mind in fear of sounding psychotic. But, it was Dina, and she understood you better than anyone could. She looked back to you with a smile of her own, her expression echoing her appreciation of being understood.

“She loved you.” She spoke as she lifted her hand, palm cradling the edge of your jaw. “Every time we were on patrol, she couldn’t help but talk about you. It was sweet.”

You laughed then, the noise barely audible, but it was there. The thought of Ellie parading your name, unable to refrain from boasting. It was her, truly. You had done the same, you still did, albeit in the constraints of your grief-stricken stupor.

“She loved me.” You mirrored. “I love her, too.”

“I know,” Dina whispered. “I know.”

Some unforeseen merciful force let you linger in that moment longer than you’d been able to since Ellie’s death, the fleeting hopeful feeling that she was still with you, waiting outside your front door with arms open, pine scent covering her skin. She would wait, wait until you ran into her embrace. Then she’d hold you, plant a kiss to your temple.

She would wait.

As would you.

“I love her, too.”

A/N: Some angst for your evening. I return from my slumber, although it wasn't much a slumber as it was stress. Anywho, I hope this piece isn't too dark. Can you tell I vent through my art? Thank you all for your continued love and support of me and my work, I value you all more than words could ever hope to express. Thank you.

[yanderes-galore]

So, i was reading some of your Alien vs Predator stories and i remembered how much i love the ones featuring the Queen and the hive behavior. So, could you write the yandere alphabet for the Xenomorph Queen?

Sure! This is general and no specific Queen so here you go :)

Yandere Alphabet - Xenomorph Queen

Pairing: Animal/Pet-like

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Violence/Death, Kidnapping, Blood, Scenting, Isolation, Possessive behavior, Forced but dubious companionship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Queens have shown to have intelligence and aren't entirely dumb. They usually understand human actions and have been shown to bargain. So a Queen would have a higher sense of intelligence than most drones.

If a Queen happened to like a human enough, they'd protect them as though they were one of their young/eggs. If provoked Queens can get brutal in their methods of disposing foes.

In terms of how affection is showed, it's often mimicry of other creatures. A Queen could hold her human and nuzzle her large face into their stomach, that's a more common way.

Affection between you and a Queen isn't what you'd expect. She's intelligent enough to understand and mimic it. Yet... it's more animalistic in nature.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Messy. Queens don't care about being clean with their kills. She could be covered in blood and won't care.

If anything, it's part of her nature.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

I doubt a Queen entirely knows what mocking is. When abducted you'd be kept in a special section under her watch. Most likely stuck to the wall in a resin casing, kept away from the eggs to prevent accidental incubation.

That way she can hiss and coo at you when she feels she wants to.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Most likely. When she drags you into her Hive, you're under her control/command.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Hard to say. She'd be vulnerable about you but in terms of heart... it's up in the air.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Confused. She thought this was what she was supposed to do? She's taking care of you... it's her form of affection and love.

Yet you struggle...

Is it because she's so big? Do you not like being cradled? Despite her confusion she ignores your fight.

She's much stronger than you anyways, she probably will start to not notice at some point.

You'll give up, probably.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Not a game, she'd be distraught if you tried to escape her Hive.

She most likely will send drones to deliver you back to her.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

The whole thing could be considered horrible.

Yet the worst experience may be if you accidentally got a Facehugger on you or were somehow injured.

Unless there's humans nearby who plan to enter the Hive... you're as good as dead.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

She doesn't think of futures, just procreation, the Hive, and her human.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Most likely. Since she's strong and still animalistic, she'd lash out. Humans are allowed nowhere near you.

Only Xenomorphs are allowed around you.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Lots of coos and hissing. She loves to hold you and keep you close to her chest. She's weirdly affectionate with you compared to other humans.

She'd never take her "gaze" off you, she often scents you to smell like her Hive, then she gives you your own section of the Hive.

Soon you two may even come up with a mutual agreement as you can communicate with the large beast due to her intelligence.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

You probably picked you out of a human group somehow. Maybe a set of marines in her Hive or from a nearby colony?

There isn't much courting... just chance.

You may simply have poor luck.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

You're the only human she isn't hostile to.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

She doesn't understand punishment but she may just send a set of drones to keep an eye on you.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

She would have no idea what a right is.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

In the middle. She can be patient but she is still "feral".

So she won't have a ton of restraint.

Probably, yes.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No and no, she has no concept of guilt. She may have a vague sense of guilt but that would require knowing what's "right and wrong".

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Unknown.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Confused once again but she observes your behavior to try and find a solution. She is smart so she'll try to find a way to at least have the noises you make stop.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

The entirety of her being is different from the classic yandere.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Hard to say. It's really difficult to sneak out of an Alien Hive. I'd say trust but even that's limited.

Maybe luring humans into the Hive? She'll be distracted and you may even be rescued.

...Maybe....

Not on purpose... but, yes. She isn't the most careful.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Would go to great lengths to keep you in her Hive, has no concept of worship.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Not long, if any.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

By accident she would.

[kookie29]

☆~ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8: ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ~☆

Synopsis: A short story of Jeremy Gilbert's short-lived but profound romance with the love of his life.

Genre: Angst

Warning: None

765 words

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3 , Ch 4, Ch 5 ,Ch 6 , Ch 7 ,Ch 8

The weeks following Katherine's capture were a whirlwind of emotions for Jeremy. Though the justice for Lena's death brought some solace, the void her absence left was profound. With each passing day, Jeremy grappled with the pain, finding small ways to honor her memory while trying to navigate a world without her.

Bonnie, Stefan, and Caroline rallied around him, offering support and companionship. They knew that healing would be a long and arduous journey, but they were determined to help Jeremy through it. Their bond, forged through shared loss and love, grew stronger, creating a foundation of friendship and support that Jeremy desperately needed.

One day, as Jeremy sat by the lake where he had proposed to Lena, he found himself lost in thought. The water shimmered under the afternoon sun, and the gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the willow tree overhead. It was a place filled with memories, both joyful and painful. As he stared at the lake, he realized that while Lena was gone, her love would always be a part of him.

Bonnie approached quietly, sensing his need for solitude yet wanting to offer her presence. She sat down beside him, and for a while, they simply sat in silence, absorbing the tranquility of the surroundings.

"You know," Bonnie began softly, "Lena would want you to find happiness again. She'd want you to live your life fully."

Jeremy nodded, his eyes still fixed on the water. "I know, Bonnie. It's just hard to imagine moving on without her."

Bonnie placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's not about forgetting her, Jeremy. It's about carrying her love with you and finding a way to honor her by living the best life you can."

Her words resonated deeply with Jeremy. He realized that living in perpetual sorrow wasn't what Lena would have wanted for him. She had always been his light, encouraging him to embrace life with courage and love.

With newfound resolve, Jeremy decided to take small steps toward healing. He began by returning to his art, something he had set aside in his grief. Painting had always been a therapeutic outlet for him, a way to express his emotions and find peace. As he dipped his brush into vibrant colors and let it glide across the canvas, he felt a connection to Lena, who had shared his passion for creativity.

He painted scenes that reminded him of their time together—the lake, the willow tree, the starry nights they had spent dreaming about the future. Each stroke of the brush was a tribute to their love, a way to keep her memory alive.

Gradually, Jeremy started to reengage with the world around him. He spent more time with his friends, finding joy in their company and strength in their support. He resumed his role in the community, helping out at the local art center and mentoring young artists. These activities brought a sense of purpose and fulfillment, helping to fill the emptiness that had consumed him.

One evening, as he walked through the town square, he noticed a small gallery hosting a local art exhibit. Intrigued, he stepped inside, his eyes drawn to a series of paintings depicting scenes of hope and renewal. As he admired the artwork, he felt a sense of kinship with the artist, someone who had clearly experienced their own journey of healing.

The gallery owner approached him, introducing herself as Emily. "I see you have an eye for art," she said with a warm smile. "Are you an artist?"

Jeremy nodded. "I am. Art has always been a big part of my life."

Emily's eyes lit up. "We're always looking for new talent. If you're interested, we'd love to showcase your work."

The opportunity excited Jeremy. It felt like a sign, a chance to move forward while honoring his past. He agreed, and over the next few weeks, he worked diligently on a collection that captured his journey from grief to healing.

The night of his exhibit's opening was a milestone. Surrounded by friends and community members, Jeremy felt a sense of accomplishment and peace. As he looked around the room, filled with people appreciating his art, he knew that Lena's spirit was with him, guiding him toward a future filled with hope and possibility.

Jeremy's journey was far from over, but he was no longer walking it alone. With the love of his friends, the support of his community, and the enduring presence of Lena in his heart, he faced the future with renewed strength and determination.