#his death has felt like the first time something was ripped out from under our whole generation

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

@actuallylukedanes sent me this and it is my favorite memorial of matthew perry without question. made me want to cry.

[heliads]

Hello, glad I can submit this request then, I barely find any Luke Castellan fics he needs more love 😭

Anyways, I just wanted to request something small like headcannons on what it would be like at the aftermath of the Battle of Manhattan if Luke didn't die, what would he be like and how the reader would help him overcome his trauma or problems ? Just pure fluff is what I'm trying to say ;_;

Sorry if that doesn't make any sense... Please let me know if you don't understand me XD

But thank you so much if you write this <3

i see that you have asked for headcanons but i am so delighted by this request that you get a full fic instead (ily)

masterlist

Luke Castellan is not sure what to do with the fact that he did not die. It would have made for a better ending, he thinks. It was the logical conclusion. He tried to make a better world, and when that failed, he could have been terminated along with that last dream. It is what most people would have decided was best.

Yet Luke opens his eyes– his eyes, not someone else’s, not that awful feeling of having his body belong to some being that was not even human, let alone not him– and he is alive. Luke is not sure yet whether this is good or bad. He’s not sure that anything in this world could remotely fit into those categories anymore.

He stares up at a blank ceiling above, which confuses him. Last time he checked, Luke was dying on the ruined floor of the gods’ throne room. There had still been a roof over his head, but Luke swore that he could see a sky of the deepest blue. Luke had felt himself fall into that wondrous lapis void, and then he had felt nothing at all.

That was supposed to be dying. It was more peaceful than most people would say he deserved, given all the hell Luke wreaked on the world by allying with Kronos. Luke’s supposed ending had certainly not been pretty:  a dagger in his hand, stabbed into the one place the immortal waters of the River Styx hadn’t protected him. Achilles’ curse had lifted, and Luke was free of the Titan that had been consuming his body whole.

Yet Luke is staring up at a room that is neither burned nor broken. At first, he wonders if this is what death is like, but he’s heard enough stories of the Underworld to know that it would never be this simplistic. No, this isn’t Death; Luke sits up slowly and manages to fight nausea long enough to realize that he’s back in Camp Half-Blood. Back home, his mind tells him, and Luke has to remind himself that’s not true anymore. He has no home. He has no people, he left them all a very long time ago.

A voice to his side makes Luke whip around.

“I’d sit down if I were you.”

Luke trains his eyes until they slowly, begrudgingly focus on an orange-shirted figure seated next to him. At last, he realizes he recognizes the guy. Will Solace, one of Apollo’s kids. He must have been in charge of bringing Luke back from the dead. 

Luke is baffled by the fact that Will is perched here and not Michael Yew, current head of the Apollo cabin, until it occurs to him that Michael is likely dead. That explains the hollows under Will’s eyes, at least, and the undercurrent of hate that Will only barely keeps at bay. Such strong emotions for a boy who’s usually so cheerful. Luke supposes he only has himself to blame for that.

Will may despise Luke all he wishes, but he’s still a doctor at heart. The blond gestures for Luke to lean back down. “If you rip out your stitches and make my work worthless, I’ll kill you myself.” Will says.

Luke arches a brow. “How do I know you won’t do that anyway?”

“I’m still debating,” Will replies pleasantly.

Someone laughs next to him. “Try to stay civil, Solace. Our time for killing is over.”

A camper takes a seat on Luke’s other side. After a few moments of recollection, his addled head realizes that he knows them. That’s Y/N L/N, they’ve been in the Hermes cabin for the longest time, not one of Luke’s half siblings on the godly side but yet another demigod gone unclaimed for years. They used to complain about that to him. He doubts they would repeat the same sentiments now.

Will groans. “Let me at least try to be intimidating, L/N. I only get to do it so often.”

Y/N cracks a grin, then turns to Luke. “I imagine you must have a lot of questions.”

Luke narrows his eyes at them. “Why aren’t I dead?”

Y/N does a superb job of ignoring Will’s clear sentiment that he’d like an answer to that as well, keeping their gaze firmly trained on Luke. “You tried to stop Kronos in the end. Chiron decided that, seeing as you did all that in an effort to protect unclaimed kids and demigods who were ignored by their godly parents, you deserved a second chance.”

“Does anyone other than Chiron actually believe that?” Luke asks pointedly.

Y/N shrugs. “Depends on what you do when you get out of here.”

Will jumps up. “That’s my cue to check on the rest of my suffering patients. You know, the ones that didn’t try to betray us.”

Y/N watches him go. “Ignore him. He’s–”

Luke cuts her off. “Mad that I tried to kill everyone here? I can’t blame him.”

“So you regret what you did?” Y/N questions slowly.

“I don’t regret trying to do something,” Luke says, “only that the gods weren’t as hurt as the demigods. I didn’t want to hurt us, just them. Olympus could use a good scare.”

Thunder rumbles overhead, loud and overbearing. Luke imagines it’s a warning to him:  he’s treading on thin ice by staying alive, he’d better not press his luck by insulting the gods anymore.

Y/N sighs, evidently thinking the same thing. “You wouldn’t be the only one to want the world to change.”

Luke glances over at them. Obviously, he hasn’t seen Y/N since he switched sides, but he had forgotten that they used to be friends. Good friends, too. It’s nice to have at least that back to normal.

“You haven’t been claimed in the last while, have you?” He asks, changing the subject away from more dangerous waters.

Y/N smiles. “Actually, I have. Percy made the gods swear to start claiming more of their kids. I found out about my parentage a few days ago.”

Luke nods solemnly, but doesn’t ask for further details. He made a point of prioritizing the demigod over their godly parent when he was recruiting for Kronos during the war, and he supposes that habit has stuck. It makes him wonder how many more traits of the enemy he won’t ever be able to shake.

“So when do I get out of here?”

Y/N folds their arms across their chest. “Depends on what you mean by getting out of here. You’ll get a clean bill of health within the next day or two, most likely. You won’t be leaving the camp for months, though, if ever.”

The implications of that don’t have to be spoken aloud. Luke messed up, obviously, and so he’ll be on house arrest until the end of time. If he can prove that he’s worth the effort of saving, maybe they’ll let him live his life, but until then he’ll be monitored around the clock.

It’s more than he expected, at any rate. Part of Luke thought that he’d be handed over to some sort of trial once he healed up, made to face his crimes and be overly punished accordingly. That way, the gods could point to him in the decades and centuries to come as proof of why half-bloods should never reach for more than they deserve.

But no, he’ll be living. That’s certainly something. Luke leans back slowly against his cot and ponders this. “Do I get a personal guard or something?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder. “Kind of. You get me. I’m supposed to follow you around and make sure you don’t try to escape.”

Luke snorts. “How’d you get stuck with that job?”

“I asked for it,” Y/N says coolly.

Luke is taken aback. “Why’d you do that?” He can’t imagine anyone in this camp actively trying to bond with him, let alone someone he knew as well as Y/N. Wouldn’t they hate him for betraying them?

They might be just as surprised about it as he is. “I’m not entirely sure. Guess I thought I was the only one who wouldn’t actively try to kill you in your sleep.”

They’re brutal about it, but it’s kind of nice. Honesty is the only sort of medicine that Luke feels like he can stomach right now. Mollycoddling and sugarcoating just serve to waste time.

He half expects Y/N to back out of it, but no, when Luke is declared medically sound and all but forced out of the hospital wing by swordpoint, they’re waiting for him by the door. Luke staggers out into the bright sunlight and looks around like he’s in a dream. The camp has changed since he last saw it. Cabins have sprung up like wildflowers and more are being constructed by the moment.

Y/N notices him staring and gestures towards the new buildings. “See, that’s your doing, even if no one wants to admit it. A ton of new kids have been claimed. Hermes cabin has never been so empty.”

Bitterness surges through Luke’s throat before he can stop it. “I thought that was Percy’s idea.”

Y/N shakes their head. “Percy only got the idea from you. You can make yourself a villain if you want, but you weren’t entirely heartless. You got my godly parent to claim me, and that’s worth a lot.”

Luke smiles to himself as they go. Y/N leads him to the door of their cabin. It’s still cavernously empty compared to the close quarters Luke remembers in Hermes, and he only notices one bunk with belongings on it.

“You’re the only one here?” He asks.

Y/N nods. “So far, at least. I’ve got you now, though. Just as a warning, I will be claiming cabin counselor privileges and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Luke grins before he realizes it. The expression makes his scar ache, but he finds he doesn’t mind it quite so much as before. “I won’t fight you on that.”

He pulls himself onto the top bunk of one of the many empty rows and surveys his new domain. “Do you think it was worth it? Figuring out who your godly parent was just for them to leave you like this?”

After all, what a life. An empty cabin already collecting dust. It’s cold in here without bodies inside to warm it up. The walls are barren of personal touches. Y/N knows their heritage, yes, and is able to move out of a cabin that was never theirs, but this doesn’t seem like much of a blessing.

Y/N lingers by the foot of Luke’s bunk, and he gestures for them to climb up and join him. They do so in a heartbeat, and then they’re sitting opposite each other, gazes locked and breathing steady.

“It can be lonely,” they admit, “but it’s not so bad. You have hope that it won’t always be this way. Maybe someone will come. Maybe someone already has.”

Luke swallows harshly. “I missed you.”

He blurts it out, hardly aware of what he’s saying. He missed a hell of a lot. Y/N. Laughing at midnight, their whispered words covered up by the sounds of dozens of campers sleeping shoulder to shoulder. Training during the day, the clash of celestial bronze. Orange shirts burning like beacons against their backs. Being able to wear his beaded necklace without feeling like a traitor, even if that’s what he is and always will be.

Y/N leans forward. “I missed you too. I kept hearing about you, which is more than you got of me, but it didn’t feel right. I don’t know where the boy I knew is, if he even exists anymore, but I’d like to try and find him again.”

“I’d like to find him again too,” Luke whispers.

It is the dream of a broken boy bleeding out in the palace of the gods. At this moment, Luke isn’t entirely sure that he didn’t die there in the Olympian throne room. If someone told him that this is what dying is like, conjuring up a vision of what he wishes he could have most of all, Luke would have believed them.

In the end, Luke has no idea if this is real or not. All he can do is keep going, keep waking up each morning to see if he is still in the hazy aftermath of a second chance or finally locked down below in the Underworld. Luke always wanted to try for the Isles of the Blest anyway. Maybe this is just his second life, his second attempt at getting there.

He reaches out on impulse and takes Y/N’s hand. He can feel the blood pumping through their veins, the same certainty as being able to press his fingers against a locked door and know exactly how to break in. This is Luke’s next great trick, but he thinks he’d like to do it right.

“Alright, then,” Luke says at last, “Let’s try again.”

pjo taglist: @w1shes43

[agentwhiskeysdarlin]

Fooled Around and Fell In Love

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW 18+ (minors dni)

Warnings: mostly done in Jack’s pov with one switch to reader’s for a short time, mentions of death and funeral setting briefly, bar setting, alcohol consumption, (y/n) mentioned once, heavy make out session, smutty good times, oral (female & male receiving), p in v sex, the fluff is ridiculous topped off with the cutest ending I’ve ever written

Word Count: 3.4k

Author’s Notes: I honestly have had this fic sitting for weeks and completely forgot about it. Oops. This idea has been in my head for at least a year and I finally did it. This was also the first timeI wrote a lot in Jack’s pov which was a lot of fun. I’m probably not going to have anything else until kinktober 👀 Thank you as always to @clint-aww-no-barton and I hope you all enjoy! Also if you have never heard the song played in the fic go give it a listen!! Fooled Around and Fell In Love by Elvin Bishop

ao3 link

Jack Daniels had only been in love once in his life. She’d been his high school sweetheart. He never did figure out how he’d won her heart, but he had. They were going to get married and she’d been pregnant, a baby boy. Then it was all ripped away from him. He’d stood in the cemetery and watched them lower her into the ground along with his heart. Buried six feet under. He swore that day, when he turned his back to her grave, that he was also turning his back on love. He was done with the silly four letter word, that meant nothing but heartbreak. It was hard at first especially seeing his parents, knowing their story. It was a beautiful one, one people wrote books about but Jack just supposed that life wasn’t for him.

  He fooled around of course. He still found women ridiculously attractive, and sometimes it was just too hard not to try and charm his way in. He would flirt until he found the perfect girl, who just wanted a little fun for the night. By the morning he was long gone. It got lonely sometimes, but when it did Jack would imagine himself right back at that grave. It was a reminder to not get attached, not to fall in love. He couldn’t do that again. He wouldn’t live through it a second time.

  He sat now at a local, small town bar, which had pulled in a crowd not long after he’d arrived. He was nursing his second whiskey, turned around on his barstool watching the crowd as it grew. This was his usual Friday night routine, when he wasn’t working. He would come here and wait for the ideal woman and then make his move. Tonight was busier than usual which, Jack didn’t mind at all. The bit of sunlight remaining suddenly broke through the dim lighting, and Jack turned his head to see who was walking in. That’s when his eyes fell on you.

*Your POV*

  You couldn’t believe your best friend had dragged you here. Actually you could. She was strong willed, and didn’t take no for an answer much. You’d rather be sitting at home, binge watching a show and eating your weight in ice cream.

  “Oh come on. Let’s get you drunk and laid.” Your best friend looped her arm within yours.

  “I’m not the one getting over a dick of an ex. I’ll pass.”

  “You still need to get laid honey. You’re too cranky.”

  “I am not! I’m perfectly fine. Plus there’s not a single guy in here who would look twice at me.”

  “Tell that to Burt Reynolds sitting at the bar.”

  You glanced over and sure enough, a man who looked like a younger version of Bandit himself, had his brown eyes on you. You felt your face heat as you turned away.

  “He’s probably looking at you.”

  “Oh honey. He’s not looking at me. Come on, let’s get a booth and I’ll get our first round.”

  You rolled your eyes but let her drag you along to a booth. This was going to be a long night.

*Jack’s POV*

  Jack watched you, as your friend dragged you to a booth reluctantly. You were beautiful. Honestly one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. Something about the fact that you obviously didn’t want to be here, just piqued his interest even more. A little more liquid courage and he would go make his move. He watched your friend walk over, confidence so clear on her face. She leaned on the bar calling out to the bartender, placing her order. Two whiskey’s on the rocks. Then she turned to Jack.

  “Hey tell me, where you looking at me or my gorgeous friend over there when we walked in?”

  “No offense against you darlin’ but definitely your friend.”

  “Oh no offense taken. You’re definitely her type. I just wanted to prove that I was right.”

  She grabbed her drinks and Jack smirked.

  “I’ll add more to your case here in just a minute.”

  “You better be nice to her. I have a black belt and I’ll kick your ass.”

  “I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

  Jack chuckled at your friend’s protectiveness over you. It just made him wonder more about you. Jack realized then, that this was the first time he wanted to actually get to know a woman in a long time. He pushed it away, trying to focus on just getting you in bed, before he downed the rest of his drink and got up. He weaved through the crowd, keeping his eyes on you. Your friend said something to you and you turned, your eyes growing wide before you spun back around, your face turning red. Jack couldn’t help but to think it was cute. Luckily you had just finished your drink, and it gave him the perfect excuse to speak to you.

  “Can I buy you ladies another round?” He spoke as he leaned on the table.

  “You can buy her another round,” your friend spoke and Jack smirked as his eyes went from her to you.

  “Uh yeah. Yeah I’ll take another…”

  “Whiskey on the rocks?”

  “Um…yeah,” you spoke slowly your eyebrow knitting together in confusion.

  “I’ll be right back.” Jack smacked the table before turning away.

  He ordered two drinks for you and himself before making his way back over.

  “May I join you?”

  “By all means.” This time you spoke and slid over, making room for him.

  “Names Jack. I’ve seemed to have forgotten my manners.”

  “Oh (Y/N),” you spoke giving him a shy smile.

  Your friend introduced herself, and then her eyes darted to someone in the crowd and gave a flirty wave. She excused herself, your eyes burning a hole in her as she went. Jack moved to the other side so he was facing you.

  “I see you were dragged here against your will.” Jack spoke and you pinched your nose between two of your fingers.

  “What gave it away?” The way you looked at him was full of embarrassment, but a smile still pulled at your lips.

  “A guy just knows,” Jack smirked as he leaned back, his arm draping across the back of his seat. “Not your usual scene then?”

  “Not really. I went through a very small stage where it was, but it didn’t last long. It ended in heartbreak so I’m safer at home in front of my tv.”

  “Ah come on. You gotta have fun every once in awhile.”

  “I guess I’ve had all my fun.”

  Jack felt his stomach sink slightly but he’d dealt with this before.

  “Oh sugar I promise you haven’t.”

  “What makes you say that?” You raised a brow, challenge in your voice.

  “Because you haven’t been with me yet.”

  “You sure are confident,” you chuckled lightly.

  “That I am. I ain’t ashamed of it.”

  “Definitely nothing to be ashamed of. I wish I had an ounce of it.”

  “You should. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  You looked down at the table your face once again red.

  “Thank you.”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “It’s just…I don’t have the best record so…” your voice trailed off and Jack felt his heart clench.

  He wanted to make you feel like the most beautiful woman on earth. He wanted you to believe it. It was now a mission of his, and he never left a mission unsuccessful. Jack slid out of his seat, and he watch your face fall slightly.

  “May I pull you to the dance floor sugar?” He reached his hand out and he saw a smile pull at your lips.

  “Yes you may.” You grabbed his hand, and he pulled you out of the booth and out onto the dance floor.

  A fast pace song was playing at the moment, so Jack spun you around and the two of you joined in on a little line dancing, before the song shifted to something slower. Jack pulled you close, his hands on your hips and yours wrapped around his neck. He watched you look around the bar, and he knew you were trying not to meet his eyes. He reached up and his finger brushed at your chin, moving your head until your eyes met his. You looked over his face, your eyes stopping briefly at his lips. He quirked an eyebrow and you gave him a soft nod. Jack dipped his head and his lips met yours. The entire world disappeared. It was just you and Jack. He felt something shoot through him, and it only made him kiss you deeper. He felt your fingers lace in the hair at the nape of his neck. You kissed him back with equal fever, and it made Jack wonder if you had felt the same as him. He never wanted to stop kissing you. He could stand here until the day he died, attached to your lips. He had to get you out of here, now. He pulled away and looked down at you. You were panting and searching his eyes. He could tell you were having a battle with yourself. You pulled him down, your lips brushing at his ear and pulling a shiver through him.

  “Take me home Jack,” your words were intoxicating and Jack gulped before nodding.

  You pulled him along to tell your friend where you were going. He could only let out a soft chuckle at the high five the two of you shared, before you all but pulled him out the door. Jack took the initiative then, and pulled you to his car. He opened the door for you and you slid in. He was quick to round the front and climb in, buckling and driving off. There was a comfortable silence, full of the tension that hung between you and Jack, as he drove as fast as he could without breaking the law. Your knee bounced rapidly, and Jack knew you were probably feeling the same excitement he was.

  Jack noticed far too late that he’d pulled into his driveway. He hadn’t even thought to ask you where you lived. He’d just driven straight here. Another sign he was off his usual game. Deep down, he already knew why. He shook his head slightly trying to clear his thoughts, to focus. The two of you filed out of his car, and he was quick getting the front door open. As he shut it, he moved to cage you between him and it. You were both panting, and he smirked, before he was kissing you again. Damn your lips, your kiss could make him drunk like he had several bottles of whiskey. You moaned against his lips and he shuddered. Your hands traveled over his shirt, and soon he felt his jacket fall to the ground. He was quick to get rid of yours, before he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. One hand stayed secured around you, flat against your back, while the other traveled down to your ass. He gave you a quick squeeze, and with a gasp against his lips, you jumped circling your legs around his waist.

  The two of you stayed there for several moments, never coming up for air, you pressed between the door and Jack. He let out a breath through his nose, and pulled away reluctantly. Your eyes fluttered opened and you panted. Jack’s breathing was rapid as well, and he gazed at you.

  “Please tell me you want to,” his voice betrayed him as it came out slightly hoarse.

  “More than anything,” you breathed, your voice not even going above a whisper.

  That was all Jack needed, before he pulled you back to his lips, his kiss hungrier than before, as he walked through his house and to his room. He kept you close still with one arm, as the other caught him as he laid you down on the bed and hovered over you. You kept your arms secured around him but your legs slowly fell away, spread wide for him to stay between. He kept himself propped slightly letting his other hand wonder. He his slipped under your shirt and then under the wire of your bra letting his thumb brush across your already hard nipple. It pulled a moan from Jack’s lips and he sat up slightly bringing you with him. His lips parted from yours as he quickly pulled your shirt over your head and discarding it somewhere in the room. Lips back on yours he soon tossed your bra away too. Then he finally let his lips drop and start to wander across your body. Your skin was soft and you smelled so good, that once again Jack could only think about how he never wanted to leave this moment. He kept his kisses feather light as he explored you, finding all the places that made you moan. He noted them carefully, before he finally moved to your breast. He pulled your left nipple between his fingers and pinched slightly. At the same time he pulled your right one between his lips and flicked the hard bud with his tongue. You let out a loud moan, your back arching into him and Jack smirked at himself. He flicked once more as he pulled and then was gone. He was quick to repeat the process on the opposite breast. You, once again, beautifully responding to him. He started to make his way down your stomach, until he came to the top of your jeans. He leaned up slightly, undoing your button and zipper slowly. He glanced up at you and you let out a whimper in a plea. Jack felt his cock twitch at the sight and sound.

  He pulled your jeans away, along with your underwear and let them fall to the floor. He stood then, still stationed between your legs and looked down at you fully bare for him now. You were beautiful, no that wasn’t even the right word. There wasn’t one that accurately described you. Jack knew he was in so much trouble. His eyes that had racked over your body, now met yours, that still had a plea held in them. Your pupils blown, your lips swollen. It was truly a sight. He kept his eyes on yours as he removed his shirt and didn’t bother with his jeans yet as he kelt between your legs. He wound his arms around your legs, flatting his hands on your thighs to keep your legs open. The sight before him made him lick his lips. You wiggled and let out another desperate whimper, that sent Jack reeling. He dove, his tongue licking up your slit, and you let out the most beautiful noise Jack had ever heard in his life. You tasted incredible and it sent Jack into overdrive. He kept going, sucking and licking at your clit. He felt his hat knock off from his head, and your fingers in his hair pulling slightly.

  “Jack,” you panted out, pulling slightly harder and he looked up at you still giving your clit little flicks with his tongue.

  “Please…I want to feel you…inside me,” you begged and Jack smirked.

  He reluctantly pulled his mouth away from you and stood. You sat up your feet hanging from the bed, as he watched you undo his pants. He helped you shove his jeans and underwear down, and before Jack could think to make a move you had his cock in your hand. You were quick to take him into your mouth, and it was so unexpected it took Jack a moment to catch up. His hand laced in your hair and he pulled ever so slightly, pulling a moan from you around his cock. He let out a hiss and closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in how good your mouth felt on him. He pushed his heavy lids open, looking down at you and it was such a beautiful sight, it was so hard for Jack to stop you. He pulled you up to him and kissed you deeply. The both of you seemed to moan in unison at tasting each other on your lips. He lightly pushed you back once again, and hovered over you. He pulled away, his forehead falling to yours as he glanced down and lined himself up with your dripping entrance, before he pushed in. He made himself go slow trying to take in how you felt as you opened for him. He buried his head in your neck as he finally filled you completely, and it was like the perfect puzzle pieces coming together.

  “Fuck,” you whined and that sent Jack into a frenzy.

  He pulled out and then snapped his hips forward, letting out a moan at the feeling. He did this a few more time, pulling moans and curses from you before he set a quicker pace. The room filled with the noises coming from the both of you. Jack tried so hard to be quiet, so he could hear ever last little sound you made. He wanted to hear them for the rest of his life. He wanted to spend every spare second he had pulling them from you. You felt so good around him and he swore he had never been with anyone that felt this perfect. It was making him climb his high, quickly.

  “I’m so close,” you suddenly whimpered out.

  “Let go for me sugar,” Jack spoke in a horse voice.

  You snapped and clutched at him like a vice. It was enough for him to follow you. He drilled deep inside of you, and you milked him. He let out a groan as he buried his face in your neck. Your fingers came up and ran lazily through his hair. The two of you stayed like that for awhile, until you’d come back down to earth. Jack pulled out of you and gently laid down next to you. You turned on your side and he did the same, the two of you looking at each other.

  “You were right,” you spoke after a few moments and Jack’s eyebrow quirked.

  “About what sugar?”

  “That was a lot of fun. The most fun I’ve had in awhile,” you smirked and Jack felt his heart jump slightly.

  “I must say it was the most fun I’ve had as well sugar. You’re breathtaking,” the last few words fell from his lips in a whisper as he reached out and brushed away hair that was stuck to your face.

  His fingers lingered as they softly brushed down your face, and he watched your eyes close and lean into his touch.

  “Let me clean you up and we can get some sleep. That is, if you want to stay?” Jack had sat up and he paused looking back at you.

  “Yeah I think I would like that,” you looked up at him and he smiled as did you.

  He cleaned you up gently, and the two of you settled into bed. Jack pulled you close and watched as you slipped to sleep before he soon followed.

  The sun pouring into the bedroom window pulled Jack from the most blissful sleep he could recall having. He turned his head to look at you, and my god how beautiful you were. You were still peacefully asleep. Your breathe was even and the sun danced over you. Jack watch you for awhile weighing these feelings that were creeping up on him. He knew deep down no matter how hard he tried not to, love was going to creep back up on him one day. Looking at you in his bed next to him he could feel it. He gently and slowly crawled out of bed, slipping on some pajama pants before padding to his kitchen. He turned on the radio and turned the volume low letting old classic rock and country music fill the silence. He started in on fixing you breakfast, silently praying that you would want to stay for it.

  “I must've been through about a million girls

  I'd love 'em and I'd leave 'em alone

  I didn't care how much they cried, no sir

  Their tears left me cold as a stone”

  The familiar lyrics of a song filled the air around Jack, and he found himself smiling to himself. He moved around the kitchen and then he caught you leaning against the doorframe, hair ruffled and nothing but his shirt hanging on your figure. He knew in that moment, one glance at you, eyes catching yours. Both of your faces breaking out into smiles. The lyrics of the song rang true. Jack Daniels had fooled around and fell in love.

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[sankttealeaf]

putting rue's letters she wrote to gale and gortash under the cut because idk where else to post them but the world has to read them too

i doubt theres any way to include them in the main fic because a) gale wont read his because rue is alive and b) gortash thinks its another taunt from orin and also won't read his

stupid men.

Gale, my love.

Please know there is nothing you could have done to change my mind.

With each day that passes I feel worse and worse with myself and you deserve something better than I can give right now. I’ve not been honest with you and the guilt is eating me alive, though I know it will be nothing compared to the hatred you will feel for me. I tried, countless times, to speak to you about this in person but my words get tangled in my throat and I end up pretending everything’s okay.

Everything is awful.

Since arriving in the city, since meeting Gortash, since getting a place here at the Elfsong I have lied to you every single day. You may already know, in fact I think you’re smart enough to have found out somehow.

I’ve been meeting with Gortash in secret. It started as a desperate attempt to regain my past but as each night went by and he told me less and less I realised I was going to him for other reasons. We’ve kissed. That’s the furthest we ever went. I need you to know this.

I’m going to finish this. By the time you’ve read this, there’s a high chance I may be dead. I want to end Orin, to destroy the temple of Bhaal and renounce my blood but I know that I will most likely not survive the outcome.

I love you. I really do. I think you were the first person I’ve ever said those words to. Love doesn’t sit well within me but with you it’s as easy as breathing. You were the best part of all of this and I’m glad fate fucked me so we could meet. You were the kindest person to me despite everything wrong in my blood and I have never felt hope as strongly as I have when I’m with you. I wish things were different. I would have loved going to Waterdeep with you, to meet Tara properly, to meet your mother, to have a nice life away from all this. There’s no soft endings for people like me. I understand that now.

And I’m sorry it has to end this way.

All my love,

Rue.

Gortash.

One day, you will die. Not by my hand, but by someone else’s who deserves to get their vengeance on the cruelties you put them through. If I could I would throw you to the masses for them to rip and tear into you but even then I think that death is too kind.

I didn't plan on writing this, nor am I entirely sure what I’m supposed to say. What do you say to someone you can’t ever remember loving? I truly believe she loved you. Rumour, that is. We both know we aren’t the same person anymore and it’s easier to think about her as a separate entity. Maybe that’s how I cope with what I’ve done. What we’ve done.

I think she loved you in such a way that it hurts me to see you go. Which is why I won’t be there. The thought of you dying kills me but I know I’m not supposed to feel like that. We were to die in each other’s arms when the whole world took its last breath. I can’t see you die before then.

I’m confronting Orin. Part of me knows that whatever happens, one of us will die. Maybe it will be me. Maybe this time she’ll finish the job. Or maybe Bhaal despises us both so much he plucks the blood from our bodies and kills us both. I’m fine with either.

I’m fine with death. A world with such kindness in it isn’t made for cruel hands like mine. I think I understand that now. I can only be forgiven if I leave this plane and that’s what I’m doing.

If our gods allow it, I would like to wait for you. Perhaps we can reconnect after death. You said that we will always find each other and I hope that whatever comes next for me, I will find you again. Maybe I’ll be a bird that nests outside your window. Maybe then I’ll finally feel free.

Enver. You were her friend. She did love you. I need you to know that. I’m sorry it’s come down to this. There’s no other way.

Forgive me.

Rue.

[rain-ghoul-appreciator]

ok ive the brain was braining and i have ended up with headcannons on how the ghouls died and all the lovely shit

(tagging @ominousposting cause our ideas r so similar its kinda scary) ((super telepathy magic right here kids)) (((cause im like 98% sure ive never seen they're ghoul lore posts before this so i dont really wanna say i got inspo from them but yea its cool we're cool everything is cool 🫶🫶)))

under the cut and obv tw for death, murder, overdose, disease, drowning, fire, suicide, car accidents and poison (wow thats a lot)

phantom

died in 2010 from a car crash

will not get in a car no matter how empty the roads are

was only 17 when he died

youngest ghoul in the band (death year wise)

has all the humor from the 2000s still and it drives everyone absolutely nuts (inspired this post)

aurora

died in 1925 from accidental poisoning

was one of the flapper girls and was from a fairly wealthy family

was 24 when she was accidentally poisoned by a drink that was meant for someone else

3rd oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

still absolutely loves 1920s fashion and experiments with it by adding current trends and basically becoming the fashionista of all time

cumulus

murdered in 1953 by her husband

queen in the kitchen then, queen in the kitchen now (like seriously she can make anything and everything and its kinda scary cause how tf does she do it)

was 33 when she died cause her husband thought that she was to old and not good enough for him anymore (fuck this random guy)

4th oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

found some of her old cook books from before she died and makes nice little homecooked meals for all the ghouls every sunday because it makes her happy seeing all of them happy

rain

died in 2003 from suicide

emo kid emo kid emo kid (that kid was mcr's second fan) ((frank iero was the first obviously)) (((but he was second)))

was 15 when he killed himself, his parents were devastated

2nd youngest band ghoul (death year wise)

was absolutely stoked to find out that mcr was one of the biggest emo bands and influenced so many other bands (he almost passed out listening to music again for the first time)

mountain

died in his sleep from a disease in 1979

was the kindest guy ever but when he got sick everyone kinda avoided him cause they didn't want to get sick and felt bad seeing him like that

was 27 when he died and his whole neighborhood wished they could have done something more

5th oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

was really excited when he was introduced to the greenhouse for the first time because his room was always filled with plants before he died and it felt like his own little piece of home

sunshine

died 1995 from breast cancer

was very lonely because she spent most of her prime socializing years in a hospital bed

eventually died at 29 and was happy when she did

3rd youngest band ghoul (death year wise)

purposefully grows out her hair really long so she can cut it and donate it to make wigs for people with cancer cause she wants to help ppl be more confident with themselves and not end up like she did

dewdrop

died in 1991 from drowning

never really learned how to swim because he lived in the middle of a desert where there was no water so he felt like he didn't have to worry

was 25 when a friend pushed him off a boat as a joke and he was never able to get back up

4th youngest band ghoul (death year wise)

even though the element switch hurt like a bitch and ripped a whole piece of himself out, he felt somewhat relieved because the lingering fear of water was no longer plaguing his mind

aether

died in 1864 from a house fire

had 2 kids and a wife and they lived out in the country side in the middle of no where

was 38 when the house caught fire and he died saving his family from the flames

2nd oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

was still so incredibly british when he was summoned that dew had a heart attack when he started talking

cirrus

died in 1798 after being murdered by an angry mob

was a major activist for womens rights and had her own little rebellion against all the stupid expectations set for women back then

was 32 when an angry mov finally snuffed her out and killed her along with the rest of her little rebellion

oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

is still a hige advocate for women's rights and has to try not to laugh when someone says that she looks like/acts like herself before death (cause they obv dont know thats her lmao she cracks up everytime)

swiss

died in 1981 from a drug overdose

was an addict and wanted to stop but he couldn't afford getting help and his family didn't want to be associated with him so he was kinda on his own

overdosed at age 35 because he couldn't live like this anymore so death was the only option that he believed was available

5th youngest band ghoul (death year wise)

refuses to do any other drug than weed because he is still so extremely paranoid about becoming an addict again or accidentally overdosing

[legendl0re]

A Court of Peace and Ire: Chapter 4: Repaying A Debt

Rhysand visits Tamlin, demanding answers and hurling threats about his son, and the fateful clash of two High Lords finally unfolds.

Notes:

Rhys vs. Tam fight scene as well as arguments to bring forward the crux of Tamsand’s relationship. Lots of angst but I swear the healing is coming xD

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Slight Gore, Fight Scenes, Emotional Angst, References to SA, Ideation of one’s death, Acceptance of death

WARNING: The fight isn’t as bombastic as it may be in canon for two reasons imo:

1) Tamlin has not been using his powers so they are much less refined than if he was using them every day.

2) Rhysand lost a great deal of his own power when he died.

That and also I didn’t want Prythian to be destroyed by their fight, which according to SJM, would be the case.

——

Tamlin felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of his temple as his magic swept glass off the floor, carefully shaping it back to a flat plane and nestling tight into the window frame. This morning, he awoke with the gift of the slightest motivation—a desire to fix some pieces of the manor to make it less broken, less dangerous.

Stepping on splinters and broken glass was nothing for a High Lord—one of his many small enduring punishments—but for a child through?

Tamlin shook his head, trying not to think about it. Replacing his wards was the first thing he had done; a starting measure in case that boy ever attempted to winnow back in again. But if that blonde’s snatching of Feyre was any indication, it probably was for naught.

He had little practice with abjuring magic, since he could always just be present to protect those he wished to defend, before he became High Lord.

“A warrior has little use for wards,” his father always said. “Why bother wasting energy with needless shields rather than saving it for the fight to come? If any are so brazen to approach Spring with killing intent, our power shall sharpen to claws to rip them apart, and nothing else.”

His father was a fool, a bloodthirsty fool whose shortsightedness left Tamlin with nothing, save the burden of a responsibility he had never wanted nor trained for.

As he released the arcane hold a breath shot away from him; he really had been out of practice with his powers, surprised to still be able to perform something as involved as reforging glass from hundreds of shards.

Like any weak muscle, he would have to work at it, but he took a moment to admire what he had done, how the window looked pristine as if it had never been shattered to pieces by one of his episodes.

Even though the rage felt like a distant memory, he knew in truth. It was lingering, slithering within his bones and lying in wait. Isolating himself was the only way to protect everyone from its lashing out, from the moments his anger took the reins and tore into the world with his magic.

It had gotten so much worse since his time Under the Mountain, every day a struggle to keep that gaping pit inside him from stretching farther and farther, threatening to consume him along with everything else it could get its hands on.

All because of her.

That hateful, murderous, predatory woman whose malice scarred Prythian even years after he had torn her to pieces…

Torn himself to pieces.

Tamlin shook his head; no sense in dwelling on broken bonds. Wood splinters groaned as his magic pieced them back together, gathering to reform one of the many structural pillars that struggled to bear the manor’s weight.

The High Lord then took a rest, sitting at the top of the steps by the double doors that led to the courtyard. It may have just been the foyer and the entryway, but the progress he had made fixing everything let the weight in his chest lighten just a little. A lone bookshelf, two love seats, and solid, uncracked floorboards were the few, minute details that he had gotten too, but tomorrow he would tackle the stairs and the frayed, broken banisters that flanked them.

Maybe he’d get far enough to see his own bedroom again—perhaps even sleep in it.

Tamlin rolled his sleeves down, thinking about the conversation he had with Feyre’s sister at the border, how much less vicious and vengeful she was compared to the past.

Having eavesdropped a bit on the discussion before making himself known, it seemed the Night Court was keen to keep favor with Eris in preparation for his eventual ascension as High Lord; the eldest Archeron serving as the lure.

Given she had cut the King of Hybern’s head off, she didn’t seem the type to seduce or cajole for the sake of anybody except herself. Yet now she was mated to Rhys’ war general while also serving as a carrot on a stick for Lucien’s disdainful brother?

What was going on there? No mated fae would ever even consider sharing their mate with anyone, even playfully. Eris had already suffered the wrath of one of the Night Court’s Illyrian brutes; why tempt the other one?

Tamlin stood up and shrugged off his pondering. The Night Court was beyond welcome to any inconvenience, and frankly, he had better things to do than waste any further thought on it.

If only the feeling were mutual.

The windows shuddered, then splintered apart, the fresh pane once again scattered on the floor as shadows burst through and coalesced into a familiar, dreadful shape. Tamlin however, gave no notice to the darkness, just staring blankly at the shards at his feet, and the reflection of his eyes within them.

He had long been past sitting in the anger that Rhysand’s presence evoked, instead opting for the small, comforting mantra that allowed him to mentally prepare himself for what was to come.

You did the right thing. You bought him back, and he will never forget it.

“Talk. Now.” Huh. Not even a hello or feigned attempt at cordiality; straight to the venom.

“I just fixed these windows.” Tamlin replied, still not meeting Rhysand’s eyes.

“I don’t give a damn about your windows.” The High Lord’s shadow coiled over, but even as his lethal cerulean gaze took over Tamlin’s in the broken glass below, the lord of Spring didn’t turn up. “Why was my son here?”

“I’d say “perhaps you should ask him,” Tamlin muttered, finally meeting the stare, “But he doesn’t seem to be at the talking stage yet. Perhaps you should keep better track of your things.” Rhys’ hand knotted around Tamlin’s collar, jerking him to a stand.

“That’s. My son.” Every word was laced with a promise of death, Rhys’ mouth twitching as he bared his teeth. “If you ever-��

“If I ever what, Rhys?” Tamlin barked back, swiping away Rhys’ grip. “I seem to recall only one of us has a history of mutilating children. So you can keep all of your paternal bloodlust and save it for the Illyrians.” Rhys looked confused at that. “Oh, you intend to spare Nyx the wonderful experience of breaking atop the mountain?”

Tamlin felt a single hint of regret as Rhys’ pupils cut down to slits.

“He won’t know that life.” He hissed coldly.

“That your decision, or the High Lady’s?” They were mere inches from one another now, Rhys’ shadows nearly thundering while Tamlin felt the claws stir within his hands. “You have a lot of nerve coming here and badgering me about visits I don’t even want, especially considering how many times I keep catching your oaf-general and his mate.” Rhys laughed, the sound brimming with disdain.

“Finally found a bit of nerve, Tamlin? You never had the gall to insult my brother to my face before.” Tamlin huffed a soft breath, eyes rolling.

“No nerve, Rhys. Just a lack of interest in whatever you have to say, and an ever-growing wish for you to leave me the hell alone.” Tamlin pushed past Rhys, unsure of where he was even going. He just had to get away from him, had to remove himself from the stirring in his chest, the rushing in his head. The High Lord of the Night Court was furious; utterly thirsting for a fight and willing to say anything, touch any nerve he could to get it.

“My son comes here by accident, and suddenly you’re tidying this place up.” Rhys’ hands found their way into his pockets. “Peculiar, isn’t it?”

Tamlin paused. Shit.

“I told him to never come here again. So if I see, if I hear that he is here a second time, I will hold you personally responsible.” Tamlin’s hand gripped the edge of the doorway, wood whining as his nails latched into it.

Enough, goddamnit. Enough!

“Sure.” The High Lord of Spring crooned, head coiling back like a serpent. If Rhys’ words had so much venom, it was only fair that Tamlin shared some of his own. “I’ll be sure to ward up my mansion so the next time he winnows here, he bounces right off and finds himself outside with the naga. I’m sure he’ll be a nice snack.”

Rhys took a step, the shadows of the room drawing back to gather deep within him.

Preparations for the inevitable.

Tamlin turned to face him in full, complete acceptance of what was to come filling his heart.

Ever since the day Rhys and his father cursed him to rule this Court, he knew things between them would only end one way.

“Your son ever comes here again, do well to remember that I’m the only thing standing between him and oblivion, so perhaps you should be thanking me for sending him home, fed and warm.” Rhys continued laughing, as if ignoring every single word Tamlin had said.

“You know. I never did repay you for your words at the High Lord’s meeting. About Feyre.” Regret would have given the high fae a slight chill, had fury not boiled it all away.

“No. You didn’t. And I haven’t repaid you for letting your father open my mother’s throat, or Feyre for setting my court aflame. There’s many things that haven't been repaid, so be mindful of the debts you owe.”

Tamlin didn't’ realize what he had said until it left his lips, and Rhys’ smile vanished entirely.

“What did you just say?” He whispered, a wrathful shudder as he inclined his head.

Tamlin felt a flicker of worry, an urge to scramble back and try and balm the words over with something, anything…

But there was nothing. There was no want for peace, no wish for change, no reason to continue and suffer this abuse in the name of hoping things could go back to the way they were.

This was it. The end. One of them would live, and one of them would die.

“It means,” He growled, teeth elongating to punctuate his words. “Be mindful. Of the debts. You owe.”

Rhys pointed a finger, a blast of misting power ripping through the air between them, but just as Tamlin had burned through Amarantha’s magic when he slew her, his energy flooded over Rhys’ and crushed it to nothingness.

He tore forward, hands turning clawed as they pounded into the floor for a leap, before bludgeoning Rhysand through the double doors into the courtyard outside. The half-Illyrian’s hands clamped down on Tamlin’s growing jaws, warring to keep his teeth from tearing his head from his neck.

Tamlin continued to shift in his grasp, golden fur and horns bursting forth before he planted his legs, and swung the ruler of the Night Court through a stone fountain.

Rhys tumbled up to a stand, wind shooting into Tamlin’s face as his wings burst out in full splendor, drinking in all the color of spring around him.

“I should have tore you open the second you put your hands on her.” Rhys threatened, violet globes of energy bloomed in his hands. Tamlin smirked as well as he could in his beast form, cobblestones cracking as he stepped toward his great tormentor.

“And I should not have wasted my power bringing you back. But come on, Rhysie. Let’s see who handles it better. You? Or me?” The vines and greenery around Rhysand begin to coil like snakes, enlivened by Tamlin’s power and wrath. “I'm sure Amarantha will be glad to have you warm her bed again in Hel.”

Rhys howled, taking to the air as his hands shot forward, energy exploding against Tamlin’s body in violet flame. Circling around the courtyard, his power burned the remaining flowers in the garden to blackened ash, Tamlin using stone rails and the manor’s remaining pillars as cover against the magic. Catching a fallen column in his jaw, he hurled it at Rhys, sending the High Lord crashing through the roof into the house’s second level.

“You pushed me to this!” Tamlin hollered, the tree shaking from the volume. “I never wanted to be High Lord, and you fucking forced it on me!” The manor’s wing erupted, spears of raw magic shooting from Rhys’ eyes at eating up all the stone and wood in its way. Black mist boiled from the half-Illyrian’s mouth as he screamed, like the shadowy breath of a dragon.

Tamlin scuttled through into the opposite wing, narrowly evading the power that threatened to disintegrate to shreds of flesh and bone. The light then vanished, replaced with a swiftly rippling darkness that surrounded him at all sides. Every angle was completely black, Tamlin knocking into furniture and feeling glass and splinters puncture his hands.

A fist crushed into the side of his skull, then came a kick to the ribs hastened by the flap of wings. Tamlin swung his claws out blindly, only to be rewarded with an open palm to the throat that nearly knocked him unconscious.

As his throat pulsed in pain, he drew back his rage and opened his ears, listening to the quietest step, the subtlest beat of wings, anything to tell him where Rhys was going to strike next.

Tamlin heard the glass shriek to his left, and thrashed his horns just in time to catch Rhys lunging towards him. To block being skewered by antlers, Rhys gave up the concentration of his spell, and so the darkness fled and revealed the manor once more. The High Lords struggled, Rhys’ hands bleeding as he pushed to keep Tamlin from goring him with horns.

Once again, their gazes clashed together like swords, utter hatred compelling one another to rip, to fight, to tear and scream and forget any possible semblance of good the other may have once had. Neither of them realized that tears had begun falling from their eyes, a quiet, repressed mourning that neither would ever acknowledge.

Rhys drew himself down to get the leverage he needed, lifting Tamlin up before crashing his knee into the Spring court ruler’s lower jaw. Tamlin felt his teeth loosen, and the High Lord of Night drew all of his power into his fist before plunging it into the beast’s flank, sending him careening across the hall and down the stairs.

Agony tore through the high fae, lumbering to a stand as he struggled to breathe, the left side of his torso flaring with blood.

“You pushed me to this.” Rhysand said, the half-Illyrian’s voice infesting Tamlin’s mind. “When you laid my family out for your father on a silver platter. When you decided to fuck my mate.”

“She wasn’t your mate at the time.” Tamlin growled, and suddenly his bones, his muscles, his entire body, began to betray him. Rhys’ talons had plunged into his mind, knowing that no matter the volume of magic he levied at the High Lord of Spring, a physical fight would be an uphill battle.

“I could snap your brain in half and trap you in the form forever. Maybe I’ll put a collar on you and take you back home, make you a pet for Feyre.” Tamlin, despite the agony coursing through his brain, grinned.

“It…won’t change…a thing.” Tamlin felt Rhys swoop down from out of sight, and his thumbs pressed into his forehead with the full force of his Daemati powers piercing into him. He wailed and roared for his power—his court—to save him, and the brambles that had roped around his home leapt to his rescue.

Before he could shatter his mind, Rhys was torn away; latched to the floor by roots and thorns as Tamlin was forced back into his fae form. But with a swipe of his wings, the High Lord of Night slashed through the vines and turned them to rotted dust for good measure, before slamming upward to get him back to his feet.

Tamlin coughed and tried to wade through the pain in his head, until Rhys gripped him by the neck with one hand, before plunging the other right into the wound at his side. His ribs being pulled centimeter by centimeter, Tamlin strained to remain still, right where Rhys wanted him.

“Guess I wield it better.” Rhys muttered, the whites of his eyes now entirely drowned in black as he embodied his full power. Both his hands and mental talons had clenched in a vice around Tamlin, like a hawk with a struggling rabbit.

“Does it feel good?” Tamlin managed to get out, blood dripping down his chin.

No. Tamlin heard? Or, felt? Rhys hasn’t said anything, his teeth clenched so tight they threatened to break, but that “no” was in his voice, as were the thousands of other thoughts worming their way into the High Lord of Spring’s head.

In his rage, in his need to lock Tamlin’s mind down, Rhys had left his own mind wide open. Images and feelings were pouring a deluge, a psychic rapid of anger, fear, and self-hatred that had been all locked up inside.

He saw Rhys and Feyre form a new bargain; one of unity in death and foolhardy desperation.

He saw Feyre’s sister kneeling before her pale, pregnant body, wielding primordial power to change fate itself.

And he saw the darkness Rhys had been lost in upon giving his life to seal the Cauldron, and the small kernels of Prythian’s High Lords to guide him back.

Tamlin’s eyes widened, and he let every muscle loosen in a final surrender.

Rhys was broken, harried, lost between the mask he wore and the truth that lay in his heart. It was the same sort of suffering Feyre had gone through, the one he had been blind to while trying to make everything perfect and meaningful for them.

But whereas Feyre could fight, could push and claw herself back from that abyss, Rhys it had seemed, could not.

“I hate you.” The High Lord of Night said, his hateful voice tinged with sorrow.

“I wish I could hate you.” The High Lord of Spring replied, shimmering eyes meeting those of the soon-to-be ender of his life.

It was true—even when he served Amarantha, even when he slew his family and cursed him with rulership, even when he stole his one possible chance of happiness away—Tamlin never hated Rhys.

That made what he was about to say all the more worse.

“You can’t live with it.” Rhys paused at Tamlin’s words, his fingers having already grown to talons primed to cut his throat. “If it wasn’t for me bringing her here, you never would have met Feyre, and if it wasn’t for me convincing the High Lords, she would still be dead.” The high fae swallowed, throat raw as if he had swallowed glass. “If it wasn’t for me giving you that last light, you would be gone too.“

Tamlin remembered clear as day why he did it; because someone needed to live. Someone needed a happy ending after everything that Hybern had done.

Everything that he had done.

“Your love, your life, and your son, are all because of me. And you…can’t…live with it." Rhys let his claw dig into the side of Tamlin’s neck, his eyes wide like a mad man.

“You think you convinced the High Lords to bring Feyre back? When Amarantha died, when the curse was broken, we all got our powers back, Tamlin. You think I didn’t peer into their minds and make them give it up, make them bring her back?” Tamlin winced, teeth stained red from the blood in his throat.

“Of course.” He lilted. “They wouldn't have done it because they owed her everything, because she freed them from fifty years of torment. Why should Feyre have earned anything on her own merit, when you and the Night Court can just take the credit for every good thing that happens in Prythian?” Tamlin sniffled, eyes stinging at the mention of her name so many times. It had taken its toll.

“I loved her, more than you ever will, and more than you ever could. So do it. Just do it. I’m tired of being alone.”

Rhysand’s trembling hand rose up high, the sun gleaming against his claws, and Tamlin closed his eyes as his chin lifted to expose his neck.

Finally.

“Rhys!” The two High Lords heard, the faint rumbling of a winnow right before it. Both of them turned, and found Feyre standing in the middle of the room.

Nyx was seated in her arms, eyes wide with fear at what was unfolding before them. One look at his son’s face sent Rhys up to his feet, releasing Tamlin from the grasp of both mind and body.

“What’re you doing here?” The High Lord of Night asked, Feyre stepping back as he approached. Catching his reflection in one of the broken windows, he saw the black-sclera of his eyes, the wounds and welts that had patterned across his face and his body, and the blood that coated his hands, hair, and face.

He looked like a monster.

“Feyre, I…” Nyx hid his face away, and Feyre’s brow furrowed in a cold, solemn rage.

“Rhys. Go home. Please.” Rhys faltered for a moment, but then slowly rose ram-rod straight.

“I’m not leaving you here with him.” Not after what he had done. Tamlin would have laughed if he wasn’t in the worst pain imaginable.

“Yes you are.” Feyre retorted, nostril flaring as she took a step toward the ruler of the Spring Court. Rhys reached for her but she wheeled back on him, and Tamlin weakly watched as a bout unfolded with their minds. Yet the entire time, he noticed that Nyx had turned up slightly to face him, a small tear running down his round cheek.

Eventually Rhysand relented, sighing in defeat as the space behind him peeled in a winnow. “Please have Mor look at you.” Feyre urged, Rhys not even nodding before he left.

And there they were, just how it started.

Feyre and Tamlin, alone in his manor.

At least that's what she had thought, until she learned of the glamour and how her sneaking about made her look like a fool in front of his court.

Tamlin sat up as best he could, eyes chained to the floor as if he just couldn’t meet her gaze.

“I told him not to do this.” She started, voice cold and distant as if to hide her initial horror, her concern for him. The High Lord said nothing, his chest undulating with a mixture of fear, distress, and resentment. Why couldn’t she have just remained as hateful as he thought she was, and sat back while her High Lord peeled him apart, finally freeing him of this torment?

“It’s fine.” He said, clutching his side and grunting as the pain surged. Feyre knelt down, trying to meet Tamlin’s eyes, but he shied away.

So she opted for a different approach, nestling Nyx closer to her as her son turned to face the Lord in full. “Nyx wanted to come back. I…supposed it would have been a good excuse to talk.”

“About?” Tamlin hissed, retreating further into himself.

Feyre ran through the list. Beron? Koschei? The changes in Prythian? Lucien and Elain’s situation? There were plenty of subjects, but Tamlin hadn’t been around for any of the now seasonal High Lord Meetings to be informed of them. But she kept silent, waiting until the silence between them grew unbearable for the High Lord.

“I think your mate had the same idea,” He murmured, “To talk…”

Feyre walked over and placed Nyx on one of the few undamaged chairs. “Stay here.” She ordered, earning a nod from him. Turning back, she approached Tamlin again, but he shuffled away from her touch.

“Get away from me.” She pursed her lips in a stern look, the pointed stare of a new mother.

“I’d rather we speak without you having a gaping wound in your side.”

“I’d rather we didn’t speak at all.”

“Glad to see your stubbornness hasn’t changed.” She offered her hand again, the blooming light of the Court of Dawn’s healing magic resting within it. A shock of agony in his left side made Tamlin relent, taking his former lover’s hand and letting the energy course through him.

Best case scenario, it was a trick and he would die anyway.

“Rhys told me you were living peacefully.” She said, a half-truth. Rhys never talked with her about his visits with Tamlin, and after what she had just saw, she could see why. Perhaps she just hoped that he was doing fine without ever having to hear about it.

“I didn’t realize how I lived my life was any of your business anymore.” Tamlin replied, wincing as Feyre willed the flesh, muscle, and bone to knit itself back together.

“From a personal standpoint, it isn’t. But you’re a High Lord, and I’m a High Lady. We can’t divorce ourselves from each other entirely, much as we wish.” Feyre felt the weight of that truth, forever unable to unlatch herself from those first memories no matter what she did.

Tamlin suppressed a small smirk. We. As if any of this breaking had been mutual. At least she was taking her new role seriously.

“There was a lot going on, which was why I was keen to let Rhys handle everything.”

“I noticed.” He replied, both their gazes moving over the fidgeting Nyx. The stuffed night beast was still in his hands, the boy making growling noises as he let the beast rove over the hills of the oversized couch. “Congratulations…I guess.”

Tamlin’s words threw a wall of cold bitterness between them, and Feyre pulled her hand away as the last of the wound was repaired.

It confounded her a bit, how Tamlin could not want to tear Nyx apart or hold him over Rhys and her as some sort of hostage, some sort of last vengeance against them. But it seemed the conversation she had with Nesta held true; Tamlin had bought Nyx back safe and sound.

“If you want us to leave, we’ll leave. But I’d rather we actually talk.” Feyre stood and took a seat by Nyx, before picking him up and placing him on her lap. “And Rhys won’t be coming back here anymore.”

Tamlin chuffed, sitting up fully. “Never knew him to take being told what to do lightly.” Feyre remained stoic, unshakable in her resolve. She had long since passed the feeling that she could just leave things as they were, ignoring Tamlin and being unable to face the harshness of the things they had done to each other.

That wasn’t a good example for a mother to be, nor was it for a High Lady, a role she had finally begun to sink her teeth into.

“I have an unfair advantage.” Feyre smirked for a moment, but then realized just how much every sentence spilt more salt into the old wounds they had with one another. Every word, every attempt at light heartedness, was soured by all that had happened between them, all still raw and unresolved, left to dry and rot like a festering wound.

“Regardless,” she continued, “He can take it how he likes.”

Tamlin finally let his eyes rise, catching the visage of Feyre seated with her young son at her lap. “Is that not what you wanted?” He asked. Admittedly, it was a low blow to tug on Feyre’s vengeful streak, but it was the truth.

“I never wanted him to hurt you.” She answered, a slight pain in her voice even as Nyx reached up to her and spoke in incomprehensible babbles.

It should have burned Tamlin—the sight of her with her son—should have awakened in a torrent that brought down the last of the manor upon them both.

But it didn’t. He just kept focus on the boy starting to teeth on his little night beast, and his mother watching him dutifully. She practically paid Tamlin no mind beyond the initial concern, having grown strong enough with her own right that she had nothing to worry about.

Tamlin felt as if a small part of him would have been proud, but he sighed, careful not to aggravate his bruises as he stood up.

“Has he eaten?”

[angstics]

the foundations of decay (2022) x vampires will never hurt you (2002)

FIRST SINGLE

Gerard Way: ["Vampires Will Never Hurt You"] will always be my favorite recording of the band, because it was the first. Having little money, or for that matter the songs, to complete a full-length album, we hopped in a van and headed to Nada Studios.

(may death never stop you booklet, march 2014)

["Vampires Will Never Hurt You"]'s recording was so passionate that, despite being intended as a demo, My Chemical Romance decided that they should use it on the album. It would go on to become the central cog of the record they were about to make, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love. It would be the album that launched their career.

(not the life it seems, sept 2014)

[Under the /audio tab on mychemicalromance.com, there is a table of titles and downloadablable mp3s. At this time, there is only one audio file listed for "Vampires Will Never Hurt You". Below the table, it reads: "From our forthcoming full length album on Eyeball Recordings, due out this summer. This is a rough mix of the song. The final mix will appear on a summer sampler and the full length. Recorded March 3rd, 2002 at Nada Studios in upstate NY."]

(mychemicalromance.com, arch. june 2002)

[Alex Saavedra] gives a lot of the credit to the influential local DJ and scene stalwart the late Mario Comesanas. He used his Under the Stars slot on the South Orange, New Jersey college-radio station WSOU to air "Vampires" for the first time. Comesanas, who was also first to play Thursday on the radio, remembered the response was overwhelming. ‘The reaction was ridiculous – I knew that there was something special here,’ he said. ‘When we counted the requests, there was so much more for them than there was for any other band at that time.’

(not the life it seems, sept 2014)

Frank Iero: I think the first time we really recognized the power of social media was right around the time Thursday was being signed, Midtown was signed. Basically, all our friends from Jersey and Long Island were getting record deals. And My Chem had really just started. We recorded one song because that’s all we had the money for at that point. And we put it up on Myspace immediately and were like, “Hey listen, we’re gonna do a record soon once we get the money. But this is like a sneak preview kind of thing,” and once we put that up, there were literally major label A&Rs calling the practice studio. How they got the number for the practice studio, I have no idea.

(stereogum.com, march 2020)

Frank Iero: This is just something we figured out like... last week when I was hanging out with everybody. The first song we ever wrote and put out on the internet, like, our first single was a song called "Vampires Will Never Hurt You" and it was a song we wrote at the practice studio and recorded and put it out. And we were like, "If people like it, then... they'll let us know through this song and we'll get enough money that we can record," right? So that's what we did. That song was six minutes long. And the last song we put out ["The Foundations of Decay"] is six minutes long. Kinda crazy.

(two minutes to late night, august 2022)

Frank Iero: No one has bigger balls than us right now… I pulled out songs that like… Can you rip a song like a song that we did in 2001 and never released? […] You feel like a badass when you can do that. You feel like a musician then. Like the musicianship and the artistry, that can’t be fucked with."

(one life, one chance, oct 2022)

"favorite" / "couldn't be happier"

(mikey way and frank iero on instagram, may 2022)

STORM

Gerard Way, about recording "Vampires": We started moving the drums out to the van and I was surprised to see what it looked like outside. The sky had become dark blue and jet black and the wind was so strong we thought Mikey was going to blow away. Trees were whipping around and a huge storm was rolling in, but it was strangely warm and felt very comforting. Then I knew my vocals were going to come out just the way I wanted, I could feel this weird excitement.

(mychemicalromance.com, arch. may 2002)

(foundations of decay, may 2022)

SWARM

What's all this nonsense about bats??? The band likes bats. Who doesn't? If you've seen the band live you might have heard Gerard mention something about turning into one or unleashing some sort of swarm of them. "Unleash the fucking bats" is something they say to each other seconds before starting the set to get themselves pumped up. This all started back in Jan '02 when the band finally came together and started playing together with an intensity none of them had ever known. That fateful night they rocked together so hard that a "rock portal" opened up and out flew a swarm of giant bats. No shit.

(mychemicalromance.com, arch. may 2002)

Some rumours I have heard is that you guys like Bats, what's the fascination with them, is it the Will Haven song BATS, or you just like the species? Gerard Way: Haha...the whole bat thing came about at an early practice when Mikey joined and we finally gelled. Our energy just came together and a giant heavy metal vortex opened up and out flew a swarm of bats. We all saw it. It was like an awakening. After that we accepted bats into our lives. It was also while we were playing "Vampires Will Never Hurt You" so it probably had alot to do with that.

(anemicmagazine.com, 2002)

So, the whole vampires, bats, bloody stuff. Where did that all come from? Gerard Way: I probably haven’t ever said this in an interview, but the whole “unleash the bats” thing came from a Birthday Party song called “Release The Bats.” [...] The whole vampire thing [came up when I thought], “Man, nobody writes songs about vampires. How cool would it be?” I thought it was kind of risky or ballsy to play a rock song or a hardcore song that was about vampires.

(starsandscars.com, april 2004)

(foundations of decay, may 2022)

[savage-rhi]

I wanna know about your WIP Everything Zen!

@krisssssssy Big thank ya for asking! I don't have much written up yet for this one, but this is what I have thus far and this is the song that inspired the story:

Summary: It is said in the holy book that when Lucifer fell from heaven, he was plunged into the depths of hell and awaits the apocalypse. What if hell wasn't a firey pit of despair, but in fact, living as a human being for all of eternity?

Zen--the most recent reincarnation of Lucifer--after several lifetimes has finally pieced together a way he can break free from the reincarnation cycle. With the aid of a woman with her own troubles and tribulations--Zen seeks the legendary 10 crowns or "horns" of The Beast to return to heaven.

There's paranormal and supernatural elements in the plot, and a lot of existential themes that both the characters go through. I'm also playing around with throwing in some psychology elements too.

I'm not sure when I'm going to go into full sandbox mode with this one, but I jot down concepts and ideas for the major plot points quite often.

Below is a snippet I wrote a while back. The name Sawyer is going to be used for my fanfic Duality, so I might change this characters name later on:

I imagine Zen looking like Tom Riley.

"So," Sawyer let out a sigh. "When this little road trip of ours comes to an end and you go home. What happens next?"

Zen raised a brow and shrugged. If he were more honest with himself, he hadn't thought that much ahead of the game. Not that he'd admit it out loud.

"I suppose I try and break bread with my father," Zen scoffed. He then smirked as another amusing thought came to mind. "Maybe sing kumbaya with Michael while I'm at it. Hell, maybe pops would like a souvenir from--"

He paused and frowned, looking at the inside of the diner trying in vain to find something that popped out. "Bumfuck Montana, or wherever we are right now."

"Bumfuck Montana," Sawyer repeated. She sounded so unimpressed that Zen could feel his pride take a few steps back. "That's original."

"Oh yeah?" Zen smirked. "You think you can do better?"

"I probably could," Sawyer admitted with a grin. "But I don't need Satan on my ass for the next decade or however long I got left."

"Eh," Zen's eyes scanned over Sawyer in a scrutinizing manner. "You don't have much going on there, ass wise. I wouldn't fret."

"Asshole," Sawyer growled under her breath.

"You walked into that I'm afraid." Zen snorted.

Although Sawyer smiled and laughed off his counter, Zen could sense a little more of herself closing off to him. The way her shoulders firmed and the subtle twitch of her fingers against the coffee mug had him uneasy. His therapist from the late 1800s stated such unease from physical tics was due to abandonment issues. He remembered laughing himself to death over that, but admitted perhaps they had been onto something. He hated it when someone pulled away. It demonstrated a dishonesty that infuriated him to the core.

Zen felt eager to verbally rip Sawyer apart, but reminded himself of how fragile her current state of mind was. He gave credit where it was due. She was certainly a phenomenal actor, pretending nothing got under her skin. That was a quality he had come to admire about humans over the centuries. How their resilience was impeccable. He couldn't say the same for himself as he ruminated on his earlier feelings of disgust.

What happened at the truck stop bothered him a great deal, and he wasn't the one who had been assaulted. He may had "saved the day", but the damage had been done. It was clear in Sawyers eyes and the way she had carried herself since then.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Zen murmured.

"Not really," Sawyer replied. Her eyes scanned over the diner, reminding Zen of a meerkat scouting the plains for hyena. "It's not the first time something like that has happened to me. I'll get over it."

He felt the hairs on his neck stand, and blinked a few times as his mind pondered more than it should've on Sawyer's remark.

"You're not alone in your misery. If it's any consolation."

Sawyer's eyes landed on him, sensing a familiarity in his cadence. It took her but a few moments to register the weight. "You too?"

Zen nodded. He sunk further into his seat as he relaxed and stretched. "You seem surprised."

"I didn't think…since you're, you know who, that you'd know what that's like--"

"I've lived many lifetimes. I'm not a stranger to bodily harm of the highest. Be it male or female." He interrupted, offering a small grin to soften the blow of his confession for her sake. Zen felt something akin to shame shortly after, and dismissively waved his right hand. Trying to tell Sawyer without words not to think too hard on anything. He focused on the birds in the parking lot outside the window. Watching them peck at stale leftover french fries someone had tossed.

"I'm sorry," Sawyer softly replied. He didn't have to see her face to tell she felt foolish for whatever assumptions she had held of him.

"It's whatever," Zen shrugged with a grin. He realized how odd that must've looked considering the circumstances, but didn't linger upon it.

Once the birds took off, having their fill, did he look at Sawyer again. He bit the inside of his cheek.

"You don't me owe me your past or anything you've been through, but I do want you to know that so long as we travel together, that won't happen again."

"How can you be certain?"

"I'm not," Zen admitted. "But contrary to popular belief, I keep my word if you'll have it."

[blackjackkent]

Ehehehe I had a feeling our next long rest wasn't going to be very restful.

Narrator: Your thoughts are back on the twisted Sceleritas and his honeyed words of violence.

It has been a terrible day, and the night is equally excruciating. Denied Isobel's death, the beast churns in Rakha's head, gnawing at the inside of her skull. The images of blood, her constant nighttime companions, soak outwards into her waking moments and she twitches restlessly on her bedroll, unable to settle.

Not since Alfira's death has she been so acutely aware that something is terribly wrong with her. In the weeks since then, she has learned from Wyll, from Lae'zel, from Karlach; she's learned, at least sometimes, to choose when and how and who to kill, to attack with purpose. But she has been reminded, all too sharply, that the beast still lurks ready to rip and tear and shred apart anything without cause, and that she still does not know why.

Somewhere in her past, utterly lost to her, is an explanation for this hunger for blood, for the murderous instinct, for the presence of that terrible butler--

"You called for me, Milady?"

Shriek.

She opens her eyes and finds Sceleritas's face only a few inches from hers, his skeletal features grinning horribly. All the tension explodes out of her body in a sudden, undignified yelp and she scrabbles backwards off the bedroll and up onto her feet, almost overbalancing in an attempt to put space between herself and the butler.

"Shhhh shh shhh..." Sceleritas clicks his tongue and hisses at her softly, as if chastising an unruly pet. Then his manner shifts again rapidly, back into his usual obsequious whine. "Quiet, dear depraved one," he murmurs. "We wouldn't want to wake the others. They would be so jealous..."

Would they? Rakha thinks unsteadily. Who are you? What do you know of me? Why are you here? Her brain feels fuzzy with agitation and she struggles to form the thoughts clearly.

Sceleritas trots a few steps closer to her and peers up at her with eager deference. "I come here for I wish to bring you another powerful tithe." He raises one finger in a cautioning gesture. "But I cannot grant you this prize quite yet. You must do something divinely unspeakable first."

Rakha swallows in a suddenly dry throat, willing her thoughts to come to some sort of steady calm, to think through the moment rationally as she usually does. The last time Sceleritas was here, he gave her the cloak she wears on the road - and it has proved an incredibly valuable tool.

Now he means to offer her something again... but at a cost this time.

"What must I do?" she asks hoarsely.

Sceleritas grins, a horrible expression on his skull-like face. "You will receive a royal prize," he says, "for killing this pretty girl."

He begins to weave a spell around them, an image slowly coalescing into view next to him. It takes a few moments for the figure to fully appear - but it doesn't really matter. Rakha knows long before he is finished who he wants her to kill.

"Isobel. The cleric with the sweetest face of the moon," Sceleritas croons. "She is too precious to live."

A spasm of pain rolls through Rakha's head, and the beast laughs.

Yes. Yes. Kill her. And they will all die screaming...

"I felt the desire to kill her so strongly when we met..." she mutters haltingly. I don't want to. I won't...

Sceleritas's smile takes on a nasty edge. "Your unconscious, clever mind hungers for extreme violence," he purrs. "Who knows who you might kill next if you do not satisfy your Urge?" There's a distinct note of menace under the words now, an unspoken threat. "Be true to yourself, my Lady."

He vanishes, taking the image of Isobel with him. Rakha sits down heavily on her bedroll, staring at the spot where they stood. Her mind whirls. Everything is chaos.

She doesn't know what to do.

[queer-whatchamacallit]

Here’s my observations of 1x03 - Brigade of my beloved, The Bear!!

When Carm’s at the beach, there’s a “let it rip, Buddy” which I’m pretty sure is our very first let it rip

Carm takes “the chemistry needs to change” and “just try to keep my side of the street clean” and absorbs it

I think I’ve counted 4 pepto and tums stashes? The office, the bathroom, the locker room, and his bedroom

I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Carm sleeps with socks on

In the Al-Anon pamphlet, under the DO (as opposed to DON’T) section was “take it easy— tension is harmful”

Manny, Angel, and Marcus are all definitely there before Carm. Marcus said Carmy was early, but he came in at the same time as Syd, so might be able to assume she comes in before him normally

We get to see a little bit of Carm’s purer passion for cooking. Him just deciding to teach Marcus about the plum thing because he has that knowledge to share. The Carm-Marcus mentor relationship is so superior

Also he says Har-EE-bo which threw me off. I always say HARE-ih-bo

Carm starts the French brigade to keep his side of the street clean and change what he can, but there’s also the layer where Carm likes consciously or subconsciously reliving his traumas, but in a situation he has more control over. Carmy is trying to remake New York here, except he’s the Executive Chef, but he’s not going to be overbearing like his Chef was

“Ebra: I was in a brigade once. Tina: What happened? Ebra: Many people died. Tina: See, Jeff? Carmy: It’s gonna be different” is such a good back and forth, Ebra is easily the funniest person here

Carmy parrots, “They keep their side of the street clean,” and you can almost tell he’s been rolling those words over and over in his head all day

We get Ebra’s first “I accept” !!!

After the call from Niko, it’s like Carm either doesn’t hear Richie the first time he asks, “What was that?” Or he just can’t get words to come out of his mouth. Carm’s voice goes kinda small and quiet. Richie asks if he blew a fuse, and I could imagine that’s exactly what it felt like

“I just felt like Michael was alive for a second.” Carm wasn’t there for the funeral, it’s hard to tell how it was long after Mikey died when he moved back from New York, he never grieved with anyone. He knows Michael’s dead, he can say it without a second thought, he jokes with the “I’ll ask him when he’s not dead” in 1x06, but the deepest proof he has is word of mouth. There’s bound to be some part of him that’s in denial about Mikey’s death

He hears, “I want to set this place on fuckin fire,” in his head, same as after the nightmare in 1x08, so did he know about the failing fire suppression stuff? Did Mikey say that to him at some point? Idk this is just a weird quote, some good s1 unreality tho

As Carm runs from wherever he was to out the door, you can hear shit being knocked over behind him, but he doesn’t look back. He’s pretty okay with telling people when something is wrong, but actually having them be there for him is a different story. The second he crosses the threshold into panic, he bolts, so no one can see it. When he gets off the call with Niko, he never turned around to face Richie and just waited until Richie walked out before he let himself press a hand into his chest and sit down

No matter how pissed Tina is with Syd, she’ll still ask, “What happened? Let me see” when she cuts her finger <3

Tina goes up to Sweeps and Marcus who both have the blue aprons and there’s such a good bit I forgot about, “Tina: You two look like you joined a dumbass cult. Sweeps and Marcus in unison: Thank you”

Another good Ebra bit: “Syd: Well, it’s not good, so Ebra: You betrayed me!”

When Syd goes out front looking for her onions, Richie is talking to Crooked John from 1x06 !!!

There’s a bench outside no one ever seems to use after this (that I’ve noticed), but I guess whenever we see someone go out back, they’re probably either nervously pacing (Carm) or too sad to feel like they deserve a bench (Marcus)

Even after the hellish half day she just had, it takes a little prompting from Carmy to open up about it, and when she does, it feels almost straightforward, I told you this would be bad, you didn’t listen to me, and that isn’t the job I came for, you suddenly gave me this responsibility then left, and it didn’t go well, etc. She also gains a little bit of revenge by fucking with Carmy and lightening the mood. She may not be super comfortable with explaining this stuff to others, but she seems to have a good bit of emotional intelligence (especially compared to Carm) to pinpoint everything that bothered her

Ah, the classic “fuck brunch” <33

And after all that, Carmy snuck out again at sunset to go to the beach and feel painful emotions about it being Mikey’s birthday

I think the first 2 eps introduced external and internal conflict respectively, so now, we could start getting into some recurring stuff. It starts planting the seeds for the season 2 Carmy ditching the restaurant for what he thinks will be healthier arc. And Syd gets her shit rocked, and that’s so rude because she deserves the world

Anyway! Ep 3 boom done!!

[smaptain-smerica]

Female Reader x Rooster

Time: Post-Top gun: Maverick

Y/n Blackwood - L/n, daughter of Charlotte "Charlie" Blackwood. Y/n took a strong interest in planes from a young age. Knowing her father was an esteemed pilot drew her even further into the navy. Quickly, she became one of the best solo pilots and graduating at the top of her class at Top Gun.

Her next mission? Return to Top Gun, Face certain death, romantic interests, and finally, her thought-to-be-dead, father.

This book contains strong language and sexual content that may be sensitive readers under the age of 18

This story was originally posted on Wattpad, follow me on there for faster updates. I have published a non-binary version of this story published there for those who do not identify as female or use she/her pronouns. It will follow the exact same story line. Link to Wattpad Account Link to the Non-Binary version

Master list

Missed Call

Once Maverick finished his speech the crowd erupted into cheers. He was his usual charming and quippy self. What I learned that I didn't know before was that this was a fundraiser for Disabled and Homeless veterans. I made sure to drop whatever cash I had on me into the donation box on my way to find Hangman.

It didn't take me long to find him. He was outside where the pavement met the sand, staring off at the star filled horizons. The cold ocean chill hit my bare arms and I crossed my arms over my body.

I approached him from behind, putting a hand on his shoulder to announce my arrival. "You missed Mav's speech."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

I turned to fully face him now, my heels sinking slightly into the sands. We made eye contact. He gave me a small and weak smile, one that wasn't a genuine Jake smile.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

Hangman looked down at me with a smile on his face. It looked like a sad smile, the kind of smile that someone has when they have to be happy for someone else getting the job they wanted. Or maybe it was a sad longing.

"Everything's perfect y/n. Don't worry about me." He tried his best to reassure me, but I wasn't buying it. I shifted my weight to one hip and raised my eyebrow at him. A face that clearly stated; seriously?

Hangman chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "I should know better than to try and hide it from you, shouldn't I."

"Yes you should." I responded quickly. "Go on, out with it."

Hangman sighed, pausing before he talked. It looked like he was searching for the words to say. He chuckled to himself after finally finishing his thinking.

"I'm jealous of Bradshaw."

"Jealous?"

Hangman crossed his arms and looked down at me. "Don't get me wrong, for the longest time, I hated you."

"Thanks." I responded with a dry, sarcastic tone.

"You're welcome. I hated you because, well because you were exactly like me. Only better, but I'd never admit to it. But then we went our separate ways. Every now and again I would catch myself thinking about you, on dates or when I got into relationships. None of them challenged me or pushed me in the way that you did. I craved that feeling, but never found it. So when I heard you were going to be on this mission I thought that maybe this would be my chance to see if my feelings were real."

I was floored by Hangman's words. I had not seen this side of him before. His stance was closed off and he avoided eye contact completely. He acted sheepish, embarrassed. "We're they?" I asked tentatively.

"I don't know." He admitted. "Before I got the chance to figure that out you were running off with Bradshaw." He spoke with a little distaste in his voice. He sighed before continuing.

"But after we had gotten into one of our fights I realized, if I truly cared about you, you shouldn't be with me."

"Because we would rip each others heads off?" I finished his sentence with a playful tone to my voice, trying to deflect with humor. Hangman chuckled in response.

"I think you would beat me to it first."

Hangman and I laughed. I felt guilty, I hadn't known that he felt that way. Had I been playing with his feelings? Stringing him along unintentionally?

"Jake..."

He held his hand up before I could continue what I was going to say. "Don't say anything Wolf. You don't have to worry, we're still friends."

I looked at him with my eyebrows pushed together in a sad way that asked are you sure. She smiled at me and wrapped a hand around my shoulders and squeezed me in a side hug.

"Come on, you're cold. Which means you don't have enough alcohol in you." He teased as we walked back to the building together.

~~~

After dropping Hangman back off at base I went back to Bradley's. I opened the door to the dark house with a sigh. Every time I came home I hoped I would see Bradley sitting on the couch, waiting for me. I used to be fine being alone, completely content actually. I enjoyed it. I don't know why so much has changed since the accident. I felt like I was suddenly too dependent on Bradley's presence.

I undressed and slipped into some comfortable shorts and one of Bradley's shirts that he left behind. It was entirely too big on me. One thing I would always be grateful for though is a bed all to myself.

I found myself often not sleeping well, but tonight was particularly rough. I had a nightmare that I woke up from in a cold sweat, the feeling of panic completely encased over me. I looked around the dark room, only the moonlight peeking through the blinds.

I looked at Bradley's side of the bed, sadness falling over me. It was so hard and crushing that I almost instantly started crying without a rhyme or reason. I stood up and grabbed a tote bad. I threw a change of clothes, the essential toiletries and grabbed my uniform from the dryer. I slipped on my boots and didn't bother to tie them. With tears still in my eyes I got in the mustang and drove over to Mavericks house.

I pulled up into the driveway and fished out the spare key that he got for me and unlocked the door. I slowly creaked the door open only to be met by Penny's dog. He barked a couple times until I said his name to get him to calm down.

"Hey buddy, it's just me." I reassured him as he wagged his tail back and forth, licking my hands. I heard the floors above creaking and cursed to myself for waking somebody up. Slowly, Maverick crept his way down the stairs and we made eye contact.

"It's just me." I reassured him. He seemed to let out a breath of air in relief.

"Everything okay, kid?" He asked. I walked over to the couch and sat down, putting my head in my hands.

"Yeah. I just don't want to be alone."

I heard mavericks feet thump on the hardwood over to me and he sat down on the couch next to me. He put an arm around me and pulled me into him. I rested my head on his shoulder while he rubbed my back gently.

"Have you heard anything from Bradley?" He asked. I shook my head in response.

"Nope." I said, popping the "p". "Have you?"

"No." There was a silence between us that I could tell we were both worried.

"He's okay. We know that for sure." That was true, we haven't gotten a letter about him being injured or worse, officers showing up at either of our houses. He was just, MIA. Honestly, I would rather have the officers than keep wondering.

"I can blow up the air mattress for you?" Maverick offered. I shook my head.

"No that's okay. I'll just stay on the couch."

"Alright if you're sure." He paused, pushing up with his knees to stand up.

"Pete?" I asked.

"Yeah?" He asked eagerly.

"Would you wait here until I fall asleep?"

He smiled at me fondly and nodded. "Of course."

There was an arm chair next to the end of the couch where Maverick sat down. I laid my head down closest to that side of the couch. Maverick reached his hand over the arm chairs and his hand rested on my hairline. He slowly started brushing his hand over my head, in a comforting almost petting motion.

"How's being a teacher going?" Maverick asked.

"It's going okay. I got some pushback from this one student but I think I set him straight."

Maverick chuckled in response. "I wouldn't have any doubts that you did. So you're back in the air?"

I sighed. "Not quite. But I am ready. Hangman helped me get into the air now I just have to fly myself tomorrow."

Maverick hummed in understanding. "It was good to see him last night, I'm glad he came down to help at Top Gun."

"I asked him to come help me get back in the air. I quickly realized that I never want to be in the same plane as him again. That was very motivating."

Maverick chuckled and nodded his head. "I can definitely see that." He paused for a moment before continuing to talk. "How does Bradley feel about him being here? Last I heard he was holding a grudge."

I sighed, shrugging my shoulders. "I don't know if he read my messages to find out."

Maverick was silent after that. I could tell he wanted to say more, I knew he did. Bradley and I's relationship was sometimes a sensitive topic for us to discuss. It's difficult when you both confide in the same person about the other.

Slowly I drifted to sleep, feeling the comforting feeling of Maverick running his hand through my hair. It was soothing, and made my heart swell with joy. I was truly happy I had him in my life. I hadn't realized what I was missing out on.

~~~ Third person POV

Maverick jumped awake from a vibrating in his pocket. He looked around the room with sleep in his eyes, realizing he had fallen asleep in the chair next to y/n. Maverick pulled out his phone and saw that he was getting a call from an unknown number from overseas. This wasn't entirely uncommon to happen, but he noticed that it was from around the same place that Bradley was shipped off to.

"Hello?" He answered the phone.

"Mav?" The familiar voice on the other side of the phone asked. Maverick widened his eyebrows, surprised that his suspicions were true. He got up from the chair and walked into the other room as to not wake his daughter.

"Bradley? Are you okay?"

"Yes I'm fine. I don't have a lot of time to talk. I'm on a pay phone."

"Well why the hell haven't you been answering us?" Maverick asked, suddenly wanting to scold him for not updating them that he was okay.

"Y/n has been worried, she's over here right now because she didn't want to be alone." Maverick whisper shouted.

"I'm sorry Mav. I haven't been allowed to use my phone."

"Well why are you calling me and not y/n?"

"She has class tomorrow, she needs to sleep."

"And what about my sleep?" Maverick asked sassily.

"You'll be fine, old man."

Maverick couldn't help but smile at Bradley's never-ending sassiness. There was a commotion on the other end of the line and a few muffled shouts. Maverick heard Bradley yell 'Yes sir!' Before turning his attention back to the phone.

"You'll tell y/n I'm okay?"

"Yes, I will." Maverick sighed sadly.

"Thank you. I have to go, goodbye."

Before Maverick could say goodbye back there was a click and the sound of dial tone. He was mad at Bradley for not calling y/n. She was the one he wanted to be with after all. Maverick looked over to where y/n slept and saw her peaceful face illuminated in the moonlight.

Maybe it was better that she slept. His heart ached thinking about the things she went through, the things she might be struggling with. Maverick walked over to her, bending down and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. He moved to the dog that was at the end of the couch, tucked behind her legs. Maverick pet the dogs head with a smile.

"You look after her now, okay boy?" The dogs tail thumped on the couch while Maverick scratched his head.

With one last look at the pair on the couch, he walked towards the stairs to get back to bed with Penny.

Next Chapter

[silentprincessandsweethibiscus]

They say your life flashes before your eyes as you died, but Green found it happened the day he first truly felt alive again.

This is my entry for week three of fsff, past.

warning for this one, it a flashback/backstory chapter to Green's death, i don't know how graphic i would call it, but it is fairly detailed, and as stated last week, he was killed by a vampire, so do keep that in mind.

It was a clear night when Green died. The moon was high, the stars were bright, and there were not even the wispiest of clouds to dace across the daring expanse of space. It was the perfect night, and Green intended to spend it with his fiance, enjoying their last moments of peace before their wedding next week.

He had spent the day cleaning their shared home, and tending the garden, and making them dinner, so that when his love came home the two of them could simply relax. They could eat the pumpkin stew that was currently being kept warm over a low fire, and then the two of them could go stargaze. Green would make up facts about the constellations to watch the way his dearests face would scrunch up at Green’s blatant mirthful pestering.

As he was humming a tune and stirring the soup, the front door of their small home opened, and Green heard a familiar voice swirl into the space. Just as he registered the distressed tone, and the fact that the front door never closed, there was a crash from the living room.

Green yelled out in surprise, abandoning the soup to make sure everything was alright. He yelled again when, something, tackled him to the ground. All he could see was red, and by the time he registered the pain in his neck he was already going numb.

He kicked and screamed, trying desperately to get the creature off of him. Or to get any kind of response from the living room, to indicate his beloved was alive. There was no response, and enraged, Green finally managed to slam his fist against the creatures face just right. Unfortunately, he felt even more of the flesh on his neck rip away as the creature flew back, but he still grinned in satisfaction when he heard the damn thing slam back against the door frame.

Everything was fuzzy, and the kitchen was swirling around him as his shirt soaked up what blood the vampire hadn’t drunk from him. There was noise, like shuffling coming from the direction of the living room, and Green could only hope it meant the daemon was leaving them.

There was movement to Green’s left, and he let his head fall that way to see what it was. As his vision swirled to black, the last sight that greeted him was his fiance, covered in blood, lying on the floor across from him. His beloved’s lips where moving, but if any sound was coming out, Green was unable to here it.

He smiled, and mouthed out a final, “I love you,” as the world around him fell to darkness.

Green woke with a gasp. The sun was shining in his eyes, but it did not hurt, and the ground under him was solid, but not uncomfortable. He squinted in confusion. Why had he fallen asleep on the kitchen floor again? And why had he been allowed to stay there? Shouldn’t his fiance have woken him up? What was he forgetting? Fiance. Fiance? Fiance! The wedding! Yes. That’s what he was forgetting! It’s time for their wedding!

Getting up, he searched the house for his beloved, humming a happy tune as he strolled through their small home. When his search came up unsuccessful, he frowned, before shrugging and heading off to the church, where his love must certainly be already waiting for him.

The streets of the small village where empty as Green walked, and he began to worry about how late he was going to be. He’d hate to make his fiance wait. Especially since Green didn’t have a good answer about why he was late. Did he pass out getting ready? Has he been on the kitchen floor since last night? Worried, he began to run.

Quickly enough he made it to the church, but something was not right. All their friends and family where there, but no one looked happy. Or even annoyed with Green for being late. After he was unsuccessful at getting the attention of several of his friends, Green decided to simply head into the building. He was needed at the front anyways, and if he was late, he needed to clear up the mix-up.

Green stopped short halfway to the alter. Instead of the roses and violets they had planned to line the church, there where purple gladioli, soft pink carnations, and pure white daisies. The painting he had commissioned of him, and his love was front and center, with two caskets to one side, and the podium where the preacher had spoken of the two, taken to soon, just prior to Green’s arrival.

The caskets where both closed, and Green, now beginning to recall his last night, understood why. He wasn’t even sure which one was his, and which one was his love’s. Instead, he walked up to the painting. As he reached up to stroke the only image left of his lover’s face, he realized for the first time, that his had was translucent.

“Oh,” he mused, “of course, that’s why no one reacted to me.” Green hated how slowly everything was clicking back into place. Like his memories were covered in a thick layer of molasses. He had known he was dead, when he saw the caskets, but it still took him time to realize he was a ghost.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, in the church, but it was late when his sister came to take the painting away. He wrapped his arms around her, telling her one last time that he loved her. As she left, with tears in her eyes and the painting protectively wrapped under her arm, Green set out to the cemetery, to find where they had laid, he and his loves bodies.

It wasn’t hard, the freshly dug soil, and flowers from ever garden in the village where shining like beacons to him, even in the dark. The villagers had given them a joint headstone, beautifully engraved with the words; Two young lovers, Buried on the eve saved for their union, Sleep peacefully together now.

Green stood there, all night, reading the words to himself, over and over, until the first lights of dawn. He would not leave. He would not move on. Not without his fiance. His life. His love. His whole world. As the sun came up, illuminating the words, and casting tiny rainbows from the dew on the flowers, Green finally broke. Once the tears started flowing, he couldn’t stop them. He collapsed onto where his loves casket was so carefully buried by their family, and sobbed.

When the tears finally stopped, he was still alone, and the gravestone no longer looked so pristine. It was clearly still looked after by someone, but it was weathered, and had small patches of moss growing on it. Instead of the bouquets of flowers that had been surrounding it, there was just one. Roses and violets, just like the flowers that should have surrounded them that day.

Eventually, Green decided that waiting here wasn’t working, and that he needed to go find his fiance. They had always talked about traveling the world together, so that’s what he would do. Death was a blur to him for a while. He never tired, never needed to eat, and with his single-minded determination, he wasn’t exactly picking up hobbies in his travels.

He walked, he searched, and he longed.

At first he just wanted his love, but as time passed, he found himself craving any human, or inhuman, interaction. And that’s when the hauntings started. He would reach a new village, or town, or city, and when his search came up empty, he would find a home, and haunt. Never anything big, or scary. No blood dripping down the walls, or ominous GET OUT messages scrawled on any viable surface. Just little pranks. move someone's things. Lock a door. Anything to get a reaction.

The more the person insisted it wasn’t a ghost, the more fun it was to tease them.

Usually.

He had stopped in a collage town a few years ago, he loved them. Fresh outta high school and their parent's houses, new adults where always so determined to prove that they could live. He loved to see it. And this demographic loved pranks, so it was always a challenge to convince them it was a haunting, and not just their friends fucking with them.

And then the werewolf moved in. The first time Green tried to fuck with him, she called her partner, asked if it was the one who did it. The human showed up in less than ten minutes, proceeded to tell Green off for “scaring” its girlfriend, then they both laughed and invited him to hang out.

Blue and Shadow where the first people to really interact with him since his death. And he loved them. Not the same way he still loved his fiance, but they didn’t want that from him. They got him a phone, so he could always be a part of conversations, and they took him places, and showed him the world as it was now. Made him see, not just look, so he could enjoy the beauty in it again, and he remembered the real reason his fiance had wanted to travel. They even agreed to travel with him, once their schooling was over.

And so maybe, just maybe, this was, in a ways, his own fault. He still held to much to his chest. That’s why he now stood here, completely unprepared as his best friend, the partner of his girlfriend, introduced them both to the vampire it's been dating.

This is what Green got, for only telling Blue, and not Shadow.

There were several tense moments, as the two simply stared at each other. Shadow’s smile was dropping in concern, and Blue was practically bristling, as she positioned herself to stand in front of Shadow, not sure how to interpret the look on Green’s face.

The vampire spoke first. The vampire that wore his loves face, and answered to their name. They spoke in a low voice, raspy with tears threatening to spill. They spoke only one word, but it’s all Green needed, for no one has ever said his name like His Violet.

Green knows he responded in kind, even if he couldn’t hear the sound of his own voice. He knows he did, because as soon as he did, Vio moved. The two met in the middle, as they always had in life, embracing in a reunion over seven hundred years in the making.

Their lives had been short, and their deaths have been very long, but they are no longer alone. And as Vio sobs through apologies about that night, the last pieces of the puzzle fall into place. Green comforts them, assuring that he knows it was not their fault, and that he has been looking for them.

Later, later they will talk about it. With calm heads, and clear words. Right now, however, is for relief, and joy, and soft words held in for to long. Green will not move on without Vio, and right now, he is pleased that doesn’t mean leaving his new loves behind. He is happy he can share his past with them, and show them the world he knew, just as they have done for him.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Hello, so this not a request per se; but seeing your reaction to the latest archon story quest, I was curious, but which nation do you think has the best story arc so far? Sumeru or Fontaine? what you like the most? Just want to hear your thoughts and opinions, that’s all.

oooh that's a good question!! i'll put my answer under the cut because it got kinda rambly and there are spoilers (i'm also quite opinionated i'm warning you now!)

in terms of a consistent plotline, i think Sumeru was better. but in terms of personal enjoyment, i liked Fontaine more.

as for why i liked Fontaine more (except the prison part, fuck that), it's for a number of reasons- i like the characters more (Arlecchino and Furina being two of my absolute favorites), the stakes felt higher and more mysterious (Sumeru i kinda figured out what Dottore and Scaramouche were doing early on), the NPC deaths hit hard because they actually stayed dead (rip Melus and Silver you two will not be forgotten), i really liked the trial aspects, and also FOUL LEGACY APPEARANCE!!!! HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY!!!!! it also helped that Fontaine was the first archon questline to not feature the Fatui as the main bad guys, which i absolutely love

oh and i like the narwhal weekly boss better than the Scaramech boss. in fact i have a bit of a hatred for the Scaramech boss because of how it's entirely based off of the floating rabbit-thing gimmick- the only reasons i generally enjoy doing it is because A.) we're beating up Scaramouche and B.) the music slaps

Furina is also one of my favorite characters in the entire game now. she doesn't quite top Childe/Foul Legacy, Arlecchino, or Baizhu, but she's up there. i liked her from the beginning because she was goofy and dramatic, and now i think her story was beautifully written and it was something i can also relate to in a sense, although obviously not nearly on the same scale as Furina's struggles. Nahida's story was also good and very tragic, but i don't have anywhere near the same attachment to her as i do to Furina (sorry little radish)

Fontaine also brought back the trend of Fatui Harbingers actually feeling intimidating. the last time i really felt in danger around a Harbinger was Dottore, and since he wasn't the focused Harbinger of the arc i knew he wasn't going to do anything super drastic- i kinda knew Signora was going to die (still in mourning btw) and Scaramouche lost his intimidation factor when he tried to become a god, so Arlecchino being a quiet but powerful force through sheer voice and stance is very lovely

also i generally enjoy underwater exploration more than the rainforest and desert desert MORE DESERT exploration in Sumeru, so that contributes to my Fontaine bias

obviously there are some parts that could be done better, like the implementation of the narwhal boss and the plotline flowing a little better and Chlorinde definitely needing more screentime (better than Sara at least), but yeah Fontaine is my personal favorite. also the whole "erase our problems from everyone's memory" conclusion in Sumeru is kinda ehhhh, i can see why they did that but also the tree containing literally all the world's knowledge is lowkey boring and becomes a bit of a plot hole if you think about it. why couldn't we just take a little trip back to Sumeru to find out the origins of Fontaine's prophecy? i'm sure Nahida, bless her heart, would be more than happy to tell us what's up, but obviously we can't do that because it'd be too easy

i think Fontaine had higher highs and lower lows while Sumeru was consistently pretty good, so if you want a good, solid plotline to show someone, show them Sumeru. i liked Fontaine better, but that's definitely personal preference, hope that answers your question!

[nabtime]

Our Empty Graves V

Fandom: Danny Phantom / Batman: Under the Red Hood

Pairings: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd (Dead on Main)

Rating: Mature

Tags: batfamily, hazmat AU, Nobody Knows AU, Mute!Phantom, potential ghost king danny, slow burn?, DC means Disregard Canon, AU means AU nothing is exactly the same, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, more than canon typical violence, danny is a Halfa and also a Fetch, no beta we die like basically everyone

Summary: They say that Red Hood has a loyal mutt. The man rules his territory in Crime Alley with an iron fist and a guard dog at his side. They say that Hood calls him Fetch, sometimes Fetcher. No one's ever heard him speak. Anyone who's ever seen him says he looks like an experiment gone wrong, that Hood picked him up somewhere unspeakable. They say he'll do anything Red Hood asks of him and he'll do it well. That he's strong and fast and probably inhuman. The girls say he's sweet; quiet but charming in his own way. Rival gangs say he's vicious; that he'd sooner rip your throat out than let you go.

Jason just wants to help him.

Chapter 5: they call me devil (and you should be afraid)

Chapter Summary: Red Hood keeps running into Fetcher, who disappears on him each time, until he decides to take the matter into his own hands and hunts the other down.

Chapter Notes: title from Call Me Devil by Friends in Tokyo Links: AO3 // Chapter 1 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 6 // Spotify

There was a part of Jason that knew he wouldn’t find Fetcher in the safe house when he returned, but there was another (stupider) part of himself that had hoped to find the sassy little shit where he’d left him. He knew the first time had been a miracle and probably owing to the fact that Fetcher had been exhausted and recovering. He really hoped the kid had healed fully before he left. It looked like he already had a pretty fast healing rate, but Jason still worried. Like an idiot, really.

He wondered where Fetcher went. Jason didn’t believe for one second the kid actually had a place to go. But then again he literally glowed green and walked around in a Hazmat suit, which meant he was kind of hard to miss. So he had to have a place to go, to hide. Because Jason sure as shit hadn’t seen him since he left. And no, he had not looked. Well, maybe he looked a little. But it didn’t matter because he hadn’t found the fucker anywhere. There and gone again in a single night.

Jason should not be as preoccupied about it as he was. He had plans. He needed to focus. Didn’t matter that he’d felt almost calm for the first time since he resurrected around the kid (four long, long years of mindlessness and anger and a sort of helplessness and despair he hated). Fetcher was gone now and all he could do was sink back into his rage and learn to swim willingly within the haze all over again. He’d done it before and he’d do it again. Rage was useful. Anger was something he could mold and carve to his satisfaction. He would use it as a tool to strike down those that needed striking and avenge those that needed vengeance. Himself for one.

Tall, Dark, and Emotionally Repressed wouldn’t know what hit him. The Batman had failed him. Bruce had proven that while he may have loved Jason, he hadn’t loved him enough. And wasn’t that just the story of his life? Jason had never been enough. Would never be enough. Always second-rate. A good Robin, sure, but not near enough to live up to the first one. To Dick’s spark and skill and flamboyance. Dickie had set the standard for what a Robin should be and Jason had never been able to live up to it. His Replacement got closer than he ever could and it stung. Too arrogant, too forceful, too angry, too reckless. Too much, yet never enough. Jason was loved but it always came with conditions. Jason was mourned but his death had still not been enough to put a stop to the Joker. Just another page in his story instead of the catalyst to his end. He hadn’t cared that Bruce was too late to save him, he’d cared that Bruce had still not considered his death enough to put a permanent end to Joker’s murder sprees.

It pissed him off.

If the Batman, so-called protector of Gotham city, wouldn’t put an end to the festering blight on humanity at large that was the Clown Prince of Crime, then someone else would. Jason was not afraid to bloody his own hands if it meant more innocents could live. If it meant that people like Jason had been wouldn’t have to die anymore. Die broken and bleeding and scared. Thinking that Batman would save you, would pull you out of the wreckage and make sure everything was alright. Thinking that Batman would go to the ends of the earth to make sure you lived. Thinking that Batman would do anything to avenge you if you didn’t. He would not let anyone else live that lie. Die with that lie.

Because that’s all it was. A lie.

If Jason, a child he had brought in and personally trained, was not enough, then there weren’t many others that were. How many people would finally be too many? How many lives would end before the Joker’s? His hadn’t been worthy enough to count as the sacrificial lamb to end it all. Though, he supposed, he hadn’t been worth much anyway. Bruce could bluster all he wanted, pretend to be angry that someone had trespassed on Jason’s grave. But the fact of the matter was that nowhere on that headstone had he been given the name Wayne. Unclaimed and unwanted and unavenged. He wondered, sometimes, if it had been Dick that had died instead of him, if that would have been Bruce’s breaking point. But Dickie had never been stupid enough to get himself killed.

Not like reckless, angry, arrogant, Jason.

But, now, now he had a plan and he would put those traits to use.

He would continue to take over the Alley. Expand his territory and take over all trade from Black Mask and any other Kingpin trying to rule the underground. He would control the drugs, the arms, and any other goods. He would destroy what he couldn’t control and control what he couldn’t destroy. Drugs would sell no matter what he did, so he would make sure they were pure and out of the hands of minors. He would provide refuge for the weak and weary, clean spaces and warm places. He would do what Batman could not and rid the city of its more heinous strains of crime. And he would be as ruthless about it as he needed to be. He would not hold back because of some old moral code, not if it meant doing what needed to be done. He would not be so selfish as to put his conscious above the lives and well-being of others.

He would show the Bat what the city could become before he put Bruce’s morals to the test. Before he found out what Batman’s breaking point really was.

═════ ◈ ═════

Six months he’d been running everything. Killing off rival gang members, making sure everyone knew the rules and the consequences for not following them. Pissing off Black Mask and eating more and more of his territory, claiming the Alley for himself. Teasing Batman and dodging his attempts at a take-down. He wasn’t ready to give up the ghost just yet, Brucie needed more patience than that.

It was just another run-of-the-mill patrol of the area. Checking in with his lieutenants, keeping them in line and making sure no one was breaking the golden rule. Checking in on the Corner Workers, making sure they had everything they needed and that no one was trying to rough them up. Checking in on the camps, making sure everyone had food and water and shelter and anything else they needed. Keeping the pigs away from all of them.

So, imagine his surprise when he finds trouble. No, not that he just finds trouble, that was expected and the reason for the patrol in the first place, but that he finds trouble and Fetcher was in the middle of it. Trying to stop it? From the looks of it?

Taking in the scene, there were three figures. Fetcher, some guy in a black jacket and ski-mask (like you couldn’t get anymore cartoonishly criminal), and a girl all done up in high-heels and a short leather dress. Nadi if he had to take a guess. Looked like some bozo had been trying to mug one of the Ladies of the Night. Had been because Fetcher had the guy in a headlock and was- Giving the guy a noogie? The girl in question seemed to just be watching, hands on her hips and grinning, make-up and hair without a single smudge or ruffle. Fetcher must have intervened before Bozo could get very far then.

Jason joined her in watching the show. Bozo tried to pull a knife and Fetcher just kept one arm around his head and used the other to snatch it away without effort. Then he density-shifted it into his suit and gave the guy a finger wag. Like some naughty kid.

“That’s the third knife he’s done that with,” Nadi said, sounding on the brink of hysterical laughter.

Nadi, from what he had learned of the sex workers under his protection, was always one to deflect with humor when things went south. Served her well in this instance because it kept her calm and able to enjoy the show. She wasn’t new to the block either so this probably wasn’t the first time she’d had a knife pulled on her. Probably the first time a walking radiation hazard saved her though. Or, knowing Gotham, maybe not.

“He hurt you at all?” he asked her, just to make sure.

“Nah,” she said turning to him with a smile that didn’t falter at the sight of his helmet.

He was trying his best to keep his reputation good with the ones under his protection, so he was happy to see her without fear around him. The ones who should fear him were the ones that broke the rules, not the ones he made the rules to protect.

“Little man in the funky suit,” she said, pointing to Fetcher with an impeccably sharp nail, “jumped in the second I started yelling at that asshole.”

“Good,” Jason replied. “How long has this been going on?”

“Mm,” she started, brown eyes looking up in thought, “about ten minutes, I think. Glow-boy’s been keeping him down for a while.” Her eyes gleamed. “I just wanna see how many knives is gonna get involved.”

Fetcher had been keeping that man in a headlock for ten goddamn minutes. Amazing.

“Oi, Fetch,” he called, watching as the vicious little nightlight jumped at his voice and dropped the guy, who flopped to the ground, boneless, with a groan. “What are you-”

Jason watched, stunned, as Fetcher held his hands up in surrender and then disappeared. Just fucking vanished into thin air. He switched his helmet to night vision, heat vision, anything and everything. No readings. Nada. Nothing. What the fuck.

“Aw,” Nadi whined, disappointed, “you scared ‘im off.”

“I did not!” he protested. Because really, he hadn’t meant to spook him. He was just glad to see the kid up and about and apparently well enough to take on random muggers. At least Batman hadn’t gotten to him, from the looks of things.

“Big bad Red Hood,” she sang, “scaring off my savior!”

He sighed. At least someone was having a good time.

Bozo groaned, face still planted in ground of the dirty back alley. Oh, right. Assholes to punish. He moseyed over, making sure each boot thunked heavily against the asphalt. He watched Bozo grow tenser with every step he got closer.

“Talk,” he commanded. Fetcher wanted to play good cop (silly cop? ridiculous cop?) to Jason’s bad cop, so be it. He had a reputation. He could be a bit playful with the girls or soft with the kids, but trouble-makers got no mercy.

“I-I didn’t do nothin-,” Bozo started, stammering and struggling to move up onto his hands and knees.

Red Hood took care of that with a swift kick to the ribs.

“Try again.”

He wouldn’t stand for someone trying to shift the blame. Trying to get out of the consequences of their actions.

Bozo groaned and curled up on his side. Jason had no sympathy.

“Fine, fine,” Bozo said, face still one with the concrete. “Know the girls always carry a lotta cash from workin’. Figured it would be an easy grab. Wasn’t plannin’ on hurtin’ her.”

Nadi scoffed. “I worked hard for my money, asshole.” She loomed over him, hands on her hips, and Jason let her. “You thought you could just grab it off me?” She pressed a threatening heel against the guy’s bruised ribs. “I’da fought you off myself if little cujo hadn’t tackled you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Bozo said miserably. “Just throw me to the cops already.”

Jason tsked. “No pigs in the Alley.” He paused, thinking it over for a moment. Guy looked young and scruffy. Desperate for money by the sounds of it, if he was willing to go for someone in Jason’s territory. Knew to keep more than one knife on him, so stupid- but with some street smarts. He could work with that. “You’re working for the girls now, as penance.”

“What?!” Bozo and Nadi shrieked at the same time.

Jason held up his hand for silence. He pointed at Bozo first. “Room and board and something better to do than trawl the streets for blood money.” Then pointed at Nadi, “Extra set of hands to do whatever you want.”

Nadi’s eyes gleamed again at that. “Whatever I want?”

Smart girl.

Bozo collapsed back down with another pitiful groan. Served him right. Jason crouched next to him, making sure he had the guy’s attention and letting a little murderous-intent bleed into his voice.

“Pull this shit again and there won’t be another second chance.”

He bared down on him, making sure it got through that thick skull just what would happen if he crossed the line again. He was lucky he’d gotten away without any maiming this time. Next time, Hood would have his head.

Bozo nodded, face pale and clammy. Jason stood up, satisfied, before turning to Nadi again.

“He tries to pull anything, let me or any of my crew know.”

And with that he grappled off, climbing back to the rooftops and running his route with a distracted air. Looking for a neon green glow he knew he wouldn’t find.

═════ ◈ ═════

The second time Jason caught sight of Fetcher out and about, it was a much bloodier encounter.

Some of Black Mask’s men had ambushed him mid-patrol, thinking they could catch him by surprise and bring him in to their increasingly irate boss. Too bad for them that Jason wasn’t a man so easily caught off guard. If there was one thing that Bats taught all the Robins that served them well- it was paranoia. If you think they’re always out to get you, you’ll be prepared for the many times they actually are.

Five against one, but Jason was packing all five of the Bennett sisters tonight and he had more tricks up his sleeves besides.

One shot to the jugular. One pistol whip to the face. One kick in the ribs and two shots to the kneecaps. Two men trying to grab at his arms at the same time, missing, and getting swept off their feet by one of Jason’s own.

One guy got an arm around his neck in the aftermath, pulling tight, and one of the two he’d knocked over popped back up and wrestled Lizzie out of his grip. Two were completely out of commission but that still left three stubborn bastards. The third one got in a shot to his thigh while he was throwing off the others.

He hissed, the bullet was unable to pierce his armor but still left a nasty bruise.

He pulled Mary out of her holster and took a rapid shot at that third guy’s hand, taking out his gun and leaving him out of the game for the rest of the fight- screaming and trying to staunch the blood pouring from his missing finger.

The other two had backed off, noticing that their odds were dwindling fast.

One guy pulled a knife, the blade glinting strangely in the light of the street lamp. Looked like it was coated in something. A paralytic, a poison? No matter what, it wasn’t likely to pierce his jacket or his armor. And the guy should know better than to bring a knife to a gun fight.

He took the shot but the guy dodged.

Idiot number two pulled a gun himself and fired off, three shots, all going large. One to the brick behind him, one to the pavement, and one to the dark of the night beyond them.

Idiot number one, being faster than Jason anticipated, made a lunge toward him and his knife skimmed the sleeve of his jacket on the left side, cutting a long and jagged stripe before just barely nicking his wrist where his jacket ended before his gloves.

His hand went numb. Fuck.

Whatever was on that knife, which shouldn’t be able to cut through his jacket, was potent. The edges of his jacket where it’d been split open began to sizzle. Double fuck. That one was his favorite.

He swung around and shot at idiot number one, being careful to dodge around the bullets being fired by idiot number two.

The tingling sensation of numbness was starting to crawl up his arm.

Idiot number one fell to a bullet in the shoulder, poison knife clattering to the ground while the guy screamed. Idiot number two was starting to look antsy, realizing he was the last man standing. Jason may be down an arm but he wasn’t about to let the guy go running. He shot- but the guy was squirrelly and dodged so that it only grazed his shoulder.

The numbness was reaching his chest. Would the paralytic kill him? Stop his heart? Or just leave him trapped? Either way he needed to end this, now. It’d already gone on too long. If he hadn’t been so fucking distracted… He hadn’t seen Fetcher in a week and a half now…

And then, well, think of the devil and he shall appear.

Last idiot standing was being held in a choke-hold by the glowing green halfling in question, which was a little funny from how short the kid was. Fetcher held him there until he passed out before dropping him and running towards Red Hood.

“Long time no see, Jellyfish,” he said, trying for a casual tone as his left leg started going out on him.

The kid gave him a flat stare before standing underneath him and swinging Jason’s left arm over his shoulder.

Fetcher was- cold to the touch. Like he’d been standing in a snowstorm and the chill had permanently sunk into his very being. He felt like static shock, like pinpricks of electricity were swirling around under the latex-like material of the suit. He felt completely unnatural and yet somehow familiar. Jason wondered, not for the first time, just what, exactly, a Fetch was.

Jason pointed to the dropped knife, sitting so innocently on the dirty pavement. “Gonna need that. Doc Thompkins’ll need to know what got me.”

Fetcher bobbed his head in a nod and scooped the knife up, being careful of the blade before shifting it into his suit like he had all those others.

“How many knives you even got in there?” Jason asked, trying to distract himself from the numbing sensation crawling further through his chest. His lungs were starting to stutter.

Fetcher held his free hand up in a gesture reminiscent of a shrug that didn’t move his occupied shoulder. So he didn’t know. That wasn’t concerning at all. The little glow-worm got them to the mouth of the alley before motioning to the street before them. Asking for directions.

Jason jabbed the thumb he could still move towards the left. Man he hoped Leslie would help him.

It was only after Leslie reluctantly let him go and he exited the clinic that he noticed Fetcher had disappeared again.

═════ ◈ ═════

Twice was a coincidence, three times was a pattern.

This time it was in the rain, heavy downpour obscuring everything in sight and the occasional flash of lightning spearing the dark in a thunderous roar.

Bruce had caught him on one of his runs.

They were on the edge of the roof, his boots slipping just the slightest against the slick concrete that bordered the ten story drop as Batman gripped the shirt that covered his chest armor in his fists, holding him up and being the only thing between him and the pavement below. One hand of Jason’s scrabbled against the slick armor on Batman’s arm and the other held a gun against the man’s head.

Red Hood laughed, bordering hysterical, the sound crackling and grating through the filter on his helmet. “Let me go, Batman,” he demanded, gun digging against the mask over Bruce’s temple.

“Who are you?” Batman growled, agony underpinning his words and it flooded Jason with a righteous glee that made him ache. Oh, Brucie, Brucie, Brucie he thought. You’re so close to figuring it out but you’re still not sure.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said, trying not to cackle. The sweet, sweet fury painting his father’s ex-mentor’s face was delicious. He might not be ready to lead Batman to his pièce de résistance but he could still enjoy teasing in the meantime.

“Tell me,” Batman demanded, shaking Red Hood within his grasp, making Jason’s boots slide ever further toward the edge.

“Or what,” he snarled, “you’ll kill me?”

He nudged his gun to an angle beside Batman’s head and shot, the bullet flying into the air but the blast and the noise pushing Bruce away and startling his grip loose. Jason used the momentum to push up and arch in the air, feeling the rain and the wind against him as he flew. He flipped and felt the beautiful, intoxicating rush that came with free falling. Distantly he could hear Batman yelling, but all he wanted to concentrate on was feeling the pull of gravity before he landed.

He pulled out his grapple and aimed. It slipped and he cursed. The building was too short to sustain his fall for long and he didn’t have time for another grapple to hook and swing. He was meeting the pavement fast. Too fast. He wasn’t usually this sloppy. His landing would be messy and painful, but if he moved right, he’d live.

Cold hands caught him a single story from the ground and slowly lowered him down until his boots hit sidewalk. The glow around them told him he knew who his savior was.

When he was released he turned. The hands that had caught him were gone, and so was the rest of Fetcher. He tsked in annoyance. He’d need to hunt the kid down at this rate.

He looked up to see if Batman was still there. But if he was, he couldn’t see anything through the rain.

═════ ◈ ═════

Of course he was living in a graveyard. Because why not, right?

It was one of the last places Jason tried searching. Ever since Fetcher had risked Batman’s wrath again by catching him a few days ago, he’d doubled his determination to find him. He shouldn’t let himself get so distracted from his main goal, but keeping Fetcher within his sights and making sure the kid was safe was now part his master plan, apparently.

He could see a faint glow up in the branches of the single hickory tree planted in the cemetery Fetcher had originally been chased from. The one Jason was buried in. He tried not to have any particular feelings about that. He watched as the green shell of a hickory nut fell from the branches and bounced on the ground. Well, at least the kid was eating.

“Hey,” he called, watching the branches shake when Fetcher startled. “Get your radioactive ass down here.”

He backed up and watched in fascination as the other man swung down from a branch like a monkey before he dropped like a stone. If the forty foot drop did anything to his ankles when he landed directly on his feet, he didn’t let it show. What the fuck was this guy?

Fetcher walked closer, posture cautious but casual. Like there was at least some modicum of trust but he still knew to be wary. He tilted his head to the side, a question.

“How many crimes have you interfered with on my turf?” he asked, crossing his arms. He was genuinely curious though. He’d gotten reports from his lieutenants that mister nightlight had been spotted multiple times preventing a mugging or defending a Corner Girl. A little vigilante in the making, all he needed was the blue eyes and black hair and he’d be perfect Wayne Bait.

Fetcher scuffed his shoe against the grass and hid his hands behind his back before shrugging, trying to act innocent. Little shit.

“Listen,” he said, “if you’re gonna play vigilante here, it’s gonna be on my orders.”

Fetcher raised his head and tilted it to the side again. Another question. He sighed.

He walked closer, steps slow and careful so Fetch wouldn’t disappear on him. He didn’t want to spook the guy. “No more living in trees and popping in and out of nowhere,” he said firmly, close enough to see his curious glowing green eyes. “If you’re gonna work in my territory, then you’re gonna be on my payroll.”

The green glow narrowed and Fetcher crossed his arms. Defiant. Defensive.

Jason scoffed. “If you mess with things you don’t know about you’re going to get hurt. Or get someone else hurt.”

The arms dropped but stayed crossed, his head tilted to the side. Accepting but still questioning.

“I’m not going to stop you from saving people,” he said, “since that seems to be something you want to do.”

“But,” he lifted a finger, “you gotta listen to me. And you’re going to live in an actual goddamn house, you heathen. And eat actual food. I don’t care if you’re not human, no man under my protection is living like a monkey unless they are one.”

He paused. “You aren’t some type of monkey, are you?”

Fetcher seemed to double over. Shoulders shaking in silent laughter. Probably a no then. But, yeah, sure, laugh at him for not knowing what the fuck a Fetch was and trying not to make any assumptions.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled as the other seemed to finally gather himself together. “You coming or not? I’m setting you up in a safe-house and then putting a fucking bell on you so I know where you are.”

He wiped a tear that wasn’t actually there from his tinted mask and mimed catching his breath before nodding and gesturing for Jason to lead the way. Then he paused and tilted his head. He lifted his arms and made a little paw motion beside his head and moved his head back and forth. Jason could almost see green ears and tail appear.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Fetcher leaned forward, arms out in some sort of questioning shrug. Why not? he seemed to say, with some mocking edge. Little shit knew what he was doing.

God, Jason really hoped he wouldn’t regret this.

[hrodvitnon]

And now for some new 'Abraxas' Qs from me! :) (1) What thoughts, if any, did Tejada and Travis have during KotM when Jonah decided to do nothing about Ghidorah? Did they have any thoughts of their own on the matter, or did they just go along with whatever their commander wanted and dismissed Emma's "we hit the BLACK button instead of the green button" ravings about Monster Zero? (2) [FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS Q IF YOU'RE STILL PLANNING ON MAKING THAT OLD FIC IDEA OF GHIDORAH'S P.O.V. DURING THE MASS AWAKENING:] How do you imagine Ichi and Boston!San felt about getting separated from Vivienne after San was decapitated with her still inside the old head? (3) How much, if at all, would you say each of Ghidorah's heads fear dying each time it happens to Ghidorah?

Woohoo!

I wanna say that during the Mass Awakening, Travis and Tejada just went along with Jonah's decision; they were totally loyal to him and didn't have any reason to give Emma the time of day. They might've figured that Emma's resolve was crumbling considering how hesitant she was to awaken Rodan, and Madison's attitude wasn't helping matters, plus Emma was a textbook case of hubris biting her in the ass and she wasn't any use to them anymore. Travis and Tejada could've talked over cards and decided, "Welp, we opened Pandora's Box, nothing to do but ride out the apocalypse. We'll live like Mad Max warlords once the dust settles."

Hmmm... why not take a peek under the cut, eh? :)

Ichi probably feared death the least of all three heads, being so confident in Ghidorah's inherent superiority over all things and not so much believing but knowing that no matter what curve balls the universe throws at them (like Earth in general), Ghidorah will come out on top in the end. I wanna say Ni isn't so much afraid of death compared to his brothers, but is something of an adrenaline junkie on top of his Blood Knight tendencies; combat is like a drug, and with Ichi acting as the head of reason he's not as much at risk of losing himself in the high of a good fight as a certain shed skin of his will. The thrill of it rushes through their shared system and drives him to greater heights of glory, and the prospect of death (or at least the possibility of losing a fight) makes it all the more exciting to Ni.

The Deep One is laid low and the lowly Earthborn Titans are rising, enthralled by Ghidorah's dominance. Youngest Brother finds himself glancing now and then towards the ocean, yearning for the little human they snatched up who is now stuck in a shed skin sinking to the sea floor. She is his responsibility! It ought to be him tending to her, not some discarded lump of scales and horns! His distraction forces Eldest Brother to latch teeth around a horn and wrench him back to the present.

YOU FORGET YOURSELF FOCUS but our little one our bone singer YOUR SHED SKINS HAVE THEIR USES IT WILL ENSURE HER SURVIVAL yes it will of course THEN QUIT YOUR WORRYING AND FOCUS THE WORLD WON'T STOP TURNING JUST BECAUSE YOU LOST YOUR TOY

Elder Brother snorts derisively. He itches for combat. The Deep One had been dominating them in the waters! That'd been why Ghidorah had avoided battle in the ocean, having been built for aerial conquest, but the thrill of their nemesis coming so close to victory, only for the conclusion to be ripped away by the Green Glow... unfair! That lumbering beast better not be dead -- the Green Glow is not allowed to be how the Deep One dies! And the Third's constant whinging about something as pathetic as their warden only exacerbates his irritation.

PATHETIC TO FRET OVER A SPECK OF DUST she is not dust SHE IS A COWARD AND NOT WORTH THE ATTENTION

The Second is startled by teeth digging into his scales, the First snarling thunder into his flesh.

SO NOW YOU HAVE RESERVATIONS ABOUT MY DECISION I'VE HAD RESERVATIONS FROM THE START YOUR COMPLAINTS ARE MORE USELESS THAN THE THIRD indeed EVERYTHING HAS GONE INTO MOTION IT IS POINTLESS TO WHINE ABOUT IT SO WILL YOU FISH YOUR TOY FROM THE SEA LIKE SOME LOWLY BOTTOM FEEDER we cannot leave her behind LITTLE WONDER YOU WOULD BE SO FIXATED ON SUCH A THING

The Third is surprised; the implication is not directed at him, as would be expected, but at Eldest Brother. Lightning cracks around them, the middle head's glare meeting the right's bared teeth.

CHOOSE YOUR WORDS CAREFULLY LITTLE BROTHER YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU OBSESS OVER HER JUST LIKE YOUNGEST BROTHER SHE CONTAINED US LIKE THE MAKERS DID MORE THAN THAT SHE IS NO DIFFERENT FROM WHAT YOU ONCE WERE AND WHAT WAS I SMALL AND WEAK AND FEARFUL AND OH SO CONCERNED WITH OTHERS THINKING HERSELF A PROTECTOR WHEN SHE COULDN'T EVEN DEFEND HERSELF AND WAS LEFT BEHIND TO DIE YOU WOULD HAVE DONE THE SAME ONCE

Eldest Brother's eyes narrow. He is silent for a moment, but then his lips curl back into a knowing grin; Elder Brother's raised hackles lower a bit, having anticipated a more vitriolic reaction. The First spares the ocean they left the Deep One in with the slightest of glances, licks his chops.

THEN YOU'RE GOING TO LOVE WHAT WE'LL DO TO HER

[wolfie-2013]

Ok so I’m this post I showed off my Spider-Sona. Originally it was for a Spider-Man x Mha AU. Specifically one in which Todoroki was Spider-Man. It was only recently that I really started to come up with story for that au. I wanted to share what I have so far, but I’ll probably be splitting it into parts since the google doc is like 8 pages. So this first part will be before UA.

The MHA earth is gonna be Earth-2016, and it’s basically gonna be canon mha. So quirks are still a thing. But now todo has his quirk + spider powers.

He got them a year before UA. And that was when endeavor took him to his agency, shouto got in trouble for doing something at the house and Enji decided that he would not be left alone, and got bit by a radioactive Spider.

The spider in question was brought in as evidence from a drug lab bust that was performed about a week prior. The only reason they noticed the spider was because it was kept in a container and had the “warning radioactive” sticker in it. The agency looked at the files but there wasn’t much on the spider. On that day, the spider managed to somehow escape its enclosure, and while a completely unaware shouto was wandering the halls the spider bit him.

So he feels pretty normal the rest of the day, but that night he starts to feel sick. He goes to bed and the next morning he’s magically feeling better. (Also in this au his vision in his left eye was damaged from the boiling water.) He wakes up and can suddenly see perfectly out of his left eye. He goes to get out of bed when he hears a rip. He looks at the bed sheet in his had to see that he had ripped them with a pair of talons that had grown on his hands. (The talons are retractable and not as big as Miguel’s) He shoots out of bed and runs for the door, his hand gets stuck to the door knob for a second before he finally gets free and makes a beeline for the bathroom. His mouth had felt weird since he woke up. It was unnaturally dry and felt as if it was overcrowded. So he looks in the mirror and sees a large set of fangs protruding from his top gums and a smaller but still unreasonably big set on from his bottom gums. (Unfortunately for our poor boy these are not retractable. He has a venom that is released through his fangs. He also has natural spinnerets in his arms now)

Anyway: time skip, he gets his suit made (it has web shooters built into it as a back up)

(Also in this au todoroki is more similar to my todoroki, so he’s pretty loud. But because of the fangs he now has to hide he started speaking much softer. (No one really noticed a change at home since shouto definitely wasn’t very loud there, and since he was homeschooled he didn’t have to worry about any classmates noticing) so that will explains why he’s so quiet and kinda mumbles in the show.)

So he becomes the Spider-Man of (whatever Japanese city he’s nearest to as well as a few others) and you may be asking “well what’s his uncle Ben moment?” Well when he’s starting out, he hasn’t the slightest idea of how to be a vigilante though he does try his best. Eventually a much more experienced vigilante( idk her name yet or her quirk) feels kinda bad for him and decides to take him under her wing. They get really close and she kinda becomes the mother/aunt figure that shouto has never had but always desperately wanted. Until one night they’re both working together to try and take down a gang that’s been extorting people for “protection”. There’s a lot of gang members and the two are out numbered but they’re managing. That is until someone either shoots his mentor or she gets impaled by someone’s quirk. She goes down and shouto sees red. He takes down the gang, webs them up and runs over to her.

She dies in his arms.

The person that killed her fled as soon as shouto began overpowering the gang. Shouto chases after her killer and eventually corners them. He hangs them high above the ground, and he wants to freeze them to death, or drop them, he’ll he’s even mad enough to burn them. But he stops. Killing this person would make him just as bad as them. And it’s definitely not what his mentor would want.

So he ties the thug up and leaves a note.

This is the first time Spider-Man makes the front page of the news, It’s all Japan can talk about for weeks.

And also right before UA he actually gets recruited to the Spider Society. So he has the “Goober” or dimensional travel watch. (He gets invited a few months after across the spider-verse happens as well as the events of beyond the spider verse. Miguel and miles have made up and are working on it) So he also is constantly wearing the watch. Miguel along with noir are his spider mentors. Miguel helps with the talon and fang aspects of his powers (how to properly retract his talons and how to deal with the fangs and how to hide them. Noir trains him with hand to hand combat, detective skills (noir is a private eye), stealth, and also pickpocketing and a couple of other tricks.

So the typical Spider-Man villains aren’t the big guys in this au. The League of Villains is still the biggest concern. And while shouto does fight them sometimes. His villains are still threats but definitely aren’t as well known or as feared as the league. Anomalies are also still occurring, So sometimes another spiders villain will pop into another’s dimension.

That’s it for this one.